"And does it pay?" inquired Carisbrooke. "Egypt? What I have found generally in this sort of thing is, that one hardly knows what to do with one's evenings."

"There is something in that," said Lothair, "and perhaps it applies to other countries besides Egypt. However, though it is true I did return with St. Aldegonde and Bertram, I have myself not been to Egypt."

"And where did you pick them up?"

"At Jerusalem."

"Jerusalem! What on earth could they go to Jerusalem for?" said Lord Carisbrooke. "I am told there is no sort of sport there. They say, in the Upper Nile, there is good shooting."

"St. Aldegonde was disappointed. I suppose our countrymen have disturbed the crocodiles and frightened away the pelicans?"

"We were going to look in at White's--come with us."

Lothair was greeted with general kindness; but n.o.body seemed aware that he had been long and unusually absent from them. Some had themselves not come up to town till after Easter, and had therefore less cause to miss him. The great majority, however, were so engrossed with themselves that they never missed anybody. The Duke of Brecon appealed to Lothair about something that had happened at the last Derby, and was under the impression, until better informed, that Lothair had been one of his party. There were some exceptions to this general unacquaintance with events which an hour before Lothair had feared fearfully engrossed society. Hugo Bohun was doubly charmed to see him, "because we were all in a fright one day that they were going to make you a cardinal, and it turned out that, at the very time they said you were about to enter the conclave, you happened to be at the second cataract. What lies these newspapers do tell!"

But the climax of relief was reached when the n.o.ble and gray-headed patron of the arts in Great Britain approached him with polished benignity, and said, "I can give you perhaps even later news than you can give me of our friends at Jerusalem. I had a letter from Madame Phoebus this morning, and she mentioned with great regret that you had just left them. Your first travels, I believe?"

"My first."

"And wisely planned. You were right in starting out and seeing the distant parts. One may not always have the energy which such an expedition requires. You can keep Italy for a later and calmer day."

Thus, one by one, all the cerulean demons of the morn had vanished, and Lothair had nothing to worry him. He felt a little dull as the dinner-hour approached. Bertram was to dine at home, and then go to the House of Commons; St. Aldegonde, concluding the day with the same catastrophe, had in the most immoral manner, in the interval, gone to the play to see "School," of which he had read an account in Galignani when he was in quarantine. Lothair was so displeased with this unfeeling conduct on his part that he declined to accompany him; but Lady St.

Aldegonde, who dined at Crecy House, defended her husband, and thought it very right and reasonable that one so fond of the drama as he, who had been so long deprived of gratifying his taste in that respect, should take the first opportunity of enjoying this innocent amus.e.m.e.nt.

A solitary dinner at Muriel House, in one of those s.p.a.cious and lofty chambers, rather appalled Lothair, and he was getting low again, remembering nothing but his sorrows, when Mr. Pinto came up to him and said: "The impromptu is always successful in life; you cannot be engaged to dinner, for everybody believes you are at Jericho. What say you to dining with me? Less than the Muses and more than the Graces, certainly, if you come. Lady Beatrice has invited herself, and she is to pick up a lady, and I was to look out for a couple of agreeable men. Huge is coming, and you will complete the charm."

"The spell then is complete," said Lothair; "I suppose a late eight."

CHAPTER 82

Lothair was breakfasting alone on the morrow, when his servant announced the arrival of Mr. Ruby, who had been ordered to be in attendance.

"Show him up," said Lothair, "and bring me the dispatch-box which is in my dressing-room."

Mr. Ruby was deeply gratified to be again in the presence of a n.o.bleman so eminently distinguished, both for his property and his taste, as Lothair. He was profuse in his congratulations to his lordship on his return to his native land, while at the same time he was opening a bag, from which he extracted a variety of beautiful objects, none of them for sale, all executed commissions, which were destined to adorn the fortunate and the fair. "This is lovely, my lord, quite new, for the Queen of Madagascar; for the empress this, her majesty's own design, at least almost. Lady Melton's bridal necklace, and my lord's George, the last given by King James II.; broken up during the revolution, but reset by us from an old drawing with picked stones."

"Very pretty," said Lothair; "but it is not exactly this sort of thing that I want. See," and he opened the dispatch-box, and took from out of it a crucifix. It was made of some Eastern wood, inlaid with mother-of-pearl; the figure carved in bra.s.s, though not without power, and at the end of each of the four terminations of the cross was a small cavity, enclosing something, and covered with gla.s.s.

"See," continued Lothair, "this is the crucifix, given with a carved sh.e.l.l to each pilgrim who visits the Holy Sepulchre. Within these four cavities is earth from the four holy places: Calvary, Sion, Bethlehem, and Gethsemane. Now, what I want is a crucifix, something of this dimension, but made of the most costly materials; the figure must be of pure gold; I should like the cross to be of choice emeralds, which I am told are now more precious even than brilliants, and I wish the earth of the sacred places to be removed from this crucifix, and introduced in a similar manner into the one which you are to make; and each cavity must be covered with a slit diamond. Do you understand?"

"I follow you, my lord," said Mr. Ruby, with glistening eyes. "It will be a rare jewel. Is there to be a limit as to the cost?"

"None but such as taste and propriety suggest," said Lothair. "You will of course make a drawing and an estimate, and send them to me; but I desire dispatch."

When Mr. Ruby had retired, Lothair took from the dispatch-box a sealed packet, and looked at it for some moments, and then pressed it to his lips.

In the afternoon, Lothair found himself again in the saddle, and was riding about London, as if he had never quitted it. He left his cards at Crecy House, and many other houses, and he called at the St. Jeromes'

late, but asked if they were at home. He had reckoned that they would not be, and his reckoning was right. It was impossible to conceal from himself that it was a relief. Mr. Putney Giles dined alone with Lothair this evening, and they talked over many things; among others the approaching marriage of Lady Corisande with the Duke of Brecon.

"Everybody marries except myself," said Lothair, rather peevishly.

"But your lordship is too young to think of that yet," said Mr. Putney Giles.

"I feel very old," said Lothair.

At this moment there arrived a note from Bertram, saying his mother was quite surprised and disappointed that Lothair had not asked to see her in the morning. She had expected him, as a matter of course, at luncheon, and begged that he would come on the morrow.

"I have had many pleasant luncheons in that house," said Lothair, "but this will be the last. When all the daughters are married, n.o.body eats luncheon."

"That would hardly apply to this family," said Mr. Putney Giles, who always affected to know every thing, and generally did. "They are so united, that I fancy the famous luncheons at Crecy House will always go on, and be a popular mode of their all meeting."

"I half agree with St. Aldegonde," said Lothair, grumbling to himself, "that if one is to meet that Duke of Brecon every day at luncheon, for my part I had rather stay away."

In the course of the evening there also arrived invitations to all the impending b.a.l.l.s and a.s.semblies, for Lothair; and there seemed little prospect of his again being forced to dine with his faithful solicitor as a refuge from melancholy.

On the morrow he went in his brougham to Crecy House, and he had such a palpitation of the heart when he arrived, that, for a moment, he absolutely thought he must retire. His mind was full of Jerusalem, the Mount of Olives, and the Sea of Galilee. He was never nervous there, never agitated, never hara.s.sed, no palpitations of the heart, no dread suspense. There was repose alike of body and soul. Why did he ever leave Palestine and Paraclete? He should have remained in Syria forever, cherishing, in a hallowed scene, a hallowed sorrow, of which even the bitterness was exalted and enn.o.bling.

He stood for a moment in the great hall at Crecy House, and the groom of the chambers in vain solicited his attention. It was astonishing how much pa.s.sed through his mind while the great clock hardly described sixty seconds. But in that s.p.a.ce he had reviewed his life, arrived at the conclusion that all was vanity and bitterness, that he had failed in every thing, was misplaced, had no object and no hope, and that a distant and unbroken solitude in some scene, where either the majesty of Nature was overwhelming, or its moral a.s.sociations were equally sublime, must be his only refuge. In the meditation of the Cosmos, or in the divine reverie of sacred lands, the burden of existence might be endured.

"Her grace is at luncheon, my lord," at length said the groom of the chamber--and Lothair was ushered into the gay, and festive, and cordial scene. The number of the self-invited guests alone saved him. His confusion was absolute, and the d.u.c.h.ess remarked afterward that Lothair seemed to have regained all his shyness.

When Lothair had rallied and could survey the scene, he found he was sitting by his hostess; that the duke, not a luncheon man, was present, and, as it turned out afterward, for the pleasure of meeting Lothair.

Bertram also was present, and several married daughters, and Lord Montairy, and Captain Mildmay, and one or two others; and next to Lady Corisande was the Duke of Brecon.

So far as Lothair was concerned, the luncheon was unsuccessful. His conversational powers deserted him. He answered in monosyllables, and never originated a remark. He was greatly relieved when they rose and returned to the gallery, in which they seemed all disposed to linger.

The duke approached him, and, in his mood, he found it easier to talk to men than to women. Male conversation is of a coa.r.s.er grain, and does not require so much play of thought and manner; discourse about Suez Ca.n.a.l, and Arab horses, and pipes, and pachas, can be carried on without any psychological effort, and, by degrees, banishes all sensibility. And yet he was rather dreamy, talked better than he listened, did not look his companion in the face, as the duke spoke, which was his custom, and his eye was wandering. Suddenly, Bertram having joined them, and speaking to his father, Lothair darted away and approached Lady Corisande, whom Lady Montairy had just quitted.

"As I may never have the opportunity again," said Lothair, "let me thank you, Lady Corisande, for some kind thoughts which you deigned to bestow on me in my absence."

His look was serious; his tone almost sad. Neither were in keeping with the scene and the apparent occasion; and Lady Corisande, not displeased, but troubled, murmured: "Since I last met you, I heard you had seen much and suffered much."

"And that makes the kind thoughts of friends more precious," said Lothair. "I have few; your brother is the chief, but even he never did me any kindness so great as when he told me that you had spoken of me with sympathy."

"Bertram's friends are mine," said Lady Corisande; "but, otherwise, it would be impossible for us all not to feel an interest in--, one of whom we had seen so much," she added, with some hesitation.

"Ah, Brentham!" said Lothair; "dear Brentham! Do you remember once saying to me that you hoped you should never leave Brentham?"

"Did I say so?" said Lady Corisande.

"I wish I had never left Brentham," said Lothair; "it was the happiest time of my life. I had not then a sorrow or a care."

"But everybody has sorrows and cares," said Lady Corisande; "you have, however, a great many things which ought to make you happy."

"I do not deserve to be happy," said Lothair, "for I have made so many mistakes. My only consolation is that one great error, which you most deprecated, I have escaped."

"Take a brighter and a n.o.bler view of your life," said Lady Corisande; "feel rather you have been tried and not found wanting."