by Andrew Lang
CHAPTER XXVI
MR. WOGAN TRADUCES HIS FRIEND, WITH THE HAPPIEST CONSEQUENCES
Mr. Wogan's title of Hilton was now, thanks to the _Flying Post_, asfamiliar as his name; he refused both the one and the other to theservant, and was admitted to Rose Townley without any formalities. Hereyes flashed as they remarked his livery, but she was not in anyconcern about Mr. Wogan, and asked him no questions. She rose with theutmost coldness, did not give him her hand, and only the bare mockeryof a bow, as though her indignation against Mr. Kelly was so completethat it must needs embrace his friend.
'I thought that he would have plucked up enough courage to comehimself,' said she, with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders.
'He is a man of the meanest spirit,' replied Wogan, in a sullenagreement. 'It is a strange thing how easily one may be misled. Herehave I been going up and down the world with him for years, and Inever knew him until now, never knew the black heart of him, and hisabominable perfidies.'
Rose was taken aback by Wogan's speech. No doubt she expected ahotch-potch of excuses and arguments on Mr. Kelly's behalf, whichwould but have confirmed her in her own opinion; but falling in withher views, he took the words out of her mouth.
'So,' she said doubtfully, 'he has lost your friendship too?'
'To be sure,' cried Wogan in a heat, 'would you have me keep friendswith a vile wretch whose thoughts writhe at the bottom of his soullike a poisonous nest of vipers?'
Rose neither answered the question nor expressed any approval ofWogan's elegant figure describing Mr. Kelly's mind.
'Oh,' said she, 'then he did not send you to make his peace with me?'
Wogan answered with all the appearances of reluctance.
'No. In fact the man was coming himself, and with a light heart. Hemade a great to-do about the infinite fairness and charity of women,which place them equal to the angels, and how you excelled all womenin that and other womanly qualities. But I told him, on the contrary,that I knew your spirit, and that you were of too noble a pride toshut your eyes to a slight, and would certainly dismiss him. However,he would not be persuaded, so I slipped away from him and ran here, sothat I might warn you against him.'
Rose forgot to thank Mr. Wogan for his zeal on her behalf. Indeed herface, in spite of herself, had lightened for a second; in spite ofherself her eyes had sparkled when Wogan spoke of the great faith Mr.Kelly had in her charity.
'It was more than a slight,' she said, 'I could forgive a slight--Hewould have come himself had not you prevented him.'
'But he is coming. He would have been here already, but that he paid avisit on the way to Colonel Montague to discover whether Lady Oxford'sletters had been restored to her.'
'Lady Oxford's letters!' exclaimed Rose, her face flushing again withanger.
'To be sure,' said Wogan, 'you would know nothing of them. It is afine story--the story of Lady Oxford's love-letters.'
'I have no wish to hear it,' cried Rose sharply, and she turnedtowards the window. Mr. Wogan took a quick step towards her. If shelooked out of the window she could hardly fail to observe the Parson.
'Nor is it a story that you should hear,' said Wogan in a soothingvoice, 'though indeed to hear it from Mr. Kelly's lips would surelymake you aware of his devilish sophistries. For he declares that, butfor you, Lady Oxford's love-letters would never have been restored toher, nor would he have gone to prison and put his neck in the noose.'
Rose shivered at those last words and drew in her breath. She turnedquickly back to Wogan.
'But for me?' she asked. 'What have I to do with Lady Oxford'slove-letters, or with his danger?' and her voice softened towards theend of the sentence.
'Why, Lady Oxford, who knew very well Mr. Kelly's trade, betrayed himin revenge for a certain ballad wherein your name was mentioned.'
'Yes,' interrupted Rose, 'Lady Mary told me of the ballad.'
'Well, you heard Mr. Kelly perhaps assure Lady Oxford that he had herbrocades in his lodging, and perhaps you remarked her ladyship'sconfusion.'
'Yes. I guessed what the brocades were.'
'Very well. Mr. Kelly remained with her Ladyship, who informed himthat he would be taken outside his door, and his rooms searched. Therewere papers in his rooms of a kind to bring him into great danger. Butthere were also Lady Oxford's letters. The story he will tell you isthis, that he meant to use Lady Oxford's letters as a weapon by whichhe might save his papers and so himself; but a complete revolutiontook place in his thoughts. He suddenly understood that he owed it toyou that no woman's name should be smirched by his fault, and thatthus he was bound, at the peril of his life, to rescue Lady Oxford'sletters, as he did. A strange chance put it into his hands to burn hisown papers, and leave Lady Oxford's to be seized, in which case hewould have been saved, and she lost. But he saved his honour instead,and his love for you helped him to it. He rescued her Ladyship'sletters, his own are in the hands of the Minister.'
Mr. Wogan, who had now secured a most attentive listener, disclosedall that Mr. Kelly had told him of what took place in Ryder Street.
'This is the story he will tell you. And to be sure, he adds a prettytouch to the pretence. For he went whistling to prison and he saysthat he whistled because he felt as if you were walking by his side.'
'But what if it were no pretence at all?'
Mr. Wogan sagely shook his head, though the story had the stamp oftruth on it to those who knew the Parson.
'If he had held you in such respect would he have sent you LadyOxford's miniature to wear at Lady Oxford's rout?'
'But he did not send it to me for that purpose,' she cried, 'he didnot even know that I was going to the rout. He gave me the miniature along time ago, when it would have been very difficult for him to tellme whose it was.'
'But he told you it was Queen Clementina's.'
'No. It was I who guessed at that, and he--did not deny it.'
Here at all events was sophistry, but Mr. Wogan was less indignant atit than his anger with the Parson's subtleties would lead one toexpect.
'Well,' said Wogan, 'I have told you what it was my plain duty todisclose to you.'
At this moment Wogan chanced to look towards the window. He beheld Mr.Kelly's face pressed against the glass. The man had grown impatientand so had climbed on to the railings. Mr. Wogan broke off with anexclamation he could not repress.
'What is it?' said Rose, turning about.
'Some most beautiful diamonds,' said Wogan, spreading out his hand tothe window. He then dropped on to the floor and began picking up thediamonds which Rose had scattered when she set her foot on theminiature. Rose bit her lips, and flushed, as he held them in hispalm. Then he said carelessly:
'That fine miniature had diamonds set about it. D'ye know, MissTownley, that miniature would have been at the bottom of the sea longbefore Mr. Kelly came to Avignon, but for the diamonds about it. 'TwasI held his arm when, having done with her Ladyship, he would also havedone with her Ladyship's present, and I bade him keep it for the valueof the jewels.'
There was a loud knocking at the door, which came not a moment earlierthan was necessary to prevent Mr. Wogan revealing himself as still theParson's friend.
'There's the fellow come to importune you,' said Wogan.
'Then he would have thrown it away but for you,' said Miss Townleythoughtfully. 'He did not keep it out of any--'
But Wogan heard the servant pass down to the door, and thought itwould be as well if he had a private word with the Parson.
'You will excuse me,' he said with dignity, 'but I have no heart forthe man's company. Besides, I have stayed too long in London as it is.Delays would be dangerous.'
But Rose had no ears for any dangers of Mr. Wogan, as he wasindescribably glad to remark. For her eyes looked past him to thedoor; from head to foot she seemed to listen for the sound of theParson's voice. Mr. Wogan bowed, and opened the door. Though shefollowed him to the door, and held it open as he
passed out, she didnot notice that he was going, she had no word of farewell. She did noteven notice that Mr. Wogan put the diamonds in his pocket. For Mr.Wogan had his wits about him. Diamonds were diamonds, and the carpetno place for them. Some day they might be of use to the Parson. Thedoor of the street was opened as Wogan stepped into the passage. ButRose did not shut the door of the parlour and so Wogan, as he metKelly, could only whisper hurriedly, 'Remember, I am your worstenemy,' and so left him to his own resources.
It appeared, however, that they were sufficient. The Parson made noexcuses whatever; he carried the day by the modesty of his omissions.Both with regard to the miniature and to the saving of Smilinda hedisclosed to her no more than a bald array of facts. He made no paradeof the part which the thought of Rose had played in the revulsion ofhis feelings, bringing him to see that he was bound in honour to saveSmilinda's honour; he did not tell her why he went whistling toprison. But Rose knew from Wogan of these evidences of his love, andno doubt thought of them the more because he would not use them tosoften her just resentments.
Mr. Wogan left them together, and, walking out to Dulwich, found theColonel's horse waiting in the road between the chestnut trees. Hecame to the coast of Sussex in the morning, where he had friends amongthe smugglers, and lay all that day in a hut within sound of thewaves. It was a black, melancholy day for Nicholas Wogan, who wasleaving his friends behind him to face their perils alone, and whofelt very solitary; not even the memory of the noble deeds of hisillustrious forefathers had any power to cheer him, until he heard thegrating noise of the boat's keel as it was dragged down the beach tothe sea, and saw the sail like a great wing waft up between him andthe stars.
He got safe to Paris, where he heard of the strange use to which theParson put his few weeks of liberty, for the Parson married RoseTownley three weeks later at St. James's Church in Piccadilly, andwrote to Mr. Wogan a very warm, human sort of letter which had not onesingle classical allusion to disfigure it. In that letter he gave thereasons which had induced him to the marriage.
'I am told,' he wrote, 'that a man so dangerously circumstanced mustbe selfish in the extreme to marry a woman who, in a short while, may,at the worst, be widowed; and at the best must be separated from herhusband in his gaol. I do not fear that you will have so mean anopinion of my inclinations, but I would not have you think me carelessupon this point neither. Dr. Townley is old, and his health breaks. Hewill leave his daughter, when he dies, but little money, and thatmoment cannot be very far off. It is true that Rose has beauty, and nodoubt she might make a rich marriage if she had only beauty. But shehas frankness, truth, and constancy as well, qualities which are notmarketable wares, since those who possess them will not bring theminto the market. Now, if I suffer death for the Cause, Rose will be nopoorer than she was before; if, on the other hand, I live, there arethe booksellers, and from the silence of my prison I can make shift toearn for her a decent livelihood.'
As all the world knows, Mr. Kelly lived, and even gained much creditby his speech at his trial. He made it plain, to all but prejudicedWhigs, that there was no Plot, nor he concerned in any, if there were.But what is Whig justice? He was sentenced to prison for life. Thepapers in his strong box were enough to help a foolish fellow,Counsellor Layer, on his way to Tyburn, enough to send Lord Orrery tothe Tower, and Lord North and Grey into exile. The Plot was ruined forthat time; the Bishop of Rochester was banished, for Mar's traitorousmention of the dog Harlequin fixed the guilt on that holy man. Mr.Kelly came off with loss of fourteen years of his life, which years hepassed in the Tower.
It was not, after all, so silent a prison as he imagined it would be.For though during the first months his confinement was severe, and henever drew air except from between the bars, afterwards this rigourwas relaxed. He was placed in a room of which one window took themorning sun, and the other commanded the river, and the ships going upand down with the tide; he was allowed the use of his books, and toreceive what visitors he would. His visitors were not few, and amongstthem Colonel Montague was the most frequent. His gaolers, the officerswho were stationed in the Tower, and their wives, became his familiarfriends, and it is said that when, after fourteen years, he escaped,not a woman in the precincts could make up her mind whether to clapher hands for joy, or weep at the loss of his society. Moreover, Rosecame and went at her pleasure.
The first years of his imprisonment were thus not wholly unhappyyears. He sat amongst his books translating Cicero, and if at timeshis limbs ached for the stress and activity of his youth, and he beganto dream of hours in the saddle and starry nights at sea, it was notperhaps for very long. He had friends enough to divert his leisuremoments, and Rose to keep him busy at his work. For what he hadforeseen came to pass. Two years after Mr. Kelly came to the Tower,Dr. Townley died, and left Rose but poorly circumstanced. She came tolodge close by the Tower Gates, and the Parson set his pen to hispaper and wrote essays and translations till the whole Tower of Londonbuzzed with his learning, and no doubt a friendly Jacobite here andthere bought one of his books. Mr. Wogan, indeed, bought them all. Hehas them ranged upon a bookshelf in his lodging at Paris, all bound inleather and most dignified; the very print has a sonorous look. 'Mr.Kelly's _Opera_' he calls them, and always speaks of the books as'tomes' with prodigious respect and perhaps a sigh. For--
'He lacks one quality,' Mr. Wogan was heard to say, 'to set him on thepinnacle of fame. He cannot write poetry. It is a trick, no doubt, apoor sort of trick; but George had it not, and so when there waspoetry to be written, he had to come to his friends.'
Thus ten years passed, and then came the black day, when Rose fellsick of a fever and must keep her bed. She sent word to George dailythat he should expect her on the morrow, until a delirium took her,and the doctor, who had been charged by Rose to make light of hersuffering, was now forced to tell Mr. Kelly the truth. She lay atdeath's door, calling on her husband, who could not come to her, andtalking ever of that little garden at Avignon above the Rhone, inwhich she fancied that he and she now walked.
Mr. Kelly took the news in silence as a dog takes pain, and neverslept and barely moved while the fever ran its course. Rose was at theTower Gates, George was in his prison; a few yards only were betweenthem, but those few yards were built upon with stones. In the daytimemessages were brought to him often enough, but at night, when themists rose from the river and the gates were closed, and the Parsonhad the dark loitering hours wherein to picture the sick room with itsdim light and the tired figure tossing from this side to that of thebed, then indeed Smilinda had her revenge.
