CHAPTER XXII.

NEWS FROM THE NORTH.

SIR JULIUS arrived sure enough, and with him Lord Bulmer, and another gentleman whom I did not know, but who was presented to Amabel as Captain Dangerfield. The moment I saw this man, I conceived an intense aversion to him, as if I had had a premonition of what he had come for. He was rather handsome—indeed, I think most people would have called him very handsome—but his style of face was one which I always distrust. He had rather a high, round head, with wavy hair growing well back from his forehead, eyes at once black and shallow, and opening very widely lip and down, and eye-brows highly arched. I could judge nothing of the shape of his mouth, for he wore a heavy moustache, having been, it was understood, in the imperial service.

Sir Julius was very gracious to Amabel, and hardly less so to myself. He seemed surprised at the Position in which he found me, and meeting me after supper asked me why I had not been to the table. I told him the simple truth—namely, that my lady had ordered me to take my meals in the housekeeper's room, whereat, he muttered something, and seemed greatly disconcerted. I fancy, he and his wife had some words about the matter, and that she judged it best to give way; for the next day my lady sent for me, and ordered rather than invited me to take my meals with the family as usual.

It was evident from the very first, that Lord Bulmer had come as Amabel's suitor. He lost no opportunity of appearing in that character, and fretted her constantly by his assiduous attentions. She on her part was barely and distantly civil, gave him the coldest and shortest answers, refused his attentions whenever it was possible, and took no more notice of his compliments than the picture of her grandmother in the saloon would have done. She kept me close by her side on all occasions, and in short gave his lordship clearly to understand that he was utterly disagreeable to her.

I am not sure that this was good policy on Amabel's part. Lord Bulmer was so accustomed to conquer wherever he went, so used to being courted instead of courting (for he was esteemed the greatest match in the country), that this decided opposition on Amabel's part put him on his mettle, and made him determined to conquer her aversion and win her regard. I do think he loved her, so far as his base and sensual nature was capable of loving anything.

As for my lady, I did not know how to understand her. She seemed at once to be jealous of Lord Bulmer's attentions to her step-daughter, and desirous of forwarding his suit. At the very time she contrived to have the two tête-à-tête, by calling me to her side, I have seen her look at them, as though she would like to kill both of them.

Meantime she filled the house with guests—mostly gentlemen—till there was not a spare corner, except the ghost rooms and the apartments known as the King's chamber. I think that she would have laid violent hands on these, only that when she spoke of having them put in order, the servants, with Wilson at their head, declared they would leave the house at once, if the door was so much as opened. I knew there was no particular danger of such a catastrophe, from the simple fact that Mrs. Deborah had carried off with her the keys to that part of the house. There was no way of entering the ghostly rooms, for even the door which opened from our room had been fastened on the other side. So the guests were accommodated wherever a place could be found for them, and the shut up rooms remained shut up still.

There were a great many people coming and going, and, as I could not but observe, arriving very frequently in the night. There was much whispering in corners, and reading and writing of letters, and white flowers and ribbons were paraded upon all occasions. Only Amabel would wear none but red flowers and ribbons, though they were not especially becoming to her, and when one day my lord presented her with a basket of beautiful exotics which he had caused to be sent from his own famous hot-houses, she remarked carelessly that she did not like white flowers, and gave them to Chatty Dugdale, who appeared in them at dinner to my lord's evident mortification.

"So you would not honor my poor flowers!" I heard him say to her afterwards.

"I told you I did not like white flowers!" she answered. "I beg you will put yourself to no more trouble on my account."

His lordship's eyes blazed with anger, but he only bowed and turned away.

The next day news arrived which made every one open their eyes. The Pretender, whose landing in Moidart in July with but seven men at his back had been rumored but hardly believed, had put himself at the head of the Highland clans, and eluding the vigilance and skill of General Cope (no great feat if all tales were true), had actually entered Edinburgh in triumph, and was holding his court there.

There was no bound to the exultation at the Hall when this news arrived. Sir Julius ordered a distribution of beef and ale to all the tenants, and a grand banquet was prepared at the Hall to which all the neighboring gentry were invited. But I noticed that very few of them came, and of the families who accepted the invitation, only the gentlemen were present.

In fact, scarcely any ladies of what might be called the county families had visited Lady Leighton at all. The table was not half filled. Sir Julius' brow darkened ominously, as he looked on the vacant seats, and when the toast was proposed of "health to the rightful king and confusion to usurpers," it was not received with any great degree of enthusiasm.

In the year 1715, the gentry of Northumberland had risen almost as one man to support the cause of James Stewart, or the old Pretender, as the Loyalists called him. But a new generation had arisen since then.

People who remembered "the fifteen" had also a vivid recollection of the hangings and confiscations which followed it, and had no mind to run the same risks again. Others were content to see things remain as they were. The race of non-juring clergymen, who had done a great deal to keep alive the flame of devotion to the Stewart family, was dying out, and only here or there was one to be found.

It was observed afterward, in the march to Derby, that the proclamation of King James in the towns through which the army passed excited no more enthusiasm or curiosity than would have been produced by the advertisement of a quack doctor.

The ill success of his political banquet did not tend to put Sir Julius in any better humor than he was before. Neither did the fact that on the following Sunday, Mr. Lethbridge preached a really fine and eloquent sermon on the duty of resistance to rebellion and faithfulness to the existing government. His usually slow, and I must say tedious, delivery waxed nervous and decided, as he warned his hearers against being led into treasonable practises by false representations.

Sir Julius, who had come to church, I suppose in compliment to his wife, looked furious. Lady Leighton yawned, laughed and chatted all but aloud with the gentlemen who sat by her. Lord Bulmer whispered something to Amabel, but was met by a look which silenced even him.

I could not forbear peeping at Aunt Deborah. She seemed as if she did not know whether to be angry with the preacher for his doctrine or pleased at his vexing her sister-in-law. Indeed, I could not help thinking that Mrs. Deborah's loyalty toward James Stewart had cooled considerably, since she had learned that Lady Leighton espoused his cause so warmly.

The next morning, I was sitting with Amabel in our own bedroom, when Lady Leighton's woman tapped at the door, with a summons. Miss Leighton, was to attend her father and mother in the library.

"The time of trial is at hand!" said Amabel, turning to me, after she had sent a message, that she would come at once. "Pray for me, Lucy!"

"Dear Amabel, you won't give way!" said I. "Indeed, I would not urge you, but I know this Lord Bulmer is a wicked man, and will make you miserable."

"If he were the best man in the world, it would make no difference to me!" replied Amabel. "My love, such as I had, is given away, and I cannot call it back."

"But what will you say!" I asked, detaining her, as she bent to kiss me.

"I shall see, when the time comes. There is no use in planning before hand. Let me go, dear. I must not keep them waiting, and since it must come, the sooner it is over, the better."

This was just the difference between Amabel and me. She, as I have said before, hardly ever made a plan, and I was always making them, and then finding out that they were of no avail, and that I had after all to depend on the impulse or direction of the minute.

I threw myself on my knees and prayed most earnestly, that my darling might be supported and stayed up in the deep waters through which she was called to pass, and then feeling somewhat comforted, I set myself to cheat the moments of anxiety by planning and cutting a little coat out of an old gown of Mrs. Philippa's for Mary Thornaby, who was just about short-coating her first baby. I had the little garment well under way before Amabel's step was heard in the gallery.

I sprang up to meet her.

She was very pale and looked ready to drop with fatigue, and as I caught her in my arms she laid her head on my neck, and wept long and bitterly. I let the tears have their way, thinking they would relieve her oppressed spirits. At last she quieted herself and then told me all about it.

"I found my father and his wife sitting in the library, and Lord Bulmer standing behind my lady's chair. He made me a deep reverence as he came in, but I only curtsied in general and would not look at him."

"Amabel!" my father began, and then he hesitated and looked at his wife.

Then as she declined to help him out, he began again: "Amabel, your father and mother have sent for you to inform you of something which will be greatly to your advantage, and they hope to find in you an obedient and grateful daughter."

I did not see anything in this which called for an answer, so I curtsied again, whereat my father said—I would say peevishly, but that he is my father—"Oh, curtsying is all very well, but we want an answer in words!"

"To what, sir?" I asked.

"To this, Miss Leighton!" replied my lady, speaking suddenly and sharply. Lucy she is like the wolf woman as one pea is like another—"Your father has received an offer for you from worthy gentleman far beyond your desert or degree."

"Not so, and it please you madam!" said my lord, making another bow; "Nothing can be above Miss Leighton's deserts. Say from the humblest of her slaves, who has never before seen a lady so worthy of his devotion, and whose whole life shall be one study to promote her happiness."

My lady smiled strangely, while her eyes shot fire in their curious fashion.

"You plead your cause so well, my lord, that I might spare my pains. In one word, Amabel, my Lord Bulmer has made proposals for your hand, and it is your father's will and wish—"

"And yours also, I trust, madam!" interrupted my lord, in a tone of deferential anxiety. "I can ill want the good wishes of so old a friend!"

"And my own of course," said my lady, biting her red lip and frowning—"that you should accept his proposals, and as the times are something disturbed and your father may be called away, we intend that the marriage should take place immediately. You may now withdraw."

"Stay a moment, my lady!" said Lord Bulmer. "Let me have the pleasure of learning from my birdie's own sweet mouth that I am accepted."

"You hear what my lord says!" said my lady, and again it seemed as though she spoke by constraint. "What have you to answer?"

"Only this, madam!" I answered, being now constrained to speak. "I have already told my father that I will not marry without his consent, at least until I am of age. But I have already given my affection to a worthy man with his full concurrence, and I will never wed another. In any other matter, I am ready to yield to my father's wishes. In this I cannot do so. It is simply impossible."

My father looked confused enough for a moment.

"May I ask who is the happy man?" asked my lord.

"Our daughter refers to a childish entanglement with a person in Newcastle," said my lady—"that Mr. Cheriton who has so strangely disgraced himself of late."

"Oh! The Methodist parson who had the adventure with the pretty milliner!" said my lord, sneeringly. "I should like to meet this irresistible apostle."

"You have already met him, my lord," I could not help saying. "I had myself the pleasure of witnessing your encounter in front of Mrs. Thorpe's shop."

My lord had the grace to look a little ashamed of himself.

"This is all folly, Amabel," said my father, shortly. "I will hear no more of it. You must make up your mind to accept Lord Bulmer, and that speedily."

And then, he condescended to argue with me, and tell me of my lord's wealth, and the settlements he was prepared to make, and wondered I could hesitate between two such men.

"I do not hesitate, sir," I answered. "My choice is made long since."

"And you will be so mean spirited as to cling to this parson of yours, even while he is intriguing with all sorts of people," said my lady.

"That I do not believe, asking your pardon, madam," said I; "but since you will push me to the wall, I must needs say that if there were not another man in the world, I would never marry Lord Bulmer."

"But you shall marry him!" said Sir Julius, and he added,—

"Lucy—I will not repeat his words."

"What do you expect, Sir Julius, when you allow your daughter such a companion?" said my lady. "That insolent girl, Lucy Corbet, abets her in her rebellion, and your own sister acts as a go-between."

"We shall soon settle that by giving Lucy Corbet business enough of her own to attend to," answered Sir Julius, and then he bade me go to my room and not leave it till I was prepared to do my father's will.

"So here I am a prisoner, and if I may but have you for my jailer, I do not care for how long."

"I am glad you were firm," said I, "though it is a cruel necessity which makes a young girl stand out against her father."

"It is not my father but his wife," answered Amabel. "Only for her, I believe he would never have turned against Walter. Oh Lucy, how could he marry such a woman? And what is the strange power which Lord Bulmer has over her?"

"Perhaps she wished to marry him herself and could not succeed," said I. "I believe that what Wilson told me is true, and that she is under his thumb. But what means your father's remark about me?"

"Perhaps he has a match prepared for you, also," answered Amabel. "I have had my suspicions of that. Captain Dangerfield."

"That is a match which will never take fire," said I.

I suppose Sir Julius thought better of the matter, for Amabel was sent for to supper. She told me when she returned that Lord Bulmer had hardly spoken to her or noticed her, but had devoted himself entirely to Mrs. Wardlaw, a very showy young widow, who had come on a visit from Newcastle.

"She was delighted, of course," said I.

"She seemed so, certainly. Such airs as she put on—twisting her head, and rolling her eyes, and turning about those white hands of hers."

"She would be pretty, if she could over let herself alone," said I; "but I don't admire her ways. She seems as though she could not be happy without the attention of every man within reach. But what did you do all the evening?"

"Oh, I sat in the corner and taught Miss Dugdale how to make daisy trimming, and Mr. Dugdale entertained us with tales of his school and college days. Poor little lad! What a pity he should have an ambition to be considered a man of the world!"

The next morning Amabel was invited, or rather commanded, to attend her step-mother in her dressing-room, and I took the opportunity of walking over to see Mrs. Deborah. I found her opening a package she had received from Newcastle.

"You are just in time, Niece Corbet," said she. "Here are a letter and a parcel for you from good Mrs. Thorpe. But before you read, tell me the news at the Hall. Is it true, as the rumor goes, that Amabel is to marry this fine Lord Bulmer?"

"She will never marry him unless she is absolutely forced to do so, Aunt Deborah," I answered. "She says that she would not wed him, if there were not another man in the world."

"And you think she is right, I suppose."

"Yes, madam, I cannot but think so," I answered. "To marry one man while she loves another would be flat perjury, in my opinion."

"But suppose the one she loves to be unworthy."

"That may be a reason for refusing him, but not for marrying another."

"Well, child, you may be right for aught I know," said Mrs. Deborah, sighing. "I am glad, at least, that we are assured there will be no marrying or giving in marriage in the next world, for I think that same marrying makes most of the trouble in this."

"Then if my lady makes up a match for me, and I refuse it, you will take me in, won't you, Aunt Deborah?" I ventured to ask.

"Yes, child, you shall never want a home while I have one. But do you know whether my brother has any news from Edinburgh?"

"I have heard of nothing new, madam. The Prince has his court there and keeps possession of the city, but the castle holds out against him as does Sterling. It is also said that he intends to march into England, before long."

"I hear as much in my letters from Newcastle, and also that the citizens are very busy strengthening the defences and levying soldiers. By the way, Mr. Wesley is there and has made himself conspicuous by getting up a loyal address to the King. I should say the Elector of Hanover. You do not know whether my brother intends to join the Prince?"

"No, Aunt Deborah, not for certain, though I believe my lady is very earnest to have him do so."

"I dare say. Anything to take him out of the way!" muttered Aunt Deborah.

"Would you not wish to have Sir Julius join the prince, Aunt Deborah?"

Mrs. Deborah paused before she answered.

"I ought to wish it!" said she. "Our house has always been loyal to the rightful line, and yet—child, I do not know what to say. When I think of this gallant young prince, and the stock from which he is sprung, I feel as if I could risk anything to set him on the throne of his fathers. And then on the other side, when I think of a civil war and all the horrors it brings in its train, it seems as if anything must be better than that. You say my lady is desirous of having Sir Julius go north!"

"I am not so certain about that, madam, but there is no doubt of her loyalty to the prince. She wears no ribbons but white. She is very busy making of white favors and cockades, and receives letters from the north every day. I believe she would like to go to Edinburgh herself."

Mrs. Deborah muttered something which I did not hear, and then asked me why I did not open my parcel.

I was only waiting her leave to do so, and availed myself of it with all speed. It contained a letter from Mrs. Thorpe, enclosing quite a large packet, post marked Exeter, and sealed with black. I guessed at once what had happened. My kind old kinsman was dead.

So it proved. Mr. Carey, Captain Corbet's lawyer in Exeter, had written to that effect, and not knowing my exact direction had sent the letter to Mrs. Thorpe's care. Captain Corbet had died at home in his own bed, at the Wells House, as it was called, in Cornwall, and with the exception of some legacies, had left me all his property, which amounted, taking one thing with another, to about three hundred a year—perhaps more. I was to enjoy one-third of this income till I came of age, and the whole of it till I was twenty-five, after which the property was mine own, and was to be settled upon me in case of my marrying. If however, I wedded any one but a loyal subject of the present government, the whole was to go to a certain orphan school, not far from Exeter.

I could not but shed some tears for the kind old man who had come so far to see me. I had always thought of him, as a friend and dependence.

Mr. Carey wrote very kindly, saying that he would take every care of my interest, and that if I wished it, I could come to him at once, and be a guest in his family, for as long a time as I found it convenient. His wife added a marvelously ill spelled but very kind note to her husband's. I should say that Mr. Carey was appointed my guardian or trustee,—I don't now remember the proper term. He enclosed me a sum of money—fifty pounds I think, to provide myself with mourning and for any other occasions. I Was very glad of this supply, for I had very little left, and I thought I might need it. My mourning was already to my hand.

Mrs. Thorpe wrote a good deal of Newcastle news—for she was a very fluent pen woman. She told me how the walls were being fortified, and how loyal all the people were—how Mr. Wesley preached to the soldiers, and that with the approval of their officers, and how Mr. Cheriton assisted him. She said that Mr. Cheriton was thinner and graver than his wont, but worked harder than ever among the poor.

"Don't believe one word you hear against him!" wrote the good woman. "He has been slandered as others have been for the same reason, and my mind misgives me that Miss Leighton will have enough of these tales poured into her ear; but there is not one word of truth in them. Never was any man more careful of giving occasion for evil speaking than he."

Mrs. Thorpe told me a great deal more, as to how the people were busy with the defences of the town—how active Mr. Wesley had been in promoting loyal addresses, and how he had preached again and again, now in St. Anne's church, the only one opened to him, * now at the Sandgate, to the lowest of the people, and again to the soldiers and officers at the camp, being listened to everywhere with great attention. How Mr. Cheriton, though he did not hold with him in all things, yet sought his advice and looked up to him as a father. I could see that a great change had taken place in Mrs. Thorpe's feelings toward the Methodists.

* I do not know that in fact any church was ever opened to Mr. Wesley in Newcastle. L. E. G.

"I had news of an old friend of yours by Mr. Wesley!" she added, in conclusion. "He tells me that the French gentleman, who came over with us, Father Brousseau, has become a Protestant, and means, if possible, to take orders in the Church of England."

Here was a budget of news, and I was in haste to carry it to Amabel. I took my leave of Aunt Deborah, not thinking how soon I was to see her again, and hastened homeward.

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