YOUNG LOCHINVAR

Judge Staveley, whose court had not been kept sitting to a late hour by any such eloquence as that of Mr. Furnival, had gone home before the business of the other court had closed.  Augustus, who was his father’s marshal, remained for his friend, and had made his way in among the crowd, so as to hear the end of the speech.

“Don’t wait dinner for us,” he had said to his father.  “If you do you will be hating us all the time; and we sha’n’t be there till between eight and nine.”

“I should be sorry to hate you,” said the judge, “and so I won’t.”  When therefore Felix Graham escaped from the court at about half-past seven, the two young men were able to take their own time and eat their dinner together comfortably, enjoying their bottle of champagne between them perhaps more thoroughly than they would have done had the judge and Mrs. Staveley shared it with them.

But Felix had something of which to think besides the champagne ­something which was of more consequence to him even than the trial in which he was engaged.  Madeline had promised that she would meet him that evening; ­or rather had not so promised.  When asked to do so she had not refused, but even while not refusing had reminded him that her mother would be there.  Her manner to him had, he thought, been cold, though she had not been ungracious.  Upon the whole, he could not make up his mind to expect success.  “Then he must have been a fool!” the reader learned in such matters will say.  The reader learned in such matters is, I think, right.  In that respect he was a fool.

“I suppose we must give the governor the benefit of our company over his wine,” said Augustus, as soon as their dinner was over.

“I suppose we ought to do so.”

“And why not?  Is there any objection?”

“To tell the truth,” said Graham, “I have an appointment which I am very anxious to keep.”

“An appointment?  Where?  Here at Noningsby, do you mean?”

“In this house.  But yet I cannot say that it is absolutely an appointment.  I am going to ask your sister what my fate is to be.”

“And that is the appointment!  Very well, my dear fellow; and may God prosper you.  If you can convince the governor that it is all right, I shall make no objection.  I wish, for Madeline’s sake, that you had not such a terrible bee in your bonnet.”

“And you will go to the judge alone?”

“Oh, yes.  I’ll tell him .  What shall I tell him?”

“The truth, if you will.  Good-bye, old fellow.  You will not see me again to-night, nor yet to-morrow in this house, unless I am more fortunate than I have any right to hope to be.”

“Faint heart never won fair lady, you know,” said Augustus.

“My heart is faint enough then; but nevertheless I shall say what I have got to say.”  And then he got up from the table.

“If you don’t come down to us,” said Augustus, “I shall come up to you.  But may God speed you.  And now I’ll go to the governor.”

Felix made his way from the small breakfast-parlour in which they had dined across the hall into the drawing-room, and there he found Lady Staveley alone.  “So the trial is not over yet, Mr. Graham?” she said.

“No; there will be another day of it.”

“And what will be the verdict?  Is it possible that she really forged the will?”

“Ah! that I cannot say.  You know that I am one of her counsel, Lady Staveley?”

“Yes; I should have remembered that, and been more discreet.  If you are looking for Madeline, Mr. Graham, I think that she is in the library.”

“Oh! thank you; ­in the library.”  And then Felix got himself out of the drawing-room into the hall again not in the most graceful manner.  He might have gone direct from the drawing-room to the library, but this he did not remember.  It was very odd, he thought, that Lady Staveley, of whose dislike to him he had felt sure, should have thus sent him direct to her daughter, and have become a party, as it were, to an appointment between them.  But he had not much time to think of this before he found himself in the room.  There, sure enough, was Madeline waiting to listen to his story.  She was seated when he entered, with her back to him; but as she heard him she rose, and, after pausing for a moment, she stepped forward to meet him.

“You and Augustus were very late to-day,” she said.

“Yes.  I was kept there, and he was good enough to wait for me.”

“You said you wanted to ­speak to me,” she said, hesitating a little, but yet very little; “to speak to me alone; and so mamma said I had better come in here.  I hope you are not vexed that I should have told her.”

“Certainly not, Miss Staveley.”

“Because I have no secrets from mamma.”

“Nor do I wish that anything should be secret.  I hate all secrecies.  Miss Staveley, your father knows of my intention.”

On this point Madeline did not feel it to be necessary to say anything.  Of course her father knew of the intention.  Had she not received her father’s sanction for listening to Mr. Graham she would not have been alone with him in the library.  It might be that the time would come in which she would explain all this to her lover, but that time had not come yet.  So when he spoke of her father she remained silent, and allowing her eyes to fall to the ground she stood before him, waiting to hear his question.

“Miss Staveley,” he said; ­and he was conscious himself of being very awkward.  Much more so, indeed, than there was any need, for Madeline was not aware that he was awkward.  In her eyes he was quite master of the occasion, and seemed to have everything his own way.  He had already done all that was difficult in the matter, and had done it without any awkwardness.  He had already made himself master of her heart, and it was only necessary now that he should enter in and take possession.  The ripe fruit had fallen, as Miss Furnival had once chosen to express it, and there he was to pick it up, ­if only he considered it worth his trouble to do so.  That manner of the picking would not signify much, as Madeline thought.  That he desired to take it into his garner and preserve it for his life’s use was everything to her, but the method of his words at the present moment was not much.  He was her lord and master.  He was the one man who had conquered and taken possession of her spirit; and as to his being awkward, there was not much in that.  Nor do I say that he was awkward.  He spoke his mind in honest, plain terms, and I do not know he could have done better.

“Miss Staveley,” he said, “in asking you to see me alone, I have made a great venture.  I am indeed risking all that I most value.”  And then he paused, as though he expected that she would speak.  But she still kept her eyes upon the ground, and still stood silent before him.  “I cannot but think you must guess my purpose,” he said, “though I acknowledge that I have had nothing that can warrant me in hoping for a favourable answer.  There is my hand; if you can take it you need not doubt that you have my heart with it.”  And then he held out to her his broad, right hand.

Madeline still stood silent before him and still fixed her eyes upon the ground, but very slowly she raised her little hand and allowed her soft slight fingers to rest upon his open palm.  It was as though she thus affixed her legal signature and seal to the deed of gift.  She had not said a word to him; not a word of love or a word of assent; but no such word was now necessary.

“Madeline, my own Madeline,” he said; and then taking unfair advantage of the fingers which she had given him he drew her to his breast and folded her in his arms.

It was nearly an hour after this when he returned to the drawing-room.  “Do go in now,” she said.  “You must not wait any longer; indeed you must go.”

“And you ­; you will come in presently.”

“It is already nearly eleven.  No, I will not show myself again to-night.  Mamma will soon come up to me, I know.  Good-night, Felix.  Do you go now, and I will follow you.”  And then after some further little ceremony he left her.

When he entered the drawing-room Lady Staveley was there, and the judge with his teacup beside him, and Augustus standing with his back to the fire.  Felix walked up to the circle, and taking a chair sat down, but at the moment said nothing.

“You didn’t get any wine after your day’s toil, Master Graham,” said the judge.

“Indeed I did, sir.  We had some champagne.”

“Champagne, had you?  Then I ought to have waited for my guest, for I got none.  You had a long day of it in court.”

“Yes, indeed, sir.”

“And I am afraid not very satisfactory.”  To this Graham made no immediate answer, but he could not refrain from thinking that the day, taken altogether, had been satisfactory to him.

And then Baker came into the room, and going close up to Lady Staveley, whispered something in her ear.  “Oh, ah, yes,” said Lady Staveley.  “I must wish you good night, Mr. Graham.”  And she took his hand, pressing it very warmly.  But though she wished him good night then, she saw him again before he went to bed.  It was a family in which all home affairs were very dear, and a new son could not be welcomed into it without much expression of affection.

“Well, sir! and how have you sped since dinner?” the judge asked as soon as the door was closed behind his wife.

“I have proposed to your daughter and she has accepted me.”  And as he said so he rose from the chair in which he had just now seated himself.

“Then, my boy, I hope you will make her a good husband;” and the judge gave him his hand.

“I will try to do so.  I cannot but feel, however, how little right I had to ask her, seeing that I am likely to be so poor a man.”

“Well, well, well ­we will talk of that another time.  At present we will only sing your triumphs ­

   “So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
    There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.”

“Felix, my dear fellow, I congratulate you with all my heart,” said Augustus.  “But I did not know you were good as a warrior.”

“Ah, but he is though,” said the judge.  “What do you think of his wounds?  And if all that I hear be true, he has other battles on hand.  But we must not speak about that till this poor lady’s trial is over.”

“I need hardly tell you, sir,” said Graham, with that sheep-like air which a man always carries on such occasions, “that I regard myself as the most fortunate man in the world.”

“Quite unnecessary,” said the judge.  “On such occasions that is taken as a matter of course.”  And then the conversation between them for the next ten minutes was rather dull and flat.

Up stairs the same thing was going on, in a manner somewhat more animated, between the mother and daughter, ­for ladies on such occasions can be more animated than men.

“Oh, mamma, you must love him,” Madeline said.

“Yes, my dear; of course I shall love him now.  Your papa says that he is very clever.”

“I know papa likes him.  I knew that from the very first.  I think that was the reason why ­”

“And I suppose clever people are the best, ­that is to say, if they are good.”

“And isn’t he good?”

“Well ­I hope so.  Indeed, I’m sure he is.  Mr. Orme was a very good young man too; ­but it’s no good talking about him now.”

“Mamma, that never could have come to pass.”

“Very well, my dear.  It’s over now, and of course all that I looked for was your happiness.”

“I know that, mamma; and indeed I am very happy.  I’m sure I could not ever have liked any one else since I first knew him.”

Lady Staveley still thought it very odd, but she had nothing else to say.  As regarded the pecuniary considerations of the affair she left them altogether to her husband, feeling that in this way she could relieve herself from misgivings which might otherwise make her unhappy.  “And after all I don’t know that his ugliness signifies,” she said to herself.  And so she made up her mind that she would be loving and affectionate to him, and sat up till she heard his footsteps in the passage, in order that she might speak to him, and make him welcome to the privileges of a son-in-law.

“Mr. Graham,” she said, opening her door as he passed by.

“Of course she has told you,” said Felix.

“Oh yes, she has told me.  We don’t have many secrets in this house.  And I’m sure I congratulate you with all my heart; and I think you have got the very best girl in all the world.  Of course I’m her mother; but I declare, if I was to talk of her for a week, I could not say anything of her but good.”

“I know how fortunate I am.”

“Yes, you are fortunate.  For there is nothing in the world equal to a loving wife who will do her duty.  And I’m sure you’ll be good to her.”

“I will endeavour to be so.”

“A man must be very bad indeed who would be bad to her, ­and I don’t think that of you.  And it’s a great thing, Mr. Graham, that Madeline should have loved a man of whom her papa is so fond.  I don’t know what you have done to the judge, I’m sure.”  This she said, remembering in the innocence of her heart that Mr. Arbuthnot had been a son-in-law rather after her own choice, and that the judge always declared that his eldest daughter’s husband had seldom much to say for himself.

“And I hope that Madeline’s mother will receive me as kindly as Madeline’s father,” said he, taking Lady Staveley’s hand and pressing it.

“Indeed I will.  I will love you very dearly if you will let me.  My girls’ husbands are the same to me as sons.”  Then she put up her face and he kissed it, and so they wished each other good night.

He found Augustus in his own room, and they two had hardly sat themselves down over the fire, intending to recall the former scenes which had taken place in that very room, when a knock was heard at the door, and Mrs. Baker entered.

“And so it’s all settled, Mr. Felix,” said she.

“Yes,” said he; “all settled.”

“Well now! didn’t I know it from the first?”

“Then what a wicked old woman you were not to tell,” said Augustus.

“That’s all very well, Master Augustus.  How would you like me to tell of you; ­for I could, you know?”

“You wicked old woman, you couldn’t do anything of the kind.”

“Oh, couldn’t I?  But I defy all the world to say a word of Miss Madeline but what’s good, ­only I did know all along which way the wind was blowing.  Lord love you, Mr. Graham, when you came in here all of a smash like, I knew it wasn’t for nothing.”

“You think he did it on purpose then,” said Staveley.

“Did it on purpose?  What; make up to Miss Madeline?  Why, of course he did it on purpose.  He’s been a-thinking of it ever since Christmas night, when I saw you, Master Augustus, and a certain young lady when you came out into the dark passage together.”

“That’s a downright falsehood, Mrs. Baker.”

“Oh ­very well.  Perhaps I was mistaken.  But now, Mr. Graham, if you don’t treat our Miss Madeline well ­”

“That’s just what I’ve been telling him,” said her brother.  “If he uses her ill, as he did his former wife ­breaks her heart as he did with that one ­”

“His former wife!” said Mrs. Baker.

“Haven’t you heard of that?  Why, he’s had two already.”

“Two wives already!  Oh now, Master Augustus, what an old fool I am ever to believe a word that comes out of your mouth.”  Then having uttered her blessing, and having had her hand cordially grasped by this new scion of the Staveley family, the old woman left the young men to themselves, and went to her bed.

“Now that it is done ­,” said Felix.

“You wish it were undone.”

“No, by heaven!  I think I may venture to say that it will never come to me to wish that.  But now that it is done, I am astonished at my own impudence almost as much as at my success.  Why should your father have welcomed me to his house as his son-in-law, seeing how poor are my prospects?”

“Just for that reason; and because he is so different from other men.  I have no doubt that he is proud of Madeline for having liked a man with an ugly face and no money.”

“If I had been beautiful like you, I shouldn’t have had a chance with him.”

“Not if you’d been weighted with money also.  Now, as for myself, I confess I’m not nearly so magnanimous as my father, and, for Mad’s sake, I do hope you will get rid of your vagaries.  An income, I know, is a very commonplace sort of thing; but when a man has a family there are comforts attached to it.”

“I am at any rate willing to work,” said Graham somewhat moodily.

“Yes, if you may work exactly in your own way.  But men in the world can’t do that.  A man, as I take it, must through life allow himself to be governed by the united wisdom of others around him.  He cannot take upon himself to judge as to every step by his own lights.  If he does, he will be dead before he has made up his mind as to the preliminaries.”  And in this way Augustus Staveley from the depth of his life’s experience spoke words of worldly wisdom to his future brother-in-law.

On the next morning before he started again for Alston and his now odious work, Graham succeeded in getting Madeline to himself for five minutes.  “I saw both your father and mother last night,” said he, “and I shall never forget their goodness to me.”

“Yes, they are good.”

“It seems like a dream to me that they should have accepted me as their son-in-law.”

“But it is no dream to me, Felix; ­or if so, I do not mean to wake any more.  I used to think that I should never care very much for anybody out of my own family; ­but now ­” And she then pressed her little hand upon his arm.

“And Felix,” she said, as he prepared to leave her, “you are not to go away from Noningsby when the trial is over.  I wanted mamma to tell you, but she said I’d better do it.”