CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE EVENING FEAST.

“Come to the festal board to-night, For bright-eyed beauty will be there, Her coral lips in nectar steeped, And garlanded her hair.

“But where is she whose diamond eyes Golconda’s purest gems outshine? Whose roseate lips of Eden breathed, Say, where is she, the beauteous one?” _Thomas Dunn English._

The gentlemen then went to the drawing-room, whither Lady Morelle, in full dinner dress, had already preceded them. And here Lord Montressor learned that other guests were then staying at the house—a fact that he never could have supposed from the gloomy aspect of the place. However they were soon joined by her grace, the old Duchess of Graveminster, with her grand-daughters, the ladies Jane and Mary Chappelle, and oh! “tell it not in Gath! publish it not in the gates of Askelon!”—by Lord and Lady Monson, Mr. and Mrs. Howard Kennaugh, and Mrs. Bute Trevor!—ladies who, in Lady Bannerman’s boudoir, had been the most unsparing in their denunciation of the beautiful Estelle, the only daughter of that house, whose hospitality they now sought! Does the reader wonder at this? No, he does not! He or she knows this double dealing to be the way of too many people in this world of ours, and will not therefore wonder even when I affirm that these were almost self-invited guests, a party made up to please themselves, and through the medium of the Duchess of Graveminster, all but forced upon the hospitalities of Hyde Hall. For in truth, neither the baronet nor his lady were in the slightest degree disposed to entertain a Christmas party at their sorrowful house.

Late in the afternoon Lord Montressor’s valet came in a post-chaise from the “Morelle Arms,” with his master’s portmanteau and dressing-case—conveniences that were growing imminently necessary; for in truth his lordship’s toilet, by reason of his hasty journey, was in a very unlordly plight.

A little latter in the evening Lord Dazzleright arrived by the carriage that had been sent for him, and just in time to dress for dinner.

That Christmas feast was served by candle-light at six o’clock.

A distinguished company gathered around the board, but something was felt to be wanting! Where was she, the heiress of that house, the father’s pride, who should have been the “star of that goodlie companie”? Missing, gone, lost! And though many splendid chandeliers flashed down their rainbow radiance over the festive scene, they would not compensate for that light withdrawn. All felt the gloom and shadow of her absence. And very dull would have been this dinner party, but for the presence of the brilliant conversationist, Baron Dazzleright. Sir Parke Morelle understood his value upon these occasions, and therefore, when in a manner compelled to invite this Christmas party to his gloomy house, had, for this reason, among others, pressed Lord Dazzleright to come down to Hyde. Witty, sparkling, sarcastic, caustic, he was the right sort of biting acid to throw into the alkali of this flat set, to sting them into life and effervescence. And he did it. The conversation prospered—the jest, the jibe, the repartee, and the laugh went around. When the ladies had retired from the table, the festivity turned to revelry, and laughter, song and toast went around for an hour longer.

Then, in good time, they joined Lady Morelle and her companions in the drawing-room, where coffee was served. And there still was Lord Dazzleright “the life of the company.” He was but thirty-five years old, handsome, talented, witty, distinguished, wealthy, titled, and—unmarried! consequently he was the worshiped of all young widows, virgins, and maneuvering mammas. In the first part of the evening he distributed his services very equally among the ladies present; but, in the latter part, divided his attentions between the two ladies Chappelle; and, last of all, confined his devotions to the pretty widow, Mrs. Bute Trevor.

When the hour for retiring had arrived, Lord Dazzleright bowed out every guest before he bid Sir Parke and Lady Morelle good-night. And after these Herculean labors, these unheard-of exertions, he bowed _himself_ out, and, with a weary air, followed up stairs the footman who was appointed to show him his sleeping-room.

“Where is Lord Montressor’s chamber?” he inquired of this functionary, as soon as he had dragged himself up one flight of stairs, and paused in the hall of the second floor.

“There, sir, just opposite your own,” replied John.

“Go, then, you needn’t wait.”

John touched his forelock and retired.

“Let me in! Let me in!” exclaimed the lion of the evening, roaring rather peremptorily at the door of Lord Montressor’s apartment.

His lordship himself opened the door, and appeared with a look of surprise on his face.

“What! has your fellow gone to bed, Montressor?”

“He has not come up from the servants’ hall yet. But what upon earth ails you?—fatigued with your exertions, or borne down under the weight of your laurels—which? You look, at once, as weary and as triumphant as ‘a warrior who putteth off his armor.’ What is it?” inquired Montressor.

Dazzleright threw himself into a chair, exclaiming—

“Oh! these women! these women!”

“What women?”

“These fine ladies! It is a weariness of the soul to try to entertain them for one evening!”

“Ah! and now I look at you more closely, it is not triumphant but desperate that you look.”

“I am just a little excited! and if some of these are not taken away to-morrow morning, I shall elope!—that is all!” exclaimed Dazzleright, drawing out his pocket-handkerchief, and wiping his heated brow.

“With whom?” coolly inquired Lord Montressor.

“Montressor, don’t aggravate my symptoms! I am in a considerable state of nervous excitement.”

“The truth is, that you suffer from what the French wittily call the ‘embarrassment of riches.’ You do not know how to choose between the fair Lady Jane or Mary Chappelle, and the pretty Mrs. Bute Trevor.

“Where are my pistols? If I had them at hand I might do something indiscreet—the ladies Chappel and Mrs. Bute Trevor! two inane, characterless girls, and a flat, spiritless widow! I had as leave wed one of Madame Tousaud’s wax images as either.”

“You are severe; they are what are called ‘harmoniously developed women,’” answered Lord Montressor, with the least possible of quiet humor.

“Then, in the name of all life, give me monsters!” broke forth Dazzleright, with energy. “Bah—bah—bah—bah—they are as like each other, and as like all their class, as peas in a pod. I beg the peas pardon—peas have life——these women are as uniform, as dull, as dead, and as heavy as leaden bullets from the same mould; with no more originality, individuality, life, power than the leaden balls aforesaid! By my soul, they are so uniform, that each should be ticketed with her name, that we may know her from her fellows.”

“Chut! you have received a flat from Lady Jane or Mary Chappelle,” laughed Lord Montressor.

“_I_ received a flat! No! and I never shall from any fine lady. I have been trying to entertain a score of flats, that’s it.”

“You will marry Mrs. Bute Trevor, yet,” persisted Lord Montressor.

“I’ll marry an Indian squaw. Civilized women are degenerated—besides, being so much alike that I can’t tell one from another!” exclaimed Dazzleright, bouncing out of the room.

The next day was the Sabbath, and the family and their visitors attended Divine service at the little Gothic chapel outside the park gate.

On Monday Lord Dazzleright put his threat in execution and rather than spend another evening in the arduous and unprofitable labor of trying to leaven lead, took leave of his friends and departed, telling no one the fact that imperative business called him back to town.

On the second of January, the Christmas party broke up, and the guests left the sombre shades of Hyde Hall, to seek more cheerful scenes.

On the evening of the same date, Lord Montressor, accompanied by Sir Parke Morelle, took the up train to London, where they arrived the next morning at daybreak, and proceeded immediately by appointment, to the house of Lord Dazzleright, on Berkley Square.

It was time they had come. The Arches Court was sitting, and the question of the L’Orient marriage was before it. Sir Parke Morelle used all his powerful connection and social influence, and Lord Dazzleright devoted his great regal abilities to bring about the desired decision. And after a session of ten days—shall we also say, after a deliberate, careful, and impartial investigation?—that decision was rendered.

That decision established the validity of the marriage.

Lord Dazzleright laughed aloud when he heard it.

Sir Parke Morelle received the news with the composure of a man who was prepared to expect nothing else.

But Lord Montressor turned pale, he was thinking how perilously uncertain are the dearest interests in life, when their permanency may be shown to depend upon the merest legal quibbles! he was remembering how nearly, in his blind devotion, he had fatally compromised Estelle; he was thanking Heaven that her pure instinct had been a safer guide than all his power of intellect.

The three gentlemen consulted upon the question of what should be their next step. All agreed that it was better they should wait no longer to hear from the agent who had been dispatched to America in quest of Estelle; but that Lord Montressor should get all the information he could possibly obtain from Barbara Brande; after which his lordship should accompany Sir Parke Morelle on a voyage to the United States in search of the missing one.

This plan having been determined upon, Sir Parke hurried down into Devonshire, to have his wardrobe packed up, his purse replenished, and to bid adieu to his lady; meanwhile leaving Lord Montressor in London to wait for Barbara Brande, whose vessel had crossed the Channel, but was daily expected back.

Almost every day Lord Montressor went down to St. Catherine’s Docks to inquire for the Petrel. At length his perseverance was rewarded.

One day he went down to the dock, accompanied by Lord Dazzleright, and was so fortunate as to spy the Petrel, anchored some distance down the river.

Hailing a waterman, he hired his boat to take himself and friend to that vessel. They entered the boat, and in a very few minutes were rowed out and brought up alongside the little craft.

The Petrel, as usual, was in the nicest possible trim. Her snow-white sails were neatly clewed up; her clean ropes were carefully coiled away; her deck was newly scrubbed; her painted doors and ports freshly washed, and very bright; and every scrap of metal about her body shining like gold and silver. A Sabbath stillness reigned aboard. Two boys, neatly dressed in sailor’s costume, had charge of the deck.

As Lord Montressor and his friend came up the starboard gangway, the elder of these boys walked forward and took off his hat.

“Ah! this is my friend, Willful Brande,” said Lord Montressor, taking his hand, cordially shaking it, and then presenting him to Lord Dazzleright.

“Where is your sister, my lad?” inquired Montressor.

“Gone up to Manchester to see if she can make a better bargain for cotton goods with the manufacturer.”

“Indeed! Why, when did she go?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“Really? Why, I thought that you were just in?”

“No, sir; we cast anchor yesterday at sunrise. Sister left for Manchester at about eleven o’clock.”

“And when do you expect her home?”

“Every moment. She promised to be back to-day by the midday train, and sister never disappoints us. It is now past noon, and we may look for her every minute. There she is now! I said so!” exclaimed the boy, in sudden joy, pointing to a boat well laden, and having besides one female passenger, and which was just pushing off from the shore.

They followed the direction of his finger, and recognized Barbara seated among many bales of what seemed dry goods.

“Who takes care of the craft while your sister is away?”

“I do—but Nep and Jack do any heavy work that is needed; and Climene, sister’s woman-servant, cooks for us. And then sister never leaves us for more than one day at a time.”

Lord Montressor now went to speak to the younger lad, who was sitting under the shade of the foresail, reading.

“What are you studying, my lad?”

“It is,” said the boy, turning to the back of the book to give the title more accurately, “‘The Manners and Customs of Different Nations,’ a book that Mrs. Estel’s woman made me a present of.”

“Mrs. Estel!” exclaimed Lord Montressor, exchanging glances with Dazzleright, who had just come up to his side.

“Yes, sir, Mrs. Estel—the lady who leased the Headland from sister.”

A sudden light broke on both gentlemen.

“Fool that I was, not to have guessed before that the recluse lady who was Miss Brande’s tenant, could have been none other than our lost Estelle!” said Lord Montressor to himself.

He took Dazzleright’s arm and walked aft.

“There will now be no necessity to urge Miss Brande to a revelation that she might consider a breach of faith, and refuse to make. Providence has put us in possession of the retreat of Estelle. We will therefore make no further inquiries upon that subject; but engage passage to Baltimore more, and when we get opposite to the Headland, go on shore to seek Estelle in the old house.”

“Yes, that is a good plan——Look at that fine creature!” exclaimed Lord Dazzleright, suddenly breaking off and pointing to a young woman in a gray serge dress, who was just coming up the starboard gangway.

It was Barbara Brande, who was looking in high health and beauty. No adventitious arts of the toilet lent their aid to this brave and gentle daughter of the ocean—a gown, a large sacque and hood, all of dark gray, comprised her outside garments. But the hood was rolled back, revealing the handsome, spirited face, with its bands of shining, jet-black hair, parted and rippling in waves down each side of her broad forehead and damask cheeks, and the strong, flashing black eyes, that at a glance seemed to take in the whole deck with every detail thereon.

“Willful! call the hands up to haul in freight,” were her first words of command, delivered in her own clear, ringing, resonant voice.

As the boy sprang to obey, Barbara walked aft to receive her visitors.

“You perceive that I render myself according to promise, Miss Brande,” said Lord Montressor.

“I am happy to see you again, sir.”

“This is my friend, Lord Dazzleright,” said Lord Montressor, presenting his companion.

“How do you do, sir?” said Barbara, then breaking off suddenly, before Dazzleright could get off his handsomely-turned reply, she called out—“Boys, look alive there! You will not get the freight in to-day at this rate! Willful! take the little boat and go ashore to hurry those watermen with those other bales. Paul, bear a hand there! Now, gentlemen, I am at your service! What can I do for you?” she inquired, turning to her visitors to give them her full attention.

But Lord Dazzleright felt piqued and turned away. Evidently the handsome creature, the child of the sea, cared no more for this Baron of the Exchequer, this brilliant conversationist, this lion of the London salons—in a word, for this Lord Dazzleright, than she did for any other honest man! Here was an unsophisticated savage. What did the young woman mean? he asked himself. Had she eyes? Had she sense?

While Lord Dazzleright sulked at being unconsciously snubbed by the handsome Amazon, Lord Montressor opened his business. First he told her that the Court of Arches had established the L’Orient marriage.

Barbara bowed—she had expected as much.

“Consequently,” he went on to say, “Sir Parke and myself go to America to find Estelle.”

“That is right,” Barbara answered.

“Can Miss Brande give us a passage to Baltimore?”

“Yes, with pleasure.”

“Will you also give the address of Estelle?”

“No, as that would be a breach of confidence; but I will go to the lady and entreat her permission to inform you.”

Lord Montressor smiled, and said that would do.

The arrangements for the passage of Sir Parke Morelle, of himself, and a single servant for each, were forthwith completed.

And then, as the boats with the freight, under charge of Willful, had arrived, and Miss Brande was thronged with business, the two gentlemen took their leave.

“What do you think of that young merchant captain,” inquired Lord Montressor, as they were rowed from the side of the vessel.

“Barbara?—well named! A young Barbarian she is!” exclaimed Lord Dazzleright, angrily.

Lord Montressor smiled.