"Such being the state of affairs," proceeded Ropsley, and the hard grey eye grew harder than ever, and seemed to screw itself like a gimlet into the Baronet's working physiognomy; "such being the state of affairs, of course any sacrifice I make is offered out of pure friendship, regard, and esteem for yourself. Psha! it's nonsense talking like that! My dear fellow, I like you; I always have liked you; the pleasantest hours of my life have been spent in your house, and I'll see you out of this sc.r.a.pe, if I ruin myself, stock, lock, and barrel, for it!"

Sir Harry flushed crimson with delight and surprise; yet the latter feeling predominated more than was pleasant, as he recollected the old-established principle of himself and his clique, "Nothing for nothing, and very little for a halfpenny."

"Now, Sir Harry, I'll tell you what I will do. Five thousand will clear us for the present. With five thousand we could pay off the necessary debts, take up that bill of Sharon's, and get a fresh start. When they saw we were not completely floored, we could always renew, and the turn of the tide would in all probability set us afloat again. Now the question is, _how_ to get at the five thousand? It will not come out of Somersetshire, I _think_?"

Sir Harry shook his head, and laughed a hard, bitter laugh. "Not five thousand pence," he said, "if it was to save me from hanging to-morrow!"

"And you really do not know which way to turn?"

"No more than a child," answered Sir Harry. "If you fail me, I must give in. If you can help me, and _yourself too_, out of this sc.r.a.pe, why, I shall say what I always did--that you are the cleverest of fellows and the best of friends."

"I think it can be done," said the younger man, but he no longer looked his friend in the face; and a faint blush, that faded almost on the instant, pa.s.sed over his features. He had one card left in his hand; he had kept it to the last; he thought he ought to play it now. "I have never told you, Sir Harry, that I have a few acres in Ireland, strictly tied up in the hands of trustees, but with their consent I have power to sell. It is all the property I have left in the world; it will raise the sum we require, and--it shall follow the rest."

This was true enough. Gambler, libertine, man of pleasure as he was, Ropsley had always kept an eye to the main chance. It was part of his system to know all sorts of people, and to be concerned in a small way with several speculative and money-making schemes. After the pa.s.sing of the Irish Enc.u.mbered Estates Bill, it so happened that a fortunate investment at Newmarket had placed a few loose thousands to the credit side of our Guardsman's account at c.o.x and Co.'s. He heard casually of a capital investment for the same, within a day's journey of Dublin, as he was dining with a party of stock-jobbing friends in the City. Six hours afterwards Ropsley was in the train, and in less than six weeks had become the proprietor of sundry remunerative Irish acres, the same which he was now prepared unhesitatingly to sacrifice in the cause of grat.i.tude, which with this philosopher, more than most men, might be fairly termed "a lively sense of benefits to come."

"Yes, it shall follow the rest," he repeated, stirring the fire vigorously, and now looking studiously _away_ from the man he was addressing,--"Sir Harry, you are a man of the world--you know me thoroughly, we cannot humbug each other. Although I would do much for your sake, you cannot think that a fellow sacrifices his last farthing simply because he and his confederate have made a mistake in their calculations. No, Sir Harry, your honour is dear to me as my own--nay, dearer, for I now wish to express a hope that we may become more nearly connected than we have ever been before, and that the ties of relationship may give me a right, as those of friendship have already made it a pleasure, to a.s.sist you to the best of my abilities."

Sir Harry opened his mouth and pushed his chair back from the fire.

Hampered, distressed, ruined as he was, it _did_ seem a strong measure thus to sell Constance Beverley, so to speak, for "a mess of pottage"; and the bare idea of such a contract for the moment took away the Baronet's breath. Not that the notion was by any means a strange one to his mind; for the last two or three years, during which he had a.s.sociated so much with the Guardsman, and had so many opportunities of appreciating his talents, shrewdness, and attractive qualities, the latter had been gradually gaining a complete ascendancy over his mind and character. Sir Harry was like a child in leading-strings in the hands of his confederate; and it had often occurred to him that it would be very pleasant, as as well as advantageous, always to have this mainstay on which to rely--this "ready-reckoner," and man of inexhaustible resources, to consult on every emergency. Vague ideas had sometimes crossed the Baronet's brain, that it was just possible his daughter might be brought to _like_ well enough to marry (for _loving_ was not a word in her father's vocabulary) an agreeable man, into whose society she was constantly thrown; and then, as Constance was an heiress, and the Baronet himself would be relieved from divers pecuniary embarra.s.sments on her marriage, by the terms of a certain settlement with which we have nothing to do--why, it would be a delightful arrangement for all parties, and Ropsley could come and live at Beverley, and all be happy together.

Such were the ideas that vaguely floated across the Baronet's mind in those moments of reflection of which he allowed himself so few; but he was a father, and a kind one, with all his faults; and it had never yet entered his head either to force his daughter's inclinations, or even to encourage with his own influence any suitor who was not agreeable to the young lady. He was fond of Constance, in his own way--fonder than of anything in the world, save his own comfort, and a very stirring and closely-contested race at Newmarket. So he looked, as indeed he felt, somewhat taken aback by Ropsley's proposal, which his own instinct as a gentleman told him was peculiarly ill-timed.

He laughed nervously, and thanked his friend for his kindness.

"With regard to--Miss Beverley," he stammered; "why--you know, my dear Ropsley,--business is business, and pleasure is pleasure. I--I--had no wish,--at least I had not made up my mind--or rather, I had no absolute intention that my daughter should settle so early in life. You are aware she is an heiress--a very great heiress" (Ropsley was indeed, or they would not have been at this point of discussion now), "and she might look to making a great match; in fact, Constance Beverley might marry anybody. Still, I never would thwart her inclinations; and if you think, my dear fellow, you can make yourself agreeable to her, why, I should make no objections, as you know there is no man that I should individually like better for a son-in-law than yourself."

Ropsley rose, shook his new papa cordially by the hand, rang for luncheon, and rather to the Baronet's discomfiture, seemed to look upon it at once as a settled thing.

"My business will not take long," said he, helping his guest to a large gla.s.sful of sherry. "You do not go abroad for another week; I can make all my arrangements, _our_ arrangements, I should say, by that time. Why should we not travel together? My servant is the best courier in Europe; you will have no trouble whatever, only leave it all to me."

Sir Harry hated trouble. Sir Harry liked the Continent. The scheme was exactly suited to his tastes and habits; so it was settled they should all start at once--a family party.

And where is the young lady all this time? the prime origin of so much scheming, the motive power of all this mechanism? In the front drawing-room of the gloomy hotel she sits over the fire, buried deep in thought--to judge by her saddened countenance--not of the most cheering description. Above the fire-place hangs a large engraving of Landseer's famous Newfoundland dog, that "Member of the Humane Society" whom he has immortalised with his pencil. The lady sighs as she gazes on the broad, honest forehead, the truthful, intelligent face, the majestic att.i.tude denoting strength in repose. Either the light is very bad in this room, or the gla.s.s over that engraving is dim and blurred, and the dog seems crouching in a mist, or are Constance Beverley's dark eyes dimmed with tears?

CHAPTER XXVI

"SURVEILLANCE"

I did not question my friend as to his success in the _cha.s.se_. Victor was evidently ill at ease, and after a few commonplace remarks returned to his apartments, from whence he did not reappear till dinner-time.

Valerie, too, was nowhere to be found, and I spent the afternoon in the _salon_ with a strange visitor, who was announced by the groom of the chambers as Monsieur Stein, and whose business at Edeldorf I confess I was at a loss to discover.

The time pa.s.sed agreeably enough. I was indisposed for reflection, a process which, under existing circ.u.mstances, could only have involved me in a labyrinth of perplexities; and my new acquaintance was possessed of a fund of information and small talk which must have been acquired by much intercourse with the world.

He seemed perfectly familiar with English habits and English politics, professing great admiration for the one and interest in the other. He had _served_ too, he said, although I did not make out exactly in what grade; and altogether he was evidently a man of varied experience and considerable acquirements.

Silent as I naturally am, and especially reserved with strangers, there was something about my new acquaintance that led me to be communicative in spite of myself. His whole address and exterior were so thoroughly _confidential_, his manner so easy and unaffected; there was so much good-humour and _bonhommie_ in his quiet smile and subdued enunciation, that I found myself almost unconsciously detailing events and imparting information with a facility of which I should have once thought I was incapable. Monsieur Stein listened, and bowed, and smiled, and put in a slight query here, or hazarded an observation there, which proved that he too was well acquainted with the topics on which I was enlarging; nor did he fail to compliment me on the lucid manner in which he was good enough to say I had explained to him the whole system of Turkish politics, and the relations of that tottering country with our own. As we went to make our toilets before dinner, I could not help asking my friend, the groom of the chambers, whose arm a.s.sisted me upstairs (ah!

it was Valerie's the night before!), "who he was, this Monsieur Stein, who had arrived so unexpectedly, and had not yet seen the Count?" The man's face a.s.sumed a comical expression of mingled terror and disgust as he professed an utter ignorance of the guest; but when I added an inquiry as to whether he was a friend of Count Victor, his disclaimer was far more vigorous than the occasion seemed to demand. "Well,"

thought I, "I shall know all about it from Valerie this evening;" and proceeded with my toilet--shall I confess it?--with more pains than I had ever taken in my life before.

But when we met at dinner a chill seemed to have fallen on our party, hitherto so merry and vivacious. Victor, though polite and courteous as ever, was reserved, absent, and out of spirits. Valerie turned red and white by turns, answered only by monosyllables, and never once allowed her eyes to wander in my direction. I, too, felt sad and preoccupied.

My coming departure seemed to cast a damp over my spirits; and yet when I thought of Valerie's unconcealed regret, and frank avowal of interest in my future, my heart leapt with a strange, startling thrill, half of pleasure, half of pain. Monsieur Stein, however, appeared to suffer from none of these uncomfortable sensations. He ate, he drank, he talked, he made the agreeable, and amidst it all he seemed to note with a lynx-eye the gorgeous furniture, the glittering plate, the host of servants attired in their gaudy hussar uniforms, the choice wine, and excellent cookery, for which the _menage_ of Edeldorf had always been remarkable. In the brilliant light that shed its glare over the dining-table I was able to examine my new acquaintance more minutely than I had previously done before we went to dress. He seemed to me, without exception, the _least_ remarkable man I had ever met. He was neither young nor old, neither dark nor fair, neither short nor tall, stout nor thin; his dress, that of a civilian, was plain and unstudied in the extreme; his demeanour, quiet and unaffected, was in admirable keeping with his whole exterior. There was nothing military about the man save a closely-clipped and carefully-trained moustache; but this warlike appendage was again contradicted by a slight stoop, and a somewhat hesitating gait, by no means that of a soldier. His eye, too, of a cold, dead grey, with light eyelashes, was soft and sleepy. Once I fancied I caught a lightning glance directed at Valerie; but the orbs were so quickly veiled by their drooping lids that I could not be satisfied it was more than a trick of my own imagination. Altogether M.

Stein was a man that in England would have been described emphatically as "very gentlemanlike," for want of any more characteristic qualifications; in France he would have been pa.s.sed over as an undemonstrative cipher; my friends the Turks would have conferred a silent approval on his quiet, una.s.suming demeanour. Why was it that in Hungary his presence should act as what we call at home "a wet blanket"?

Dinner progressed slowly. Monsieur Stein addressed himself chiefly to Count de Rohan; and I could not help remarking that the latter's answers to his guest were marked by a caution and reserve totally foreign to his usual straightforward manner and off-hand way of saying whatever came uppermost. His air gave me the idea of a man who was determined not to be _pumped_. He drank less wine also than usual; and altogether was certainly not at his ease. Valerie, too, whenever she raised her eyes from the tablecloth, glanced uneasily towards Monsieur Stein; and when I made a casual remark to her, answered so absently and stiffly as to cause me for my part to feel uncomfortable and _de trop_ in this small ill-organised party. It was a relief to all of us when coffee made its appearance, and the newly-arrived guest, giving his hand to Valerie with a courtly bow, led her back to the drawing-room, whilst I followed with Victor, and took the opportunity of whispering to my old friend, in English--

"Who is this gentleman, Victor, that seems to know a little of everything and everybody, and whose thirst for information seems so unquenchable?"

"Hush!" replied Victor, with an uneasy look at the couple in front of us; "he speaks English as well as you do, though I dare say he told you not. My dear Vere, for Heaven's sake, to-night sit still and hold your tongue!"

At this instant Valerie turned round, and addressed some trifling observation to her brother, but with a warning expression of countenance that seemed to tell him he had been overheard. The next moment we were seated round her work-table, chatting as gaily upon the merits of her embroidery as though we were all the most intimate friends in the world.

Certainly ladies' work promotes conversation of the most harmless and least suspicious description; and I think it would indeed have been difficult to affix a definite meaning to the remarks made by any one of us on the intricacies of Countess Valerie's st.i.tching, or the skill displayed by that lady in her graceful and feminine employment.

The evening dragged on. Monsieur Stein conversed freely on the state of the country, the condition of the peasantry, the plans of the Government, and a projected railroad, for the construction of which he did not seem to think it possible the Austrian exchequer would ever be able to pay. Victor listened, and scarcely spoke; Valerie seemed interested in the railway, and determined to pursue that subject as long as possible; whilst I sat, out of spirits, and, truth to tell, out of humour, a silent observer of all three. I was deprived of my habitual occupations, and missed the care and interest to which I was accustomed as an invalid. Valerie did not make my tea for me as usual, nor explain to me, for the hundredth time, the cunning splendour of her embroidery, nor ask for my a.s.sistance in the thousand trifling ways with which a woman makes you fancy you are essential to her comfort; and I was childish enough to feel sad, if not a little sulky, in consequence. At last I lost patience, and throwing down abruptly the paper which I had been reading, I asked Countess Valerie to "give us a little music,"

adding in perfect innocence, "Do play that beautiful march out of 'The Honijady'--it is so inspiriting and so thoroughly national!"

If a sh.e.l.l had fallen into the room, and commenced its whizzing operations under Valerie's work-table, it could not have created greater consternation than did my very natural request. The Countess turned deadly pale, and her hand trembled so that she could scarcely hold her needle. Victor rose from his chair with a tremendous oath, and walking off to the fire-place (for he was sufficiently an Englishman to prefer a grate to a stove), commenced stirring an already huge fire with much unnecessary energy, talking the whole time as if to drown my unlucky observation. Monsieur Stein flashed one of his lightning glances--there was no mistaking it this time--upon the whole of us, and then relapsed into his previous composure; whilst I felt that I had committed some unpardonable _gaucherie_, but could not, for the life of me, discover how or why.

It was hopeless that evening to make any more attempts at conversation.

Even the guest seemed to think he had exerted himself sufficiently, and at an earlier hour than usual we retired for the night. When I came down next morning he was gone.

Victor did not appear at breakfast, and Valerie's excuses for her brother were delivered with a degree of restraint and formality which made me feel very uncomfortable.

"Victor was busy," she said, "with the steward and the land-agent. He had a great deal to do; he would not be at leisure for hours, but he would see me before he started on his journey."

"Journey!" said I; "what journey does he mean to take? and what is all this mystery and confusion? Pardon me, Countess Valerie, I am a straightforward man, Victor is my oldest friend, and I do claim to be in the secret, if I can be of any a.s.sistance or comfort to you in anything."

She looked at me once more with the frank, confiding look that reminded me so of _another_; and putting her hand in mine, she said--

"I know we can trust you; I know _I_ can trust you. Victor is _compromised_; he must go to Vienna to clear himself. He has yesterday received a hint that amounts indeed to an order. We are not even free to live on our own lands," she added bitterly, and with the old gleam of defiance flashing over her features; "the proudest n.o.ble in Hungary is but a serf after all."

"And Monsieur Stein?" I asked, for I was beginning to penetrate the mystery.

"Is an agent of police," she replied, "and one of the cleverest in the Emperor's service. Did you remark how _civil_ we were forced to be to him? Did you not notice Victor's constrained and uncomfortable manner?

Whilst he remained, that man was our master--that low-born spy our master! This is what we have come to. His mission was understood plainly enough by both of us. He came with a hint from the Emperor that we were very remiss in our attendance at Court; that his Imperial Majesty valued our loyalty too much to doubt its sincerity; and that it would be better, _all things considered_, if we were to spend the winter at Vienna. Also, I doubt not, information was required as to what our English friend was about; and when it is reported--as reported it will be--that his musical taste leads him to admire 'the march in the Honijady,' why we shall probably be put under 'surveillance' for six months, and be obliged to reside in the capital for a year or two, till we have got thoroughly Austrianised, when we shall return here, feeling our degradation more bitterly than ever."

"And why may I not consult my own taste in music?" I inquired; "or what is there so deadly in that beautiful march which you play with such brilliancy and spirit?"

Valerie laughed.

"Do you not know," said she, "that the Honijadys were nearly connected with our ancestors--that the De Rohans, originally Norman, only became Hungarian through their alliance with that princely family--a race who were never found wanting when it was necessary to a.s.sert the independence of their country? It was a Honijady that rolled the Turks back from the very gates of Vienna. It was a Honijady that first resisted the oppression of Austrian despotism. It was a Honijady that shed the last drop of n.o.ble blood spilt in our late struggle for independence. The finest of our operas is founded on the history of this devoted family, and the Honijady march is the very gathering tune of all who hate the iron yoke under which we groan. Only look at the faces of a Hungarian audience as they listen to its forbidden tones--for it must now only be played in secret--and you comprehend why, of all the airs that ever were composed, the last you should have asked for in the presence of Monsieur Stein was the march in 'The Honijady.'"

"I do truly regret my indiscretion," was my reply; "but if Victor is compelled to go to Vienna, I shall certainly accompany him. It is not my practice to abandon a friend, and _such_ a friend, in his distress.

Though I can be of little use, my presence may be some comfort and amus.e.m.e.nt to him; besides, the very fact of my proceeding straight into the lion's mouth will show that I have not been staying here with any ulterior views."