CHAPTER XI.

A voi parlo, in cui fanno Si concorde armonia Onesta, senno, onor, bellezza, e gloria; A voi spiego il mio affanno E della pena mia Narro, e’n parte piangendo, acerba istoria.

TASSO.

Before day-break on the following morning Warenne arose. In his midnight meditations he had persuaded himself that before he started for Fisherton, he should do well to communicate with Lord Framlingham, who possibly might be able to befriend him, should his character be aspersed; who, at all events, would thus have it in his power to inform Adelaide of the truth, and explain to her the difficulties of his position.

Accordingly he bent his course to Epworth, and on being admitted to Lord Framlingham, he frankly laid before him the circumstances of his case.

The old diplomatist heard Warenne with much attention, praised his zeal, approved his measures, and promised that they should be represented to ministers in their right light; but, the moment afterwards, proceeded to qualify his praise, and explain away his promises, with the true refinement of his profession.

“Colonel Warenne must be aware, that he spoke only as an individual; that he must not be considered as authorising Colonel W—— in his undertaking, for that his official power was limited to its peculiar sphere; neither could he hope to influence in any way the opinion which the commander-in-chief might be pleased to form upon the subject.”

Warenne smiled within himself at the wiliness of the politician, and at his own folly in believing that he could induce him to interest himself about one who, according to the rules of probability, might not hereafter be of use to him. Preserving, however, his external gravity of demeanour, he respectfully bade the noble lord good morning, and resolved for the future to depend solely on his own resources.

He was passing through the hall, in order to leave the house, when he met Adelaide. The temptation of once again speaking to her, while yet he remained a _chevalier sans reproche_, was not to be resisted. He followed her into the drawing-room.

She looked upon his care-worn countenance with surprise. “Has anything,” she asked hesitatingly, “occurred to harass you? You look fatigued and full of anxiety, as though you had been called out in the night to take measures against some rioters.”

“You are not far wrong in your conjectures,” answered Warenne; “change but the time, and instead of supposing me to have been engaged with them the past night, think me about to meet them to-night, and you will be right?”

“Are the thoughts, then, of a rural campaign,” demanded Adelaide, more gaily, “sufficient to cloud Colonel Warenne’s brow? I thought the spirit of so renowned a warrior would have risen at the approach of danger.”

“You would scarcely jest, Miss Marston,” replied Warenne, gravely, “if you knew the extent of the danger which I apprehend. Houses burnt, lives lost, and a town sacked, are not matter of merriment.”

“Heavens! no,” said Adelaide; “but how could I dream of such horrors as these? I thought but of some bloodless disturbance, of the same nature with those we have lately witnessed. Tell me, if I may know, what makes you anticipate such dreadful events?”

Warenne thought that he violated no duty if he seized this chance of placing his character in its proper light before Adelaide; he therefore simply related to her the occurrences which had taken place, and the measures which he had determined to adopt.

“I leave,” said he, as soon as he had finished his explanation, “three troops still behind me at Calbury, under the command of Frank, so that you will not be destitute of protection.”

“Oh, I am not afraid for myself,” answered Adelaide; “but have you told me all? I beg your pardon, if I have asked an impertinent question; do not answer it if I have; but there is a tone of desperation in your manner which alarms me.”

At this moment it flashed upon Adelaide’s mind that Warenne’s feelings might in some way have reference to herself; she therefore hastily added, “Forgive me. I am too inquisitive.”

“I know not,” replied Warenne, “why I should withhold from you the causes of my uneasiness. You will perceive, that in my present position I am forced to act upon my own responsibility, in opposition to the express and repeated orders of my commanding officer. Whether I succeed in my undertaking, or whether I fail, I make myself liable to be brought to a court-martial for a breach of military discipline; and I confess that I have not that confidence in General Mapleton, which encourages me to hope that he will overlook an opportunity of establishing his authority over an officer whom he considers, though God knows without reason, as inclined to treat him with impertinence. I can hardly look forward to anything but disgrace in this affair, view it which way I will. This is not a pleasing reflection, nor one that reconciles me to the prospect of a bloody affray with some of my misguided fellow-countrymen. I have little enough to boast of; but if of any thing, it is my fair fame as a soldier—that lost, I am poor indeed;—but forgive me, Miss Marston, I have no right to talk thus of myself to you. There is no limit, it would seem, to my presumption,—yet, as I have said thus much, let me beg you not to condemn me hastily;—when the world points its finger of scorn at me, and when I am a dishonoured and ruined man, think of the difficulties in which I have been placed, and do not, I beseech you—do not cast me from your remembrance as utterly unworthy of all esteem. I can bear anything but _that_—_that_ (as he spoke he pressed his hands violently upon his eyes, as if to shut out some object of horror), I could not bear. You know not what value—but why do I speak thus to you? I am a fool, a madman! Pardon me—forget that I have dared to express the wild and presumptuous feelings of my heart. I have been wrong in giving utterance to them; but I can assure you, that I meant not to have spoken, that I did not seek this interview. I will not again betray my folly before you. Whatever I may feel, I will bury it in silence. God’s mercy protect you!”

Having rapidly and passionately poured forth these broken sentences, Warenne rushed from the room, long before Adelaide, who, from the tone which had prevailed in their recent meetings, had been little prepared for such an avowal, had time to compose herself sufficiently to answer him. Ere she had regained her presence of mind, he had mounted his horse, and was on his road to Charnstead.

At first Adelaide gave herself up to the happy consciousness of being beloved by him to whom she had surrendered the first affections of her heart. In spite of all his proud resolutions, he had avowed it; and though she knew not when her hopes might be realised, she pictured to herself future years of happiness. After a while these bright visions faded from her mind, and she was tempted to despond. Warenne would not have looked so gloomily upon the case, had he not had reason so to do. Even success, she had been told, could hardly justify disobedience in military matters; and she herself saw, that no general could be responsible for the operations of an army, if each subaltern under his command claimed the right to dispose of his own immediate force as he pleased. Then she dreaded the effect of disgrace upon Warenne’s mind—proud and gallant as he was, he was sensitive on the score of honour, to a degree which his military education alone could explain.

By degrees she drew herself again from this train of thought; fixed her mind upon his unhesitating sacrifice of himself in the fulfilment of his duty; recollected his gallant actions in the Peninsula, which had won him his high name; thought of his calm courage in the hour of danger, and the almost instinctive sagacity with which he was wont to meet it; repeated to herself the many stories to his credit, which Henry and Frank had gleaned from the old soldiers of the regiment; and comforted herself in the hope of his happy return amid the blessings of his rescued fellow-countrymen. His military fault would be pardoned for the zeal he would show, and for the ability with which he would counteract the designs of the conspirators. She would see him return, crowned with fresh laurels, more beloved, more admired, more honoured than before.