CHAPTER XXI.

Thy bosom hath been sear'd by pride of state, Hard, cold, and dead to nature's sympathies; Nor know'st thou virtue's awe--nor gentleness, How sovereign 'tis! Nor hast thou felt The nameless fear and humbleness of mind 'Gender'd by sight of others' misery.

_MS. Play._

When the Countess of Nithsdale quitted the Tower, she lost no time in despatching to her lord the lawyer in whose discretion he had most confidence, and who had previously assisted him in drawing up his written answer to the impeachment.

She then waited on the Lady Nairne, whom she found surrounded by her family; a quiet and sober matron, upon whose composed countenance, and in whose well-ordered deportment, it would have been difficult to detect the passions that might, or might not, affect the soul within.

The countess was introduced with all the form of those more ceremonious times, and the Lady Nairne received her with due attention. It was not till Lady Nithsdale had made many apologies for so sudden a visit to one with whose acquaintance she had not previously been honoured, and had begun to explain the cause of her intrusion, that the vehemence of her emotion made her break through the trammels imposed by custom; and she adjured her, by her own hope of saving her husband's life, by her own hope of preserving a father to her children, to give her the support of her company and countenance to the king's presence.

The Lady Nairne at first hesitated, for she was not, like the Duchess of Montrose, the ardent, devoted friend, nor, like Mrs. Morgan, the creature of impulse; but a sober and prudent lady, past the age of enthusiasm, occupied with her own interests, and discreetly intent on availing herself of every means calculated to preserve a father to her numerous family.

After some moments spent in consideration, she came to the conclusion that in all probability the king would be loth, in the very outset of his reign, to reject at once the prayers of two disconsolate wives; and that, of the two, there was every reason to believe that her lord was likely to be more favourably looked upon than the Earl of Nithsdale; and that, consequently, his countess's presence might rather advance, than mar, her own chance of success.

Having thus reflected, she politely acquiesced in the Lady Nithsdale's wishes; nor need we imagine she felt no sympathy for a fellow-creature in distress so similar to her own. On the contrary, she was happy to afford her any assistance that did not tend to injure her own cause; but bred in courts, and accustomed to repress all outward demonstrations of unusual feeling, she replied in so measured, though not unkind a tone, that the glowing expressions of gratitude, which were ready to overflow from the countess's heart, were frozen on her lips, and her thanks were couched in terms scarcely less measured than the Lady Nairne's consent.

Having, however, arranged that when the petitions of their lords were ready they would again meet, and that meanwhile Lady Nithsdale should procure the assistance of a friend who was well acquainted with the king's person, (for his outward appearance was equally unknown to both the Jacobite ladies,) the Lady Nairne accompanied the countess to the head of the stairs, and, with all the courtly forms of good breeding, dismissed her guest.

Lady Nithsdale then hastened to the warm-hearted Mrs. Morgan, and, explaining to her the nature of the service she required, obtained her cordial assurance that she would be in readiness to accompany Lady Nairne and herself to St. James's on the evening of the 13th, when she had no doubt she should be able so to place them as that they might personally present their petitions to his majesty. The expansion of heart, the melting sympathy of Mrs. Morgan, were a balm to Lady Nithsdale's feelings, after the coldness and prudence of the Lady Nairne. But deep grief is in its nature selfish.

It may be true, that unclouded prosperity sometimes hardens the heart, or, at least, renders the impressions made by sorrows which have never been felt, and are consequently ill understood, but slight and transient; and it is also true, that the having once known grief opens the heart to the full comprehension of the feelings of one's fellows,--but then it must be a grief that is past. While writhing under present anxiety, while smarting under present agony, the warmest, the most capacious heart is unable to take in the sufferings of others. Human nature, in all things limited, can feel but to a certain extent; and when every faculty of the soul is absorbed by present, actual evil, there is no power left to feel that which is not personal. Mrs. Morgan, happy and prosperous herself, had leisure to give herself to the sufferings of Lady Nithsdale; she adopted them as her own--she entered into them heart and soul! While Lady Nairne, with all most dear to herself at stake, could not but consider the concerns of another as of very secondary interest, and would not have felt herself justified in allowing compassion for a person, in no way connected with her, to interfere in the slightest degree with her duties as a wife and a mother. Lady Nithsdale would have been the first to admit such views to be most just and fitting; but still the expressions of gratitude, which had before been chilled, poured forth in eloquent profusion when addressing Mrs. Morgan.

Upon her return to her own lodgings, she perceived that Amy Evans learned with satisfaction, that a petition was to be presented to the king, before the attempt was made to effect her lord's evasion. Although resolved to assist to the utmost in carrying her lady's plan into execution, she felt that escape from the Tower must be impracticable; while, on the contrary, it seemed to her impossible that any being with human affections could resist the voice, the words, the pleading looks of her dear mistress!

The 13th arrived. Lady Nithsdale attired herself in deep mourning, considering such a habit most suitable to a person under her circumstances; but Amy gave an involuntary shudder as she looked upon her lady in this ominous garb. The expression of her countenance did not escape Lady Nithsdale's observation: "Start not, dear Amy, at this sad-coloured dress. If it betokens anything, 'tis but the failure of my this day's business. But it is not on the result of this day that I rest my hopes. I wait on the king, for my lord wishes me to do so, and I cannot choose but execute his behests; but I have slender hope of moving him by my entreaties. It is to ourselves that we must look; to our own efforts, Amy, aided by that Divine Providence, who deserts not the humble in their need. I feel hope, strong hope, within my bosom; but it is not of finding favour at the court. No! it is to a higher power I look for salvation,--on Heaven that I place my reliance!"

"Assuredly, most honoured madam. But it is right to try every means that Providence places within our reach."

"Yes, Amy, and I will leave none untried."

Mrs. Morgan and the Lady Nairne were now announced, and the Countess of Nithsdale entered the coach to proceed with them to St. James's.

Mrs. Morgan found no difficulty in procuring their admission to the antechamber through which the king must necessarily pass in his way from his own apartments to the drawing-room. The ladies placed themselves in the recess of the middle window of the three, which occupied one side of the apartment; and, somewhat concealed by the curtains, they there awaited the coming of the king.

Upon the most trifling occasions expectation makes the heart beat: the watching the opening of a door, the entrance of any particular individual, excites a certain emotion. What must then have been the feelings of the countess as, with her eyes riveted upon the folding-doors through which his majesty was to enter, she fancied every moment she saw them move! And when they unfolded, and some of the lords of the bed-chamber passed forth, she each time turned an anxious, inquiring glance on Mrs. Morgan, to know if this might be the king.

While she was thus in breathless expectation, the Duke of Montrose approached to cheer her, by a few words of kindly encouragement; but she made him a sign not to claim her acquaintance; for the Earl of Pembroke having, at the time he promised to interest himself in her favour, desired her not to address him in public, she deemed that any exertion the duke might subsequently make for her, would come with the more effect from one who did not appear in the light of a personal friend.

Every moment seemed to Lady Nithsdale an age. Even the composed Lady Nairne changed colour: and Mrs. Morgan looked from one to the other, and frequently pressed Lady Nithsdale's hand, and bade her be of good cheer and not lose courage. She assured her the king would not long tarry; that he was usually most punctual in his habits; and, in an agitated tone, uttered all the consoling nothings, which are poured into the ear of those, whose highly-wrought nerves are expected to give way at the moment it is most needful they should be collected.

At length the door again opened: there was a general stillness. Every one who could command a view of the persons approaching, arranged his countenance, composed his demeanour; the court gossip, which had been buzzed around, was suddenly hushed, the lounging attitude relinquished, the droll anecdote suspended, and the laugh silenced.

A pale man, with a good, rather than a dignified aspect, entered the apartment. He wore a tie-wig. His dress was plain, and all of one sober colour, with stockings of the same hue.

Lady Nithsdale read in Mrs. Morgan's glance that it was the king, and she hastened from the recess of the window. She threw herself on her knees before him, as he reached the middle of the room, telling him she was the unfortunate Countess of Nithsdale, who implored mercy for her husband. She spoke in French, as the king's knowledge of English was very imperfect. She held up the petition with both her hands, entreating him to read it; but the king waved her off, and attempted to proceed.

The Lady Nairne also was not backward in pressing her petition, and the king impatiently thrust them both from him, and passed on towards the opposite door; but the Lady Nithsdale clung to the skirts of his coat.

As she pleaded, and pleaded in vain, she grew desperate,--almost maddened. Still in vain! The king listened not to her prayers. She would not let go her hold, and was actually dragged in her agony from the middle of the antechamber to the door of the drawing-room, when one of the lords in attendance forcibly wrested the king's dress from her hands, while another took her round the waist and raised her from the ground.

No sooner did she feel the touch of a stranger than all her dignity and self-possession returned. Quickly disengaging herself from his grasp, she stood for a moment looking on the door by which the monarch had retired. Her bosom swelled with indignation--the blood of all her noble ancestors mantled in her face. That she, the daughter of the Duke of Powis, should thus be treated! rejected!--cast off like the scum of the earth! when it was well-known the king received the petitions of the meanest of his subjects!--that she should be dragged on the very ground--that she should be spurned from his feet--that she should be forcibly seized by rude hands!

All around seemed to swim before her eyes; and had it not been for Mrs. Morgan's kindly help, she must have fallen on the floor. Her friend gently assisted her to a seat, and then a flood of tears came to her relief.

Meanwhile, the petition which she had attempted to thrust into the king's pocket had fallen to the ground, and one of the gentlemen in waiting brought it to her. The Lady Nairne had already succeeded in delivering her's to one who promised it should reach the king; and the Lady Nithsdale, when somewhat recovered from the agitation of this strange scene, hastily wrote a few lines in pencil, addressed to the Earl of Dorset, who was the lord of the bed-chamber then in waiting, and entrusted it, with the petition, to Mrs. Morgan.

Her friend left the countess for a while, and entered the drawing-room; but to one so zealous, so devoted, so warm-hearted, the brilliant circle seemed for a moment a confused and bewildering scene. She had just parted from a fellow-creature, whose soul was harrowed by the most agonising emotions, her face pale and haggard, her dress disordered; she had just been witnessing grief,--desperation in its most touching form; and in one moment she found herself among gay and thoughtless creatures, all intent on their own objects of vanity and amusement! The studied attire, the conscious simper, the pretty blush, the down-cast lid, the bewitching smile, the graceful turn of the swan-like throat, the brilliant flash of the sparkling eye, the affected flutter of the fan, the thousand varied attractions, were all put in requisition to charm, to dazzle, or to subdue. She heard around her the playful banter, the witty repartee, the implied compliment, the softened whisper, the politely turned attack, the sharp retort; and she wondered for the moment how such frivolities could possess so absorbing an interest!

She was threading her way through the gay and dazzling throng, when her progress was arrested by the circle around the king himself. She was compelled to wait with outward composure, although she was secretly all impatience to execute the commission entrusted to her, and to return quickly to Lady Nithsdale. As she stood watching for an opportunity of slipping past unperceived, she found herself within sight, though scarcely within hearing, of the Duchess of Montrose.

Two young men were evidently paying her the sort of homage permitted by the gallantry of the day. She was answering each with animation and spirit. There was the passing frown, the lightening smile, the assumed air of absence if anything was said which she wished not to hear.

The attention of one of the gentlemen being presently withdrawn by some of his acquaintance, it appeared to Mrs. Morgan that the other continued the conversation in a more earnest tone than before. She fancied she saw a blush mantle on the cheek of the duchess,--for a moment she appeared distressed. The duke, who was near, and was engaged in deep and serious discourse with the Earl of Pembroke, had taken no part in the playful conversation which was passing behind him. But the duchess, making some light evasive answer, suddenly tapped her husband's arm with her fan, and caused him to turn round. She then seemed to be detailing to him the point in dispute, and applying to him as umpire. Mrs. Morgan watched all these little manœuvres; for she could not help wondering how one who professed friendship for the Countess of Nithsdale could thus give herself up to worldly vanities and interests. When first she caught a view of the Duke of Montrose's countenance, it bore the traces of sadness; but as he listened to his graceful and lively wife, it brightened into a bland expression of amusement. Upon the duke's being thus called to join in the discourse, the young gallant seemed discomposed but for an instant, and apparently recovering himself, at once entered into the spirit of the duchess's bantering; and Mrs. Morgan again thought of the countess's despair, and mentally exclaimed, "If she could see how gaily her friend, the lively duchess, can smile even now!" But she did not long feel thus. In a few moments the duke, in a low voice, made some communication to his wife, which had the effect of chasing the roses from her cheeks, and dimming the brilliancy of her smile. The dark and laughing eyes no longer sparkled with the gay consciousness of charming, but were fixed on her husband's face with an expression of dismay and woe.

She looked round as if wishing to make her escape; then, perceiving Mrs. Morgan, she rushed to her:--

"Oh, Mrs. Morgan!" she exclaimed, "is this all true? You were with her, were you not?"

"Yes, your grace; I was with the Countess of Nithsdale, even now, in the antechamber."

"Is she still there? I must go to her; I must go instantly to my poor cousin Winifred!"

"Stay, dearest Christian!" interposed the duke; "Lady Nithsdale herself, this very evening, motioned me not to speak to her; and the Earl of Pembroke says, the less we put ourselves forward unnecessarily, the more effectually we may be able to serve her. Be not so rash and thoughtless. That warm heart of yours carries you beyond the bounds of prudence, dear Christian!"--but the duke looked at her with pleasure and kindness while he checked her.

"Alas! and is it true that the king dragged her all across the room, and would not give heed to her petition?"

"Most true, your grace!"

"Oh, my lord duke! but indeed this was not kind and right in his majesty," said the duchess, turning once more towards her husband an appealing glance.

"We must not speak treason, dearest Christian, here, in the royal presence!"

"Nay! I cannot but think this was cruel:--and may I not go to her? Is she still in the antechamber, Mrs. Morgan?"

"Yes, but she will be gone in a few moments; and your grace may rest assured that the countess shall meet with every kindness and attention."

"You are a good, kind soul," said the duchess; "and my poor cousin has many times told me how much she owes to your friendly sympathy."

The king had changed his position, and the passage was now free. Mrs. Morgan, after briefly explaining her errand to the duchess, passed on to where the Earl of Dorset was engaged at cards with the Prince. She contrived, however, to give him the packet; and received his assurance, that when the game was over, he would peruse and attend to its contents.

As she wound her way back, she found that the king's rejection of the Ladies Nithsdale's and Nairne's petitions had been rapidly communicated from mouth to mouth; and that, except in the immediate hearing of the king, no other subject was discussed. She could scarcely make her way through the crowd, so anxious was every one to learn from her each detail of what had really passed. All were eager, some indignant; but some urged, that if his majesty once received a wife's petition, it would be most difficult then to refuse, and that unless he had made up his mind to pardon treason--proved and acknowledged treason--he had no other course to pursue than to avoid witnessing grief he could not alleviate; that his sudden, though somewhat undignified flight, did not by any means bear the character of hardness, but, on the contrary, might lead a candid mind to believe he durst not trust himself to witness the desperation of two disconsolate wives.

It was with difficulty that Mrs. Morgan regained the door, and hastened back to the friend who stood so much in need of her consoling sympathy. Slowly and drearily did they retrace their steps.

The Lady Nairne, who had secret information that her application was likely to be successful, was comparatively composed, and bore what should have seemed an equal disappointment with equanimity and resignation.

The Countess of Nithsdale, exhausted, humbled, indignant, mortified, grieved, was for the time more thoroughly subdued than she had ever been before.

And yet she had not been sanguine as to the result of this petition; those means on which she most relied were still available; but to her lofty spirit, the contempt with which she had been treated, in sight of all the court, gave her a painful sensation of degradation. It was some slight consolation to her to learn from Mrs. Morgan, what the Duchess of Montrose the next day confirmed still more strongly, that when the circumstances which had occurred without became generally whispered through the drawing-room, the harshness of the king had been the topic of conversation the whole evening.

With her gentleness there was blended a certain degree of pride, a consciousness of being the scion of an ancient stock, which would have rendered it impossible for a mean thought even to pass through her mind, and which ever enabled her to entrench herself in dignified reserve, should others neglect to pay that respect due to noble birth, which, unless forgotten by them, would never be remembered by herself.