‘Now, my dear Scrope,’ said Cadurcis, ‘now for quiet and philosophy. The laughter of those infernal women, the rattle of those cursed dice, and the oaths of those ruffians are still ringing in my ears. Let us compose ourselves, and moralise.’
Accustomed to their master’s habits, who generally turned night into day, the household were all on the alert; a blazing fire greeted them, and his lordship ordered instantly a devil and the burnt Burgundy.
‘Sit you down here, my Scrope; that is the seat of honour, and you shall have it. What is this, a letter? and marked “Urgent,” and in a man’s hand. It must be read. Some good fellow nabbed by a bailiff, or planted by his mistress. Signals of distress! We must assist our friends.’
The flame of the fire fell upon Lord Cadurcis’ face as he read the letter; he was still standing, while his friend was stretched out in his easy chair, and inwardly congratulating himself on his comfortable prospects. The countenance of Cadurcis did not change, but he bit his lip, and read the letter twice, and turned it over, but with a careless air; and then he asked what o’clock it was. The servant informed him, and left the room.
‘Scrope,’ said Lord Cadurcis, quietly, and still standing, ‘are you very drunk?’
‘My dear fellow, I am as fresh as possible; you will see what justice I shall do to the Burgundy.’
‘“Burgundy tomorrow,” as the Greek proverb saith,’ observed Lord Cadurcis. ‘Read that.’
His companion had the pleasure of perusing a challenge from Lord Monteagle, couched in no gentle terms, and requesting an immediate meeting.
‘Well, I never heard anything more ridiculous in my life,’ said Lord Scrope. ‘Does he want satisfaction because you have planted her?’
‘D— n her!’ said Lord Cadurcis. ‘She has occasioned me a thousand annoyances, and now she has spoilt our supper. I don’t know, though; he wants to fight quickly, let us fight at once. I will send him a cartel now, and then we can have our Burgundy. You will go out with me, of course? Hyde Park, six o’clock, and short swords.’
Lord Cadurcis accordingly sat down, wrote his letter, and dispatched it by Mr. Spalding to Monteagle House, with peremptory instructions to bring back an answer. The companions then turned to their devil.
‘This is a bore, Cadurcis,’ said Lord Scrope.
‘It is. I cannot say I am very valorous in a bad cause. I do not like to fight “upon compulsion,” I confess. If I had time to screw my courage up, I dare say I should do it very well. I dare say, for instance, if ever I am publicly executed, I shall die game.’
‘God forbid!’ said Lord Scrope. ‘I say, Cadurcis, I would not drink any Burgundy if I were you. I shall take a glass of cold water.’
‘Ah! you are only a second, and so you want to cool your valour,’ said Cadurcis. ‘You have all the fun.’
‘But how came this blow-up?’ inquired Lord Scrope. ‘Letters discovered, eh? Because I thought you never saw her now?’
‘By Jove! my dear fellow, she has been the whole evening here masquerading it like a very vixen, as she is; and now she has committed us both. I have burnt her letters, without reading them, for the last month. Now I call that honourable; because, as I had no longer any claim on her heart, I would not think of trenching on her correspondence. But honour, what is honour in these dishonourable days? This is my reward. She contrived to enter my house this evening, dressed like a farmer’s boy, and you may imagine what ensued; rage, hysterics, and repentance. I am sure if Monteagle had seen me, he would not have been jealous. I never opened my mouth, but, like a fool, sent her home in my carriage; and now I am going to be run through the body for my politeness.’
In this light strain, blended, however, with more decorous feeling on the part of Lord Scrope, the young men conversed until the messenger’s return with Lord Monteagle’s answer. In Hyde Park, in the course of an hour, himself and Lord Cadurcis, attended by their friends, were to meet.
‘Well, there is nothing like having these affairs over,’ said Cadurcis; ‘and to confess the truth, my dear Scrope, I should not much care if Monteagle were to despatch me to my fathers; for, in the whole course of my miserable life, and miserable, whatever the world may think, it has been, I never felt much more wretched than I have during the last four-and-twenty hours. By Jove! do you know I was going to leave England this morning, and I have ordered my horses, too.’
‘Leave England!’
‘Yes, leave England; and where I never intended to return.’
‘Well, you are the oddest person I ever knew, Cadurcis. I should have thought you the happiest person that ever existed. Everybody admires, everybody envies you. You seem to have everything that man can desire. Your life is a perpetual triumph.’
‘Ah! my dear Scrope, there is a skeleton in every house. If you knew all, you would not envy me.’
‘Well, we have not much time,’ said Lord Scrope; ‘have you any arrangements to make?’
‘None. My property goes to George, who is my only relative, without the necessity of a will, otherwise I should leave everything to him, for he is a good fellow, and my blood is in his veins. Just you remember, Scrope, that I will be buried with my mother. That is all; and now let us get ready.’
The sun had just risen when the young men went forth, and the day promised to be as brilliant as the preceding one. Not a soul was stirring in the courtly quarter in which Cadurcis resided; even the last watchman had stolen to repose. They called a hackney coach at the first stand they reached, and were soon at the destined spot. They were indeed before their time, and strolling by the side of the Serpentine, Cadurcis said, ‘Yesterday morning was one of the happiest of my life, Scrope, and I was in hopes that an event would have occurred in the course of the day that might have been my salvation. If it had, by-the-bye, I should not have returned to town, and got into this cursed scrape. However, the gods were against me, and now I am reckless.’
Now Lord Monteagle and his friend, who was Mr. Horace Pole, appeared. Cadurcis advanced, and bowed; Lord Monteagle returned his bow, stiffly, but did not speak. The seconds chose their ground, the champions disembarrassed themselves of their coats, and their swords crossed. It was a brief affair. After a few passes, Cadurcis received a slight wound in his arm, while his weapon pierced his antagonist in the breast. Lord Monteagle dropped his sword and fell.
‘You had better fly, Lord Cadurcis,’ said Mr. Horace Pole. ‘This is a bad business, I fear; we have a surgeon at hand, and he can help us to the coach that is waiting close by.’
‘I thank you, sir, I never fly,’ said Lord Cadurcis; ‘and I shall wait here until I see your principal safely deposited in his carriage; he will have no objection to my friend, Lord Scrope, assisting him, who, by his presence today, has only fulfilled one of the painful duties that society imposes upon us.’
The surgeon gave an unfavourable report of the wound, which he dressed on the field. Lord Monteagle was then borne to his carriage, which was at hand, and Lord Scrope, the moment he had seen the equipage move slowly off, returned to his friend.
‘Well Cadurcis,’ he exclaimed in an anxious voice, ‘I hope you have not killed him. What will you do now?’
‘I shall go home, and await the result, my dear Scrope. I am sorry for you, for this may get you into trouble. For myself, I care nothing.’
‘You bleed!’ said Lord Scrope.
‘A scratch. I almost wish our lots had been the reverse. Come, Scrope, help me on with my coat. Yesterday I lost my heart, last night I lost my money, and perhaps tomorrow I shall lose my arm. It seems we are not in luck.
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