Kitabı oku: «The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2», sayfa 23

CHAPTER XXIX. THE DAWN OF CONVALESCENCE

Stepping noiselessly over the carpet, with an air at once animated and regardful of the sick man, Lord Netherby was at Forester’s side before he could arise to receive him; and pressing him gently down with both hands, said, in a voice of most silvery cadence, —

“My dear Lord – you must not stir for the world – Halford has only permitted me to see you under the strict pledge of prudence; and now, how are you? Ah! I see – weak and low. Come, you must let me speak for you, or at least interpret your answers to my own liking. We have so much to talk over, it is difficult where to begin.”

“How is Lady Netherby?” said Forester, with a slight hesitation between the words.

“Still very feeble and very nervous. The shock has been a dreadful one to her. You know that poor Augustus was coming home on leave – when – when this happened.”

Here his Lordship sighed, but not too deeply, for he remembered that the law of primogeniture is the sworn enemy to grief.

“There was some talk, too, of his being sent on a special embassy to Paris, – a very high and important trust, – and so really the affliction is aggravated by thinking what a career was opening to him. But, as the Dean of Walworth beautifully expressed it, ‘We are cut down like flowers of the field.’ Ah!”

A sigh and a slight wave with a handkerchief, diffusing an odor of eau-de-Portugal through the chamber, closed this affecting sentiment.

“I trust in a day or two I shall be able to see my mother,” said Forester, whose thoughts were following a far more natural channel. “I can walk a little to-day, and before the end of the week Halford promises me that I shall drive out.”

“That ‘s the very point we are most anxious about,” said Lord Netherby, eagerly: “we want you, if possible, to take your seat in ‘the Lords’ next week. There is a special reason for it. Rumor runs that the Egyptian expedition will be brought on for discussion on Thursday next. Some malcontents are about to disparage the whole business, and, in particular, the affair at Alexandria. Ministers are strong enough to resist this attack, and even carry the war back into the enemy’s camp; but we all think it would be a most fortunate moment for you, when making your first appearance in the House, to rise and say a few words on the subject of the campaign. The circumstances under which you joined – your very dangerous wound – have given you a kind of prerogative to speak, and the occasion is most opportune. Come, what say you? Would such an effort be too great?”

“Certainly not for my strength, my Lord, if not for my shame’ sake; for really I should feel it somewhat presumptuous in me, a man who carried his musket in the ranks, to venture on a discussion, far more a defence, of the great operations in which he was a mere unit; one of those rank and file who figured, without other designation, in lists of killed and wounded.”

“This is very creditable to your modesty, my dear Lord,” said the old peer, smiling most blandly; “but pardon me if I say it displays a great forgetfulness of your present position. Remember that you now belong to the Upper House, and that the light of the peerage shines on the past as on the future.”

“By which I am to understand,” replied Forester, laughing, “that the events which would have met a merited oblivion in Dick Forester’s life are to be remembered with honor to the Earl of Wallincourt.”

“Of course they are,” cried Lord Netherby, joining in the laugh. “If an unlikely scion of royalty ascends the throne, we look out for the evidences of his princely tastes in the sports of his boyhood. Nay, if a clever writer or painter wins distinction from the world, do we not ‘try back’ for his triumphs at school, or his chalk sketches on coach-house gates, to warrant the early development of genius?”

“Well, my Lord,” said Forester, gayly, “I accept the augury; and as nothing more nearly concerns a man’s life than the fate of those who have shown him friendship, let me inquire after some friends of mine, and some relations of yours, – the Darcys.”

“Ah, those poor Darcys!” said Lord Netherby, wiping his eyes, and heaving a very profound sigh, as though to say that the theme was one far too painful to dwell upon, “theirs is a sad story, a very sad story indeed!”

“Anything more gloomy than the loss of fortune, my Lord?” asked Forester, with a trembling lip, and a cheek pale as death. Lord Netherby stared to see whether the patient’s mind was not beginning to wander. That there could be anything worse than loss of fortune he had yet to learn; assuredly he had never heard of it. Forester repeated his question.

“No, no, perhaps not, if you understand by that phrase what I do,” said Lord Netherby, almost pettishly. “If, like me, you take in all the long train of ruin and decay such loss implies, – pecuniary distress, moneyed difficulties, fallen condition in society, inferior association – ”

“Nay, my Lord, in the present instance, I can venture to answer for it, such consequences have not ensued. You do your relatives scarcely justice to suppose it.”

“It is very good and very graceful, both, in you,” said Lord Netherby, with an almost angelic smile, “to say so. Unfortunately, these are not merely speculative opinions on my part. While I make this remark, understand me as by no means imputing any blame to them. What could they do? – that is the question, – what could they do?”

“I would rather ask of your Lordship, what have they done? When I know that, I shall be, perhaps, better enabled to reply to your question.”

In all likelihood it was more the manner than the substance of this question which made Lord Netherby hesitate how to reply to it, and at last he said, —

“To say in so many words what they have done, is not so easy. It would, perhaps, give better insight into the circumstances were I to say what they have not done.”

“Even as you please, my Lord. The negative charge, then,” said Forester, impatiently.

“Lord Castlereagh, my Lord!” said a servant, throwing open the door; for he had already received orders to admit him when he called, though, had Forester guessed how inopportune the visit could have proved, he would never have said so.

In the very different expressions of Lord Netherby and the sick man’s face, it might be seen how differently they welcomed the new arrival.

Lord Castlereagh saluted both with a courteous and cordial greeting, and although he could not avoid seeing that he had dropped in somewhat mal-à-propos, he resolved rather to shorten the limit of his stay than render it awkward by any expressions of apology. The conversation, therefore, took that easy, careless tone in which each could join with freedom. It was after a brief pause, when none exactly liked to be the first to speak, that Lord Netherby observed, —

“The very moment you were announced, my Lord, I was endeavoring to persuade my young friend here to a line of conduct in which, if I have your Lordship’s co-operation, I feel I shall be successful.”

“Pray let me hear it,” said Lord Castlereagh, gayly, and half interrupting what he feared was but the opening of an over-lengthy exposition.

Lord Netherby was not to be defeated so easily, nor defrauded of a theme whereupon to expend many loyal sentiments; and so he opened a whole battery of arguments on the subject of the young peer’s first appearance in the House, and the splendid opportunity, as he called it, of a maiden speech.

“I see but one objection,” said Lord Castlereagh, with a well-affected gravity.

“I see one hundred,” broke in Forester, impatiently.

“Perhaps my one will do,” rejoined Lord Castlereagh.

“Which is – if I may take the liberty – ” lisped out Lord Netherby.

“That there will be no debate on the subject. The motion is withdrawn.”

“Motion withdrawn! – since when?”

“I see you have not heard the news this morning,” said Lord Castlereagh, who really enjoyed the discomfiture of one very vain of possessing the earliest intelligence.

“I have heard nothing,” exclaimed he, with a sigh of despondency.

“Well, then, I may inform you, that the ‘Pike’ has brought us very stirring intelligence. The war in Egypt is now over. The French have surrendered under the terms of a convention, and a treaty has been ratified that permits their return to France. Hostages for the guarantee of the treaty have been already interchanged, and” – here he turned towards Forester, and added – “it will doubtless interest you to hear that your old friend the Knight of Gwynne is one of them, – an evidence that he is not only alive, but in good health also.”

“This is, indeed, good news you bring me,” said Forester, with a flashing eye and a heightened complexion. “Has any one written? Do Colonel Darcy’s friends know of this?”

“I have myself done so,” said Lord Castlereagh. “Not that I may attribute the thoughtful attention to myself, for I received his Royal Highness’s commands on the subject I need scarcely say that such a communication must be gratifying to any one.”

“Where are they at present?” said Forester, eagerly.

“That was a question of some difficulty to me, and I accordingly called on my Lord Netherby to ascertain the point. I found he had left home, and now have the good fortune to catch him here.” So saying, Lord Castlereagh took from the folds of a pocket-book a sealed but un-addressed letter, and dipping a pen in the ink before him, prepared to write.

There were, indeed, very few occurrences in life which made Lord Netherby feel ashamed. He had never been obliged to blush for any solecism in manner or any offence against high breeding, nor had the even tenor of his days subjected him to any occasion of actual shame, so that the confusion he now felt had the added poignancy of being a new as well as a painful sensation.

“It may seem very strange to you, my Lord,” said he, in a broken and hesitating voice; “not but that, on a little reflection, the case will be easily accounted for; but – so it is – I – really must own – I must frankly acknowledge – that I am not at this moment aware of my dear cousin’s address.”

If his Lordship had not been too much occupied in watching Lord Castlereagh’s countenance, he could not have failed to see, and be struck by, the indignant expression of Forester’s features.

“How are we to reach them, then, that’s the point?” said Lord Castlereagh, over whose handsome face not the slightest trace of passion was visible. “If I mistake not, Gwynne Abbey they have left many a day since.”

“I think I can lay my hand on a letter. I am almost certain I had one from a law-agent, called – called – ”

“Bicknell, perhaps,” interrupted Forester, blushing between shame and impatience.

“Quite right, – you are quite right,” replied Lord Netherby, with a significant glance at Lord Castlereagh, cunningly intended to draw off attention from himself. “Well, Mr. Bicknell wrote to me a very tiresome and complicated epistle about law affairs, – motions, rules, and so forth, – and mentioned at the end that Lady Eleanor and Helen were living in some remote village on the northern coast.”

“A cottage called ‘The Corvy,’” broke in Forester, “kindly lent to them by an old friend, Mr. Bagenal Daly.”

“Will that address suffice,” said Lord Castlereagh, “with the name of the nearest post-town?”

“If you will make me the postman, I ‘ll vouch for the safe delivery,” said Forester, with an animation that made him flushed and pale within the same instant.

“My dear young friend, my dear Lord Wallincourt!” exclaimed Lord Netherby, laying his hand upon his arm. He said no more; indeed he firmly believed the enunciation of his new title must be quite sufficient to recall him to a sense of due consideration for himself.

“You are scarcely strong enough, Dick,” said Lord Castlereagh, coolly. “It is a somewhat long journey for an invalid; and Halford, I ‘m sure, wouldn’t agree to it.”

“I ‘m quite strong enough,” said Forester, rising and pacing the room with an attempted vigor that made his debility seem still more remarkable: “if not to-day, I shall be to-morrow. The travelling, besides, will serve me, – change of air and scene. More than all, I am determined on doing it.”

“Not if I refuse you the despatches, I suppose?” said Lord Castlereagh, laughing.

“You can scarcely do that,” said Forester, fixing his eyes steadfastly on him. “Your memory is a bad one, or you must recollect sending me down once upon a time to that family on an errand of a different nature. Don’t you think you owe an amende to them and to me?”

“Eh! what was that? I should like to know what you allude to,” said Lord Netherby, whose curiosity became most painfully eager.

“A little secret between Dick and myself,” said Lord Castlereagh, laughing. “To show I do not forget which, I ‘ll accede to his present request, always provided that he is equal to it.”

“Oh, as to that – ”

“It must be ‘Halfordo non obstante,’ or not at all,” said Lord Castlereagh, rising. “Well,” continued he, as he moved towards the door, “I ‘ll see the doctor on my way homeward, and if he incline to the safety of the exploit, you shall hear from me before four o’clock. I ‘ll send you some extracts, too, from the official papers, such as may interest your friends, and you may add, bien des choses de ma part, in the way of civil speeches and gratulation.”

Lord Netherby had moved towards the window as Lord Castlereagh withdrew, and seemed more interested by the objects in the street than anxious to renew the interrupted conversation.

Forester – if one were to judge from his preoccupied expression – appeared equally indifferent on the subject, and both were silent. Lord Netherby at last looked at his watch, and, with an exclamation of astonishment at the lateness of the hour, took up his hat. Forester did not notice the gesture, for his mind had suddenly become awake to the indelicacy, to say no worse, of leaving London for a long journey without one effort to see his mother. A tingling feeling of shame burned in his cheek and made his heart beat faster, as he said, “I think you have your carriage below, my Lord?”

“Yes,” replied Lord Netherby, not aware whether the question might portend something agreeable or the reverse.

“If you ‘ll permit me, I ‘ll ask you to drive me to Berkeley Square. I think the air and motion will benefit me; and perhaps Lady Netherby will see me.”

“Delighted – charmed to see you – my dear young friend,” said Lord Netherby, who having, in his own person, some experience of the sway and influence her Ladyship was habituated to exercise, calculated largely on the effect of an interview between her and her son. “I don’t believe you could possibly propose anything more gratifying nor more likely to serve her. She is very weak and very nervous; but to see you will, I know, be of immense service. I ‘m sure you ‘ll not agitate her,” added he, after a pause. If the words had been “not contradict,” they would have been nearer his meaning.

“You may trust me, for both our sakes,” said Forester, smiling. “By the by, you mentioned a letter from a law-agent of the Darcys, Mr. Bicknell; was it expressive of any hope of a favorable termination to the suit, or did he opine that the case was a bad one?”

“If I remember aright, a very bad one, – bad, from the deficiency of evidence; worse, from the want of funds to carry it on. Of course I only speak from memory; and the epistle was so cramp, so complex, and with such a profusion of detail intermixed, that I could make little out of it, and retain even less. I must say that as it was written without my cousin’s knowledge or consent, I paid no attention to it. It was, so to say, quite unauthorized.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Forester, in an accent whose scorn was mistaken by the hearer, as he resumed.

“Just so; a mere lawyer’s ruse, to carry on a suit. He proposed, I own, a kind of security for any advance I should make, in the person of Miss Daly, whose property, amounting to some three or four thousand pounds, was to be given as security! There always is some person of this kind on these occasions – some tame elephant – to attract the rest; but I paid no attention to it. The only thing, indeed, I could learn of the lady was, that she had a fire-eating brother who paid bond debts with a pistol, and small ones with a horsewhip.”

“I know Mr. Daly and his sister too. He is a most honorable and high-minded gentleman; of her I only needed to hear the trait your Lordship has just mentioned, to say that she is worthy to be his sister in every respect.”

“I was not aware that they were acquaintances of yours.”

“Friends, my Lord, would better express the relationship between us, – friends, firm and true, I sincerely believe them. Pray, if not indiscreet, may I ask the date of this letter?”

“Some day of June last, I think. The case was to come on for trial next November in Westport, and it was for funds to carry on the suit, it would seem, they were pressed.”

“You did n’t hear a second time?”

“No, I ‘ve told you that I never answered this letter. I was quite willing, I am so at this hour, to be of any service to my dear cousin, Lady Eleanor Darcy, and to aid her to the fullest extent; but to prosecute a hopeless lawsuit, to throw away some thousands in an interminable Equity investigation, – to measure purses, too, against one of the richest men in Ireland, as I hear their antagonist is, – this, I could never think of.”

“But who has pronounced this claim hopeless?” said Forester, impatiently.

A cold shrug of the shoulders was all Lord Netherby’s reply.

“Not Miss Daly, certainly,” rejoined Forester, “who was willing to peril everything she possessed in the world upon the issue.”

The sarcasm intended by this speech was deeply felt by Lord Netherby, as with an unwonted concession to ill-humor, he replied, —

“There is nothing so courageous as indigence!”

“Better never be rich, then,” cried Forester, “if cowardice be the first lesson it teaches. But I think better of affluence than this. I saw that same Knight of Gwynne when at the head of a princely fortune; and I never, in any rank of life, under any circumstances, saw the qualities which grace and adorn the humblest more eminently displayed.”

“I quite agree with you; a more perfectly conducted household it is impossible to conceive.”

“I speak not of his retinue, nor of his graceful hospitalities, my Lord, nor even of his generous munificence and benevolence; these are rich men’s gifts everywhere. I speak of his trusting, confiding temper; the hopeful trust he entertained of something good in men’s natures at the moment he was smarting from their perfidy and ingratitude; the forgiveness towards those that injured, the unvarying kindness towards those that forgot him.”

“I declare,” said Lord Netherby, smiling, “I must interdict a continuance of this panegyric, now that we have arrived, for you know Colonel Darcy was a first love of Lady Netherby.”

Nothing but a courtier of Lord Netherby’s stamp could have made such a speech; and while Forester became scarlet with shame and anger, a new light suddenly broke upon him, and the rancor of his mother respecting the Knight and his family was at once explained.

“Now to announce you,” said Lord Netherby, gayly; “let that be my task.” And so saying, he lightly tripped up the stairs before Forester.

CHAPTER XXX. A BOUDOIR

When, having passed through a suite of gorgeously furnished rooms, Forester entered the dimly lighted boudoir where his lady-mother reclined, his feelings were full of troubled emotion. The remembrance of the last time he had been there was present to his mind, mingled with anxious fears as to his approaching reception. Had he been more conversant with the “world,” he needed not to have suffered these hesitations. There are few conditions in life between which so wide a gulf yawns as that of the titled heir of a house and the younger brother. He was, then, as little prepared for the affectionate greeting that met him as for the absence of all trace of illness in her Ladyship’s appearance. Both were very grateful to his feelings as he drew his chair beside her sofa, and a soft remembrance of former days of happiness stole over his pleased senses. Lord Netherby, with a fitting consideration, had left them to enjoy this interview alone, and thus their emotions were unrestrained by the presence of the only one who had witnessed their parting. Perhaps the most distinguishing trait of the closest affection is that the interruptions to its course do not involve the misery of reconciliation to enable us to return to our own place in the heart; but that, the moment of grief or anger or doubt over, we feel that we have a right to resume our influence in the breast whose thoughts have so long mingled with our own. The close ties of filial and parental love are certainly of this nature, and it must be a stubborn heart whose instincts do not tend to that forgiveness which as much blots out as it pardons past errors. Such was not Lady Netherby’s. Pride of station, the ambition of leadership in certain circles, had so incorporated themselves with the better dictates of her mind that she rarely, if ever, permitted mere feeling to influence her; but if for a moment it did get the ascendancy, her heart could feel as acutely as though it had been accustomed to such indulgence. In a word, she was as affectionate as the requirements of her rank permitted. Oh, this Rank, this Rank! how do its conventionalities twine and twist themselves round our natures till love and friendship are actually subject to the cold ordinance of a fashion! How many hide the dark spots of their heart behind the false screen they call their “Rank”! The rich man, in the Bible, clothed in his purple, and faring sumptuously, was but acting in conformity with his “Rank;” nay, more, he was charitable as became his “Rank,” for the poor were fed with the crumbs from his table.

Forester was well calculated by natural advantages to attract a mother’s pride. He was handsome and well-bred; had even more than a fair share of abilities, which gained credit for something higher from a native quickness of apprehension; and even already the adventurous circumstances of his first campaign had invested his character with a degree of interest that promised well for his success in the world. If her manner to him was then kind and affectionate, it was mingled also with something of admiration, which her woman’s heart yielded to the romantic traits of the youth.

She listened with eager pleasure to the animated description he gave of the morning at Aboukir, and the brilliant panorama of the attack; nor was the enjoyment marred by the mention of the only name that could have pained her, the last words of Lord Netherby having sealed Forester’s lips with respect to the Knight of Gwynne.

The changeful fortunes of his life as a prisoner were mingled with the recital of the news by which his exchange was effected; and this brought back once more the subject by which their interview was opened, – the death of his elder brother. Lady Netherby perhaps felt she had done enough for sorrow, for she dwelt but passingly on the theme, and rather addressed herself to the future which was now about to open before her remaining son, carefully avoiding, however, the slightest phrase that should imply dictation, and only seeming to express the natural expectation “the world” had formed of what his career should be. “Lord Netherby tells me,” said she, “that the Duke of York will, in all likelihood, name you as an extra aide-decamp, in which case you probably would remain in the service. It is an honor that could not well be declined.”

“I scarcely like to form fixed intentions which have no fixed foundations,” said Forester; “but if I might give way to my own wishes, it would be to indulge in perfect liberty, – to have no master.”

“Nor any mistress, either, to control you, for some time, I suppose,” rejoined she, smiling, as if carelessly, but watching how her words were taken. Forester affected to partake in the laugh, but could not conceal a slight degree of confusion. Lady Netherby was too clever a tactician to let even a momentary awkwardness interrupt the interview, and resumed: “You will be dreadfully worried by all the ‘lionizing’ in store for you, I’m certain; you are to be feasted and feted to any extent, and will be fortunate if the gratulations on your recovery do not bring back your illness.”

“I shall get away from it all at once,” said Forester, rising, and walking up and down, as if the thought had suggested the impatient movement.

“You cannot avoid presenting yourself at the levee,” said Lady Netherby, anxiously; for already a dread of her son’s wilful temper came over her. “His Royal Highness’s inquiries after you do not leave an option on this matter.”

“What if I’m too ill?” said he, doggedly; “what if I should not be in town?”

“But where else could you be, Richard?” said she, with a resumption of her old imperiousness of tone and manner.

“In Ireland, madam,” said Forester, coldly.

“In Ireland! And why, for any sake, in Ireland?”

Forester hesitated, and grew scarlet; he did not know whether to evade inquiry by a vague reply, or at once avow his secret determination. At length, with a faltering, uncertain voice, he said: “A matter of business will bring me to that country; I have already conversed with Lord Castlereagh on the subject. Lord Netherby was present.”

“I’m sure he could never concur, – I’m certain.” So far her Ladyship had proceeded, when a sudden fear came over her that she had ventured too far, and turning hastily, she rang the bell beside her. “Davenport,” said she to the grave-looking groom of the chambers, who as instantaneously appeared, “is my Lord at home?”

“His Lordship is in the library, my Lady.”

“Alone?”

“No, my Lady, a gentleman from Ireland is with his Lordship.”

“A gentleman from Ireland!” repeated she, half aloud, as though the very mention of that country were destined to persecute her; then quickly added, “Say I wish to speak with him here.”

The servant bowed and withdrew; and now a perfect silence reigned in the apartment. Forester felt that he had gone too far to retreat, even were he so disposed, and although dreading nothing more than a “scene,” awaited, without speaking, the course of events. As much yielding to an involuntary impatience as to relieve the awkwardness of the interval, he arose and walked into the adjoining drawing-room, carelessly tossing over books and prints upon the tables, and trying to affect an ease he was very far from experiencing.

It was while he was thus engaged that Lord Netherby entered the boudoir, and seeing her Ladyship alone, was about to speak in his usual tone, when, at a gesture from her, he was made aware of Forester’s vicinity, and hastily subdued his voice to a whisper. “Whatever the nature of the tidings which in a hurried and eager tone his Lordship retailed, her manner on hearing evinced a mingled astonishment and delight, if the word dare be applied to an emotion whose source was in anything rather than an amiable feeling.

“It seems too absurd, too monstrous in every way,” exclaimed she, at the end of an explanation which took several minutes to recount. “And why address himself to you? That seems also inexplicable.”

“This,” rejoined Lord Netherby, aloud, – “this was his own inspiration. He candidly acknowledges that no one either counselled or is even aware of the step he has taken.”

“Perhaps the à propos may do us good service,” whispered she, with a glance darted at the room where Forester was now endeavoring, by humming an air, to give token of his vicinity as well as assume an air of indifference.

“I thought of that,” said Lord Netherby, in the same low voice. “Would you see him? A few moments would be enough.”

Lady Netherby made no answer, but with closed eyes and compressed lips seemed to reflect deeply for several minutes. At last she said: “Yes, let him come. I’ll detain Richard in the drawing-room; he shall hear everything that is said. If I know anything of him, the insult to his pride will do far more than all our arguments and entreaties.”

“Don’t chill my little friend by any coldness of manner,” said his Lordship, smiling, as he moved towards the door; “I have only got him properly thawed within the last few minutes.”

“My dear Richard,” said she, as the door closed after Lord Netherby, “I must keep you prisoner in the drawing-room for a few minutes, while I receive a visitor of Lord Netherby’s. Don’t close the doors; I can’t endure heat and this room becomes insupportable without a slight current of air. Besides, there is no secret, I fancy, in the communication. As well as I understand the matter, it does not concern us; but Netherby is always doing some piece of silly good-nature, for which no one thanks him!”

The last reflection was half soliloquy, but said so that Forester could and did hear every word of it. While her Ladyship, therefore, patiently awaited the arrival of her visitor in one room, Forester threw himself into a chair, and taking up a book at hazard, endeavored to pass the interval without further thought about the matter.

Sitting with his back towards the door of the boudoir. Forester accidentally had placed himself in such a position that a large mirror between the windows reflected to him a considerable portion of the scene within. It was then with an amount of astonishment far above ordinary that he beheld the strange-looking figure who followed Lord Netherby into the apartment of his mother. He was a short, dumpy man, with a bald head, over which the long hairs of either side were studiously combed into an ingenious kind of network, and meeting at an angle above the cranium, looked like the uncovered rafters of a new house. Two fierce-looking gray eyes that seemed ready for fun or malice, rolled and revolved unceasingly over the various decorations of the chamber, while a large thick-lipped mouth, slightly opened at either end, vouched for one who neglected no palpable occasion for self-indulgence or enjoyment. There was, indeed, throughout his appearance, a look of racy satisfaction and contentment, that consorted but ill with his costume, which was a suit of deep mourning; his clothes having all the gloss and shine of a recent domestic loss, and made, as seems something to be expected on these occasions, considerably too large for him, as though to imply that the defunct should not be defrauded in the full measure of sorrow. Deep crape weepers encircled his arms to the elbows, and a very banner of black hung mournfully from his hat.