Farewell, Miss Beaufort!" added he, addressing her, and bending his lips to her hand. "Adieu! I shall look in upon you to-morrow. Good- morning, Mr. Constantine!"

Thaddeus bowed to him, and the viscount disappeared.

"I am surprised. Miss Beaufort," observed Euphemia, pettishly (her temper not having subsided since her sister's lecture), "how you can endure that c.o.xcomb!"

"Pardon me, Euphemia," replied she; "though I did not exactly expect the ceremony his lordship adopts in taking leave, yet I think there is a generosity in his sentiments which deserves a better t.i.tle."

"I know nothing about his sentiments, for I always run away from his conversation. A better t.i.tle! I declare you make me laugh. Did you ever see such fantastical dressing? I vow I never meet him without thinking of Jemmy Jessamy, and the rest of the gossamer beaux who squired our grandmothers!"

"My acquaintance with Lord Berrington is trifling," returned Miss Beaufort, withdrawing her eyes from the pensive features of the count, who was sorting the lessons; "yet I am so far prepossessed in his favor, that I see little in his appearance to reprehend. However, I will not contest that point, as perhaps the philanthropy I this morning discovered in his heart, the honest warmth with which he defended an absent character, after you left the room, might render his person as charming in my eyes as I certainly found his mind."

Thaddeus had not for a long time heard such sentiments out of Lady Tinemouth's circle; and he now looked up to take a distinct view of the speaker.

In consequence of the established mode, that the presiding lady of the house is to give the tone to her guests, many were the visitors of Miss Dundas whose faces Thaddeus was as ignorant of when they went out of the library as when they came in. They took little notice of him; and he, regarding them much less, pursued his occupation without evincing a greater consciousness of their presence than what mere ceremony demanded.

Accordingly, when in compliance with Lord Berrington's politeness he received his chair, and saw him remove to a sofa beside a very beautiful woman, in the bloom of youth, Thaddeus supposed her manner might resemble the rest of Miss Dundas's friends, and never directed his glance a second time to her figure. But when he heard her (in a voice that was melody itself) defend his lordship's character, on principles which bore the most honorable testimony to her own, his eyes were riveted on her face.

Though a large Turkish shawl involved her fine person, a modest grace was observable in its every turn. Her exquisitely moulded arm, rather veiled than concealed by the muslin sleeve that covered it, was extended in the gentle energy of her vindication. Her lucid eyes shone with a sincere benevolence, and her lips seemed to breathe balm while she spoke. His soul startled within itself as if by some strange recognition that agitated him, and drew him inexplicably towards its object. It was not the beauty he beheld, nor the words she uttered, but he did not withdraw his fixed gaze until it encountered an accidental turn of her eyes, which instantly retreated with a deep blush mantling her face and neck. She had never met such a look before, except in an occasional penetrating glance from an only cousin, who had long watched the movements of her heart with a brother's care.

But little did Thaddeus think at that time who she was, and how nearly connected with that friend whose neglect has been a venomed shaft unto his soul!

Mary Beaufort was the orphan heiress of Admiral Beaufort, one of the most distinguished officers in the British navy. He was the only brother of the now lamented Lady Somerset, the beloved mother of Pembroke Somerset, so often the eloquent subject of his discourse in the sympathizing ear of Thaddeus Sobieski! The admiral and his wife, a person also of high quality, died within a few months after the birth of their only child, a daughter, having bequeathed her to the care of her paternal aunt; and to the sole guardianship of that exemplary lady's universally-honored husband, Sir Robert Somerset, baronet, and M. P. for the county. When Lady Somerset's death spread mourning throughout his, till then, happy home, (which unforeseen event occurred hardly a week before her devoted son returned from the sh.o.r.es of the Baltic,) a double portion of Sir Robert's tenderness fell upon her cherished niece. In her society alone he found any consolation for his loss. And soon after Pembroke's arrival, his widowed father, relinquishing the splendid scenes of his former life in London, retired into the country, sometimes residing at one family seat, sometimes at another, hoping by change of place to obtain some alleviating diversion from his ever sorrow-centred thoughts.

Sir Robert Somerset, from the time of his marriage with the accomplished sister of Admiral Beaufort to the hour in which he followed her to the grave, was regarded as the most admired man in every circle, and yet more publicly respected as being the magnificent host and most munificent patron of talent, particularly of British growth, in the whole land. Besides, by his own genius as a statesman, he often stood a tower of strength in the senate of his country; and his general probity was of such a stamp, that his private friends were all solicitous to acquire the protection of his name over any important trusted interests for their families. For instance, the excellent Lord Avon consigned his only child to his guardianship, and his wealthy neighbor, Sir Hector Dundas, made him sole trusted over the immense fortunes of his daughters.

This latter circ.u.mstance explains the intimacy between two families, the female parts of which might otherwise have probably seldom met.

On Sir Robert Somerset's last transient visit to London, (which had been only on a call of business, on account of his minor charge, Lord Avon,) Lady Dundas became so urgent in requesting him to permit Miss Beaufort to pa.s.s the ensuing season with her in town, that he could not, without rudeness, refuse. In compliance with this arrangement, the gentle Mary, accompanied by Miss Dorothy Somerset, a maiden sister of the baronet's, quitted Deerhurst to settle themselves with her importunate ladyship in Harley Street for the remainder of the winter--at least the winter of fashion! which, by a strange effect of her magic wand, in defiance of gra.s.sy meadows, leafy trees, and sweetly-scented flowers, extends its nominal sceptre over the vernal months of April, May, and even the rich treasures of "resplendent June."

The summer part of this winter Miss Beaufort reluctantly consented should be sacrificed to ceremony, in the dust and heat of a great city; and if the melancholy which daily increased upon Sir Robert since the death of his wife had not rendered her averse to oppose his wishes, she certainly would have made objections to the visit.

During the journey, she could not refrain from drawing a comparison to Miss Dorothy between the dissipated insipidity of Lady Dundas's way of life and the rationality as well as splendor of her late lamented aunt's.

Lady Somerset's monthly a.s.semblies were not the most elegant and brilliant parties in town, but her weekly _conversaziones_ surpa.s.sed everything of the kind in the kingdom. On these nights her ladyship's rooms used to be filled with the most eminent characters which England could produce. There the young Mary Beaufort listened to pious divines of every Christian persuasion. There she gathered wisdom from real philosophers; and in the society of our best living poets, amongst whom were those leaders of our cla.s.sic song, Rogers and William Southey, and the amiable Jerningham, cherished an enthusiasm for all that is great and good. On these evenings Sir Robert Somerset's house reminded the visitor of what he had read or imagined of the school of Athens. He beheld not only sages, soldiers, statesmen, and poets, but intelligent and amiable women. And in this rare a.s.sembly did the beautiful Mary imbibe that steady reverence for virtue and talent which no intermixture with the ephemera of the clay could ever after either displace or impair.

Notwithstanding this rare freedom from the chains with which her merely fashionable friends would have shackled her mind, Miss Beaufort possessed too much judgment and delicacy to flash her liberty in their eyes. Enjoying her independence with meekness, she held it more secure. Mary was no declaimer, not even in the cause of oppressed goodness or injured genius. Aware that direct opposition often incenses malice, she directed the shaft from its aim, if it were in her power, and when the attempt failed, strove by respect or sympathy to heal the wound she could not avert. Thus, whatever she said or did bore the stamp of her soul, whose leading attribute was modesty. By having learned much, and thought more, she proved in her conduct that reflection is the alchemy which turns knowledge into wisdom.

Never did she feel so much regret at the shrinking of her powers from coming forth by some word or deed in aid of offended worth, as when she beheld the foreign stranger, so n.o.ble in aspect, standing under the overbearing insolence of Miss Dundas's parasites. But she perceived that his dignified composure rebounded their darts upon his insulters, and respect took the place of pity. The situation was new to her; and when she dropped her confused eyes beneath his unexpected gaze, she marvelled within herself at the ease with which she had just taken up the cause of Lord Berrington, and the difficulty she had found to summon one word as a repellant to the unmerited attack on the man before her.

Euphemia cared nothing about Lord Berrington; to her his faults or his virtues were alike indifferent; and forgetting that civility demanded some reply to Miss Beaufort's last observation, or rather taking advantage of the tolerated privilege usurped by many high-bred people of being ill-bred, when and how they pleased, she returned to Thaddeus, and said with a forced smile--

"Mr. Constantine, I don't like your opinion upon the ode I showed to you; I think it a very absurd opinion; or perhaps you did not understand me rightly?"

Miss Beaufort took up a book, that her unoccupied attention might not disturb their studies.

Euphemia resumed, with a more natural dimple, and touching his glove with the rosy points of her fingers, said,

"You are stupid at translation."

Thaddeus colored, and sat uneasily; he knew not how to evade this direct though covert attack.

"I am a bad poet, madam. Indeed, it would be dangerous even for a good one to attempt the same path with Sappho and Phillips."

Euphemia now blushed as deeply as the count, but from another motive.

Opening her grammar, she whispered, "You are either a very dull or a very modest man!" and, sighing, began to repeat her lesson.

While he bent his head over the sheet he was correcting; she suddenly exclaimed, "Bless me, Mr. Constantine, what have you been doing? I hope you don't read in bed! The top of your hair is burnt to a cinder! Why, you look much more like one who has been in a fire than Miss Beaufort does."

Thaddeus put his hand to his head.

"I thought I had brushed away all marks of a fire, in which I really was last night."

"A fire!" interrupted Miss Beaufort, closing her book; "was it near Tottenham Court Road?"

"It was, madam," answered he, in a tone almost as surprised as her own.

"Good gracious!" cried Euphemia, exerting her little voice, that she might be heard before Miss Beaufort could have time to reply; "then I vow you are the gentleman who Miss Beaufort said ran into the burning house, and, covered with flames, saved two children from perishing!"

"And I am so happy as to meet one of the ladies," replied he, turning with an animated air to Miss Beaufort, "in you, madam, who so humanely a.s.sisted the poor sufferers, and received the child from my arms?"

"It was indeed myself, Mr. Constantine," returned she, a tear swimming over her eye, which in a moment gave the cue to the tender Euphemia. She drew out her handkerchief; and whilst her pretty cheeks overflowed, and her sweet voice was rendered sweeter by an emotion raised by ten thousand delightful fancies, she took hold of Miss Beaufort's hand.

"Oh! my lovely friend, wonder not that I esteem this brave Constantine far beyond his present station!"

Thaddeus drew back. Miss Beaufort looked amazed; but Euphemia had mounted her romantic Pegasus, and the scene was too sentimental to close.

"Come here, Mr. Constantine," cried she, extending her other hand to his. Wondering where this folly would terminate, he gave it to her, when, instantly joining it with that of Miss Beaufort, she pressed them together, and said, "Sweet Mary! heroic Constantine! I thus elect you the two dearest friends of my heart. So charmingly a.s.sociated in the delightful task of compa.s.sion, you shall ever be commingled in my faithful bosom."

Then putting her handkerchief to her eyes, she walked out of the room, leaving Miss Beaufort and the count, confused and confounded, by the side of each other. Miss Beaufort, suspecting that some extravagant fancy had taken possession of the susceptible Euphemia towards her young tutor, declined speaking first. Thaddeus, fixing his gaze on her downcast and revolving countenance, perceived nothing like offended pride at his undesigned presumption. He saw that she was only embarra.s.sed, and after a minute's hesitation, broke the silence.

"I hope that Miss Beaufort is sufficiently acquainted with the romance of Miss Euphemia's character to pardon the action, unintentional on my part, of having touched her hand? I declare I had no expectation of Miss Euphemia's design."

"Do not make any apology to me, Mr. Constantine," returned she, resuming her seat; "to be sure I was a little electrified by the strange situation in which her vivid feelings have just made us actors. But I shall not forego my claim on what she promised--your acquaintance."

Thaddeus expressed his high sense of her condescension.

"I am not fond of fine terms," continued she, smiling; "but I know that time and merit must purchase esteem. I can engage for the first, as I am to remain in town at least three months; but for the last, I fear I shall never have the opportunity of giving such an earnest of my desert as you did last night of yours."

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Thaddeus took up his hat, and bowing, replied to her compliment with such a modest yet n.o.ble grace, that she gazed after him with wonder and concern. Before he closed the door he again bowed. Pleased with the transient look of a soft pleasure which beamed from his eyes, through whose ingenuous mirrors every thought of his soul might be read, she smiled a second adieu, and as he disappeared, left the room by another pa.s.sage.

CHAPTER XXVII.

SUCH THINGS WERE.