It was useless to ask who could it be? It could only be one person; and yet how could it have been managed? So completely and so promptly1! Her lord, too, away; the only being, it would seem, who could have effected for her such a purpose, and he the last individual to whom, perhaps, she would have applied2. Was it a dream? The long twilight3 was dying away, and it dies away in the Albany a little sooner than it does in Park Lane; and so he lit the candles on his mantel-piece, and then again unfolded the document carefully, and read it and reread it. It was not a dream. He held in his hand firmly, and read with his eyes clearly, the evidence that he was the uncontrolled master of no slight amount of capital, and which, if treated with prudence4, secured to him for life an absolute and becoming independence. His heart beat and his cheek glowed.
What a woman! And how true were Myra’s last words at Hurstley, that women would be his best friends in life! He ceased to think; and, dropping into his chair, fell into a reverie, in which the past and the future seemed to blend, with some mingling5 of a vague and almost ecstatic present. It was a dream of fair women, and even fairer thoughts, domestic tenderness and romantic love, mixed up with strange vicissitudes6 of lofty and fiery7 action, and passionate8 passages of eloquence9 and power. The clock struck and roused him from his musing10. He fell from the clouds. Could he accept this boon11? Was his doing so consistent with that principle of independence on which he had resolved to build up his life? The boon thus conferred might be recalled and returned; not legally indeed, but by a stronger influence than any law—the consciousness on his part that the feeling of interest in his life which had prompted it might change—would, must change. It was the romantic impulse of a young and fascinating woman, who had been to him invariably kind, but who had a reputation for caprice, which was not unknown to him. It was a wild and beautiful adventure; but only that.
He walked up and down his rooms for a long time, sometimes thinking, sometimes merely musing; sometimes in a pleased but gently agitated12 state of almost unconsciousness. At last he sate13 down at his writing-table, and wrote for some time; and then directing the letter to the Countess of Montfort, he resolved to change the current of his thoughts, and went to a club.
Morning is not romantic. Romance is the twilight spell; but morn is bright and joyous14, prompt with action, and full of sanguine15 hope. Life has few difficulties in the morning, at least, none which we cannot conquer; and a private secretary to a minister, young and prosperous, at his first meal, surrounded by dry toast, all the newspapers, and piles of correspondence, asking and promising16 everything, feels with pride and delight the sense of powerful and responsible existence. Endymion had glanced at all the leading articles, had sorted in the correspondence the grain from the chaff17, and had settled in his mind those who must be answered and those who must be seen. The strange incident of last night was of course not forgotten, but removed, as it were, from his consciousness in the bustle18 and pressure of active life, when his servant brought him a letter in a handwriting he knew right well. He would not open it till he was alone, and then it was with a beating heart and a burning cheek.
LADY MONTFORT’S LETTER
“What is it all about? and what does it all mean? I should have thought some great calamity19 had occurred if, however distressing21, it did not appear in some sense to be gratifying. What is gratifying? You deal in conundrums22, which I never could find out. Of course I shall be at home to you at any time, if you wish to see me. Pray come on at once, as I detest23 mysteries. I went to the play last night with your sister. We both of us rather expected to see you, but it seems neither of us had mentioned to you we were going. I did not, for I was too low-spirited about your affairs. You lost nothing. The piece was stupid beyond expression. We laughed heartily24, at least I did, to show we were not afraid. My lord came home last night suddenly. Odo is going to stand for the county, and his borough25 is vacant. What an opportunity it would have been for you! a certain seat. But I care for no boroughs26 now. My lord will want you to dine with him today; I hope you can come. Perhaps he will not be able to see you this morning, as his agent will be with him about these elections. Adieu!”
If Lady Montfort did not like conundrums, she had succeeded, however, in sending one sufficiently27 perplexing to Endymion. Could it be possible that the writer of this letter was the unknown benefactress of the preceding eve? Lady Montfort was not a mystifier. Her nature was singularly frank and fearless, and when Endymion told her everything that had occurred, and gave her the document which originally he had meant to bring with him in order to return it, her amazement28 and her joy were equal.
“I wish I had sent it,” said Lady Montfort, “but that was impossible. I do not care who did send it; I have no female curiosity except about matters which, by knowledge, I may influence. This is finished. You are free. You cannot hesitate as to your course. I never could speak to you again if you did hesitate. Stop here, and I will go to my lord. This is a great day. If we can settle only today that you shall be the candidate for our borough, I really shall not much care for the change of ministry29.”
Lady Montfort was a long time away. Endymion would have liked to have gone forth30 on his affairs, but she had impressed upon him so earnestly to wait for her return that he felt he could not retire. The room was one to which he was not unaccustomed, otherwise, its contents would not have been uninteresting; her portrait by more than one great master, a miniature of her husband in a Venetian dress upon her writing-table—a table which wonderfully indicated alike the lady of fashion and the lady of business, for there seemed to be no form in which paper could be folded and emblazoned which was there wanting; quires of letter paper, and note paper, and notelet paper, from despatches of state to billet-doux, all were ready; great covers with arms and supporters, more moderate ones with “Berengaria” in letters of glittering fancy, and the destined31 shells of diminutive32 effusions marked only with a golden bee. There was another table covered with trinkets and precious toys; snuff-boxes and patch-boxes beautifully painted, exquisite33 miniatures, rare fans, cups of agate34, birds glittering with gems35 almost as radiant as the tropic plumage they imitated, wild animals cut out of ivory, or formed of fantastic pearls—all the spoils of queens and royal mistresses.
Upon the walls were drawings of her various homes; that of her childhood, as well as of the hearths36 she ruled and loved. There were a few portraits on the walls also of those whom she ranked as her particular friends. Lord Roehampton was one, another was the Count of Ferroll.
Time went on; on a little table, by the side of evidently her favourite chair, was a book she had been reading. It was a German tale of fame, and Endymion, dropping into her seat, became interested in a volume which hitherto he had never seen, but of which he had heard much.
Perhaps he had been reading for some time; there was a sound, he started and looked up, and then, springing from his chair, he said, “Something has happened!”
Lady Montfort was quite pale, and the expression of her countenance37 distressed38, but when he said these words she tried to smile, and said, “No, no, nothing, nothing,—at least nothing to distress20 you. My lord hopes you will be able to dine with him today, and tell him all the news.” And then she threw herself into a chair and sighed. “I should like to have a good cry, as the servants say—but I never could cry. I will tell you all about it in a moment. You were very good not to go.”
It seems that Lady Montfort saw her lord before the agent, who was waiting, had had his interview, and the opportunity being in every way favourable39, she felt the way about obtaining his cousin’s seat for Endymion. Lord Montfort quite embraced this proposal. It had never occurred to him. He had no idea that Ferrars contemplated40 parliament. It was a capital idea. He could not bear reading the parliament reports, and yet he liked to know a little of what was going on. Now, when anything happened of interest, he should have it all from the fountain-head. “And you must tell him, Berengaria,” he continued, “that he can come and dine here whenever he likes, in boots. It is a settled thing that M.P.‘s may dine in boots. I think it a most capital plan. Besides, I know it will please you. You will have your own member.”
Then he rang the bell, and begged Lady Montfort to remain and see the agent. Nothing like the present time for business. They would make all the arrangements at once, and he would ask the agent to dine with them today, and so meet Mr. Ferrars.
So the agent entered, and it was all explained to him, calmly and clearly, briefly41 by my lord, but with fervent42 amplification43 by his charming wife. The agent several times attempted to make a remark, but for some time he was unsuccessful; Lady Montfort was so anxious that he should know all about Mr. Ferrars, the most rising young man of the day, the son of the Right Honourable44 William Pitt Ferrars, who, had he not died, would probably have been prime minister, and so on.
“Mr. Ferrars seems to be everything we could wish,” said the agent, “and as you say, my lady, though he is young, so was Mr. Pitt, and I have little doubt, after what you say, my lady, that it is very likely he will in time become as eminent45. But what I came up to town particularly to impress upon my lord is, that if Mr. Odo will not stand again, we are in a very great difficulty.”
“Difficulty about what?” said Lady Montfort impatiently.
“Well, my lady, if Mr. Odo stands, there is great respect for him. The other side would not disturb him. He has been member for some years, and my lord has been very liberal. But the truth is, if Mr. Odo does not stand, we cannot command the seat.”
“Not command the seat! Then our interest must have been terribly neglected.”
“I hope not, my lady,” said the agent. “The fact is, the property is against us.”
“I thought it was all my lord’s.”
“No, my lady; the strong interest in the borough is my Lord Beaumaris. It used to be about equal, but all the new buildings are in Lord Beaumaris’ part of the borough. It would not have signified if things had remained as in the old days. The grandfather of the present lord was a Whig, and always supported the Montforts, but that’s all changed. The present earl has gone over to the other side, and, I hear, is very strong in his views.”
Lady Montfort had to communicate all this to Endymion. “You will meet the agent at dinner, but he did not give me a ray of hope. Go now; indeed, I have kept you too long. I am so stricken that I can scarcely command my senses. Only think of our borough being stolen from us by Lord Beaumaris! I have brought you no luck, Endymion; I have done you nothing but mischief46; I am miserable47. If you had attached yourself to Lady Beaumaris, you might have been a member of parliament.”
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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applied
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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sate
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| v.使充分满足 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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conundrums
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| n.谜，猜不透的难题，难答的问题( conundrum的名词复数 ) | |
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detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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boroughs
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| （尤指大伦敦的）行政区( borough的名词复数 )； 议会中有代表的市镇 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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agate
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| n.玛瑙 | |
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gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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hearths
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| 壁炉前的地板，炉床，壁炉边( hearth的名词复数 ) | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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amplification
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| n.扩大，发挥 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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