The Virginians

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER LXXIII. We keep Christmas at Castlewood. 1759

  We know, my dear children, from our favourite fairy story-books, how atall christenings and marriages some one is invariably disappointed,and vows vengeance; and so need not wonder that good cousin Will shouldcurse and rage energetically at the news of his brother's engagementwith the colonial heiress. At first, Will fled the house, in his wrath,swearing he would never return. But nobody, including the swearer,believed much in Master Will's oaths; and this unrepentant prodigal,after a day or two, came back to the paternal house. The fumes of themarriage-feast allured him: he could not afford to resign his knife andfork at Castlewood table. He returned, and drank and ate there in tokenof revenge. He pledged the young bride in a bumper, and drank perditionto her under his breath. He made responses of smothered maledictionsas her father gave her away in the chapel, and my lord vowed to love,honour and cherish her. He was not the only grumbler respecting thatmarriage, as Mr. Warrington knew: he heard, then and afterwards, noend of abuse of my lady and her grandfather. The old gentleman's Cityfriends, his legal adviser, the Dissenting clergyman at whose chapelthey attended on their first arrival in England, and poor Jack Lambert,the orthodox young divine, whose eloquence he had fondly hoped hadbeen exerted over her in private, were bitter against the little lady'streachery, and each had a story to tell of his having been enslaved,encouraged, jilted, by the young American. The lawyer, who had had suchan accurate list of all her properties, estates, moneys, slaves, ships,expectations, was ready to vow and swear that he believed the wholeaccount was false; that there was no such place as New York or Virginia;or at any rate, that Mr. Van den Bosch had no land there; that there wasno such thing as a Guinea trade, and that the negroes were so manyblack falsehoods invented by the wily old planter. The Dissenting pastormoaned over his stray lambling--if such a little, wily, mischievousmonster could be called a lamb at all. Poor Jack Lambert ruefullyacknowledged to his mamma the possession of a lock of black hair, whichhe bedewed with tears and apostrophised in quite unclerical language:and, as for Mr. William Esmond, he, with the shrieks and curses in whichhe always freely indulged, even at Castlewood, under his sister-in-law'sown pretty little nose, when under any strong emotion, called Acheronto witness, that out of that region there did not exist such an artfulyoung devil as Miss Lydia. He swore that she was an infernal femaleCerberus, and called down all the wrath of this world and the next uponhis swindling rascal of a brother, who had cajoled him with fair words,and filched his prize from him.

  "Why," says Mr. Warrington (when Will expatiated on these matters withhim), "if the girl is such a she-devil as you describe her, you are allthe better for losing her. If she intends to deceive her husband, andto give him a dose of poison, as you say, how lucky for you, you are notthe man! You ought to thank the gods, Will, instead of cursing them, forrobbing you of such a fury, and can't be better revenged on Castlewoodthan by allowing him her sole possession."

  "All this was very well," Will Esmond said; but--not unjustly,perhaps,--remarked that his brother was not the less a scoundrel forhaving cheated him out of the fortune which he expected to get, andwhich he had risked his life to win, too.

  George Warrington was at a loss to know how his cousin had been madeso to risk his precious existence (for which, perhaps, a rope's endhad been a fitting termination), on which Will Esmond, with the utmostcandour, told his kinsman how the little Cerbera had actually causedthe meeting between them, which was interrupted somehow by Sir JohnFielding's men; how she was always saying that George Warrington was acoward for ever sneering at Mr. Will, and the latter doubly a poltroonfor not taking notice of his kinsman's taunts; how George had run awayand nearly died of fright in Braddock's expedition; and "Deuce take me,"says Will, "I never was more surprised, cousin, than when you stood toyour ground so coolly in Tottenham Court Fields yonder, for me and mysecond offered to wager that you would never come!"

  Mr. Warrington laughed, and thanked Mr. Will for this opinion of him.

  "Though," says he, "cousin, 'twas lucky for me the constables came up,or you would have whipped your sword through my body in another minute.Didn't you see how clumsy I was as I stood before you? And you actuallyturned white and shook with anger!"

  "Yes, curse me," says Mr. Will (who turned very red this time), "that'smy way of showing my rage; and I was confoundedly angry with you,cousin! But now 'tis my brother I hate, and that little devil of aCountess--a countess! a pretty countess, indeed!" And with anotherrumbling cannonade of oaths, Will saluted the reigning member of hisfamily.

  "Well, cousin," says George, looking him queerly in the face, "you letme off easily, and I dare say I owe my life to you, or at any rate awhole waistcoat, and I admire your forbearance and spirit. What a pitythat a courage like yours should be wasted as a mere court usher! Youare a loss to his Majesty's army. You positively are!"

  "I never know whether you are joking or serious, Mr. Warrington," growlsWill.

  "I should think very few gentlemen would dare to joke with you, cousin,if they had a regard for their own lives or ears! cries Mr. Warrington,who loved this grave way of dealing with his noble kinsman, and used towatch, with a droll interest, the other choking his curses, grinding histeeth because afraid to bite, and smothering his cowardly anger.

  "And you should moderate your expressions, cousin, regarding the dearCountess and my lord your brother," Mr. Warrington resumed. "Of you theyalways speak most tenderly. Her ladyship has told me everything."

  "What everything?" cries Will, aghast.

  "As much as women ever do tell, cousin. She owned that she thought youhad been a little epris with her. What woman can help liking a man whohas admired her?"

  "Why, she hates you, and says you were wild about her, Mr. Warrington!"says Mr. Esmond.

  "Spretae injuria formae, cousin!"

  "For me--what's for me?" asks the other.

  "I never did care for her, and hence, perhaps, she does not love me.Don't you remember that case of the wife of the Captain of the Guard?"

  "Which Guard?" asks Will.

  "My Lord Potiphar," says Mr. Warrington.

  "Lord Who? My Lord Falmouth is Captain of the Yeomen of the Guard,and my Lord Berkeley of the Pensioners. My Lord Hobart had 'em before.Suppose you haven't been long enough in England to know who's who,cousin!" remarks Mr. William.

  But Mr. Warrington explained that he was speaking of a Captain of theGuard of the King of Egypt, whose wife had persecuted one Joseph for notreturning her affection for him. On which Will said that, as forEgypt, he believed it was a confounded long way off; and that if LordWhat-d'ye-call's wife told lies about him, it was like her sex, who hesupposed were the same everywhere.

  Now the truth is, that when he paid his marriage-visit to Castlewood,Mr. Warrington had heard from the little Countess her version of thestory of differences between Will Esmond and herself. And this talediffered, in some respects, though he is far from saying it is moreauthentic than the ingenuous narrative of Mr. Will. The lady was grievedto think how she had been deceived in her brother-in-law. She fearedthat his life about the court and town had injured those high principleswhich all the Esmonds are known to be born with; that Mr. Will's wordswere not altogether to be trusted; that a loose life and pecuniarydifficulties had made him mercenary, blunted his honour, perhaps evenimpaired the high chivalrous courage "which we Esmonds, cousin," thelittle lady said, tossing her head, "which we Esmonds must alwayspossess--leastways, you and me, and my lord, and my cousin Harry haveit, I know!" says the Countess. "Oh, cousin George! and must I confessthat I was led to doubt of yours, without which a man of ancient andnoble family like ours isn't worthy to be called a man! I shall try,George, as a Christian lady, and the head of one of the first familiesin this kingdom and the whole world, to forgive my brother William forhaving spoke ill of a member of our family, though a younger branch andby the female side, and made me for a moment doubt of you. He did so.Perhaps he told me ever so many bad things you had said of me."
r />   "I, my dear lady!" cries Mr. Warrington.

  "Which he said you said of me, cousin, and I hope you didn't, andheartily pray you didn't; and I can afford to despise 'em. And he paidme his court, that's a fact; and so have others, and that I'm used to;and he might have prospered better than he did perhaps (for I did notknow my dear lord, nor come to vally his great and eminent qualities, asI do out of the fulness of this grateful heart now!), but, oh! I foundWilliam was deficient in courage, and no man as wants that can ever havethe esteem of Lydia, Countess of Castlewood, no more he can! He said'twas you that wanted for spirit, cousin, and angered me by telling methat you was always abusing of me. But I forgive you, George, that Ido! And when I tell you that it was he was afraid--the mean skunk!--andactually sent for them constables to prevent the match between you andhe, you won't wonder I wouldn't vally a feller like that--no, not thatmuch!" and her ladyship snapped her little fingers. "I say, noblesseoblige, and a man of our family who hasn't got courage, I don't care notthis pinch of snuff for him--there, now, I don't! Look at our ancestors,George, round these walls! Haven't the Esmonds always fought for theircountry and king? Is there one of us that, when the moment arrives,ain't ready to show that he's an Esmond and a nobleman? If my eldest sonwas to show the white feather, 'My Lord Esmond!' I would say to him (forthat's the second title in our family), 'I disown your lordship!'" Andso saying, the intrepid little woman looked round at her ancestors,whose effigies, depicted by Lely and Kneller, figured round the walls ofher drawing-room at Castlewood.

  Over that apartment, and the whole house, domain, and village, thenew Countess speedily began to rule with an unlimited sway. It wassurprising how quickly she learned the ways of command; and, if shedid not adopt those methods of precedence usual in England among greatladies, invented regulations for herself, and promulgated them, and madeothers submit. Having been bred a Dissenter, and not being over-familiarwith the Established Church service, Mr. Warrington remarked that shemade a blunder or two during the office (not knowing, for example,when she was to turn her face towards the east, a custom not adopted, Ibelieve, in other Reforming churches besides the English); but betweenWarrington's first bridal visit to Castlewood and his second, my ladyhad got to be quite perfect in that part of her duty, and sailed intochapel on her cousin's arm, her two footmen bearing her ladyship's greatPrayer-book behind her, as demurely as that delightful old devotee withher lackey, in Mr. Hogarth's famous picture of "Morning," and as ifmy Lady Lydia had been accustomed to have a chaplain all her life. Sheseemed to patronise not only the new chaplain, but the service and thechurch itself, as if she had never in her own country heard a Ranter ina barn. She made the oldest established families in the country--gravebaronets and their wives--worthy squires of twenty descents, who rodeover to Castlewood to pay the bride and bridegroom honour--know theirdistance, as the phrase is, and give her the pas. She got an oldheraldry book; and a surprising old maiden lady from Winton, learned inpoliteness and genealogies, from whom she learned the court etiquette(as the old Winton lady had known it in Queen Anne's time); and ere longshe jabbered gules and sables, bends and saltires, not with correctnessalways, but with a wonderful volubility and perseverance. She madelittle progresses to the neighbouring towns in her gilt coach-and-six,or to the village in her chair, and asserted a quasi-regal right ofhomage from her tenants and other clodpoles. She lectured the parsonon his divinity; the bailiff on his farming; instructed the astonishedhousekeeper how to preserve and pickle; would have taught the greatLondon footmen to jump behind the carriage, only it was too high for herlittle ladyship to mount; gave the village gossips instructions how tonurse and take care of their children long before she had one herself;and as for physic, Madam Esmond in Virginia was not more resolute abouther pills and draughts than Miss Lydia, the earl's new bride. Do youremember the story of the Fisherman and the Genie, in the ArabianNights? So one wondered with regard to this lady, how such a prodigiousgenius could have been corked down into such a little bottle as herbody. When Mr. Warrington returned to London after his first nuptialvisit, she brought him a little present for her young friends in DeanStreet, as she called them (Theo being older, and Hetty scarce youngerthan herself), and sent a trinket to one and a book to the other--G.Warrington always vowing that Theo's present was a doll, while Hetty'sshare was a nursery-book with words of one syllable. As for Mr. Will,her younger brother-in-law, she treated him with a maternal gravityand tenderness, and was in the habit of speaking of and to him with aprotecting air, which was infinitely diverting to Warrington, althoughWill's usual curses and blasphemies were sorely increased by herbehaviour.

  As for old age, my Lady Lydia had little respect for that accident inthe life of some gentlemen and gentlewomen; and, once the settlementswere made in her behalf, treated the ancient Van den Bosch and his largeperiwig with no more ceremony than Dinah her black attendant, whosegreat ears she would pinch, and whose woolly pate she would pull withoutscruple, upon offence given--so at least Dinah told Gumbo, who toldhis master. All the household trembled before my lady the Countess: thehousekeeper, of whom even my lord and the dowager had been in awe; thepampered London footmen, who used to quarrel if they were disturbed attheir cards, and grumbled as they swilled the endless beer, now steppednimbly about their business when they heard her ladyship's call; evenold Lockwood, who had been gate-porter for half a century or more, triedto rally his poor old wandering wits when she came into his lodge toopen his window, inspect his wood-closet, and turn his old dogs out ofdoors. Lockwood bared his old bald head before his new mistress, turnedan appealing look towards his niece, and vaguely trembled before herlittle ladyship's authority. Gumbo, dressing his master for dinner,talked about Elisha (of whom he had heard the chaplain read in themorning), "and his bald head and de boys who call um names, and de barseat em up, and serve um right," says Gumbo. But as for my lady, whendiscoursing with her cousin about the old porter, "Pooh, pooh! Stupidold man!" says she; "past his work, he and his dirty old dogs! They areas old and ugly as those old fish in the pond!" (Here she pointed to twoold monsters of carp that had been in a pond in Castlewood gardens forcenturies, according to tradition, and had their backs all covered witha hideous grey mould.) "Lockwood must pack off; the workhouse is theplace for him; and I shall have a smart, good-looking, tall fellow inthe lodge that will do credit to our livery."

  "He was my grandfather's man, and served him in the wars of Queen Anne,"interposed Mr. Warrington. On which my lady cried, petulantly, "O Lord!Queen Anne's dead, I suppose, and we ain't a-going into mourning forher."

  This matter of Lockwood was discussed at the family dinner, when herladyship announced her intention of getting rid of the old man.

  "I am told," demurely remarks Mr. Van den Bosch, "that, by the laws,poor servants and poor folks of all kinds are admirably provided intheir old age here in England. I am sure I wish we had such an asylumfor our folks at home, and that we were eased of the expense of keepingour old hands."

  "If a man can't work he ought to go!" cries her ladyship.

  "Yes, indeed, and that's a fact!" says grandpapa.

  "What! an old servant?" asks my lord.

  "Mr. Van den Bosch possibly was independent of servants when he wasyoung," remarks Mr. Warrington.

  "Greased my own boots, opened my own shutters, sanded and watered myown----"

  "Sugar, sir?" says my lord.

  "No; floor, son-in-law!" says the old man, with a laugh; "though thereis such tricks, in grocery stores, saving your ladyship's presence."

  "La, pa! what should I know about stores and groceries?" cries herladyship.

  "He! Remember stealing the sugar, and what came on it, my dearladyship?" says grandpapa.

  "At any rate, a handsome, well-grown man in our livery will look betterthan that shrivelled old porter creature!" cries my lady.

  "No livery is so becoming as old age, madam, and no lace as handsomeas silver hairs," says Mr. Warrington. "What will the county say if youbanish old Lockwood?"

 
; "Oh! if you plead for him, sir, I suppose he must stay. Hadn't I betterorder a couch for him out of my drawing-room, and send him some of thebest wine from the cellar?"

  "Indeed your ladyship couldn't do better," Mr. Warrington remarked, verygravely.

  And my lord said, yawning, "Cousin George is perfectly right, my dear.To turn away such an old servant as Lockwood would have an ill look."

  "You see those mouldy old carps are, after all, a curiosity, and attractvisitors," continues Mr. Warrington, gravely. "Your ladyship must allowthis old wretch to remain. It won't be for long. And you may then engagethe tall porter. It is very hard on us, Mr. Van den Bosch, that we areobliged to keep our old negroes when they are past work. I shall sellthat rascal Gumbo in eight or ten years."

  "Don't tink you will, master!" says Gumbo, grinning.

  "Hold your tongue, sir! He doesn't know English ways, you see, andperhaps thinks an old servant has a claim on his master's kindness,"says Mr. Warrington.

  The next day, to Warrington's surprise, my lady absolutely did send abasket of good wine to Lockwood, and a cushion for his armchair.

  "I thought of what you said, yesterday, at night when I went to bed; andguess you know the world better than I do, cousin; and that it's best tokeep the old man, as you say."

  And so this affair of the porter's lodge ended, Mr. Warrington wonderingwithin himself at this strange little character out of the West, withher naivete and simplicities, and a heartlessness would have done creditto the most battered old dowager who ever turned trumps in St. James's.

  "You tell me to respect old people. Why? I don't see nothin' to respectin the old people, I know," she said to Warrington. "They ain't sofunny, and I'm sure they ain't so handsome. Look at grandfather; lookat Aunt Bernstein. They say she was a beauty once! That picture paintedfrom her! I don't believe it, nohow. No one shall tell me that I shallever be as bad as that! When they come to that, people oughtn't to live.No, that they oughtn't."

  Now, at Christmas, Aunt Bernstein came to pay her nephew and niece avisit, in company with Mr. Warrington. They travelled at their leisurein the Baroness's own landau; the old lady being in particular goodhealth and spirits, the weather delightfully fresh and not too cold;and, as they approached her paternal home, Aunt Beatrice told hercompanion a hundred stories regarding it and old days. Though oftenlethargic, and not seldom, it must be confessed, out of temper, the oldlady would light up at times, when her conversation became wonderfullylively, her wit and malice were brilliant, and her memory supplied herwith a hundred anecdotes of a bygone age and society. Sure, 'tis hardwith respect to Beauty, that its possessor should not have even alife-enjoyment of it, but be compelled to resign it after, at the most,some forty years' lease. As the old woman prattled of her former loversand admirers (her auditor having much more information regarding herpast career than her ladyship knew of), I would look in her face, and,out of the ruins, try to build up in my fancy a notion of her beauty inits prime. What a homily I read there! How the courts were grownwith grass, the towers broken, the doors ajar, the fine gilt saloonstarnished, and the tapestries cobwebbed and torn! Yonder dilapidatedpalace was all alive once with splendour and music, and those dimwindows were dazzling and blazing with light! What balls and feasts wereonce here, what splendour and laughter! I could see lovers in waiting,crowds in admiration, rivals furious. I could imagine twilightassignations, and detect intrigues, though the curtains were close anddrawn. I was often minded to say to the old woman as she talked, "Madam,I know the story was not as you tell it, but so and so"--(I had read athome the history of her life, as my dear old grandfather had wrote it):and my fancy wandered about in her, amused and solitary, as I had walkedabout our father's house at Castlewood, meditating on departed glories,and imagining ancient times.

  When Aunt Bernstein came to Castlewood, her relatives there, more, Ithink, on account of her own force of character, imperiousness, andsarcastic wit, than from their desire to possess her money, wereaccustomed to pay her a great deal of respect and deference, whichshe accepted as her due. She expected the same treatment from the newCountess, whom she was prepared to greet with special good-humour. Thematch had been of her making. "As you, you silly creature, would nothave the heiress," she said, "I was determined she should not go out ofthe family," and she laughingly told of many little schemes for bringingthe marriage about. She had given the girl a coronet and her nephewa hundred thousand pounds. Of course she should be welcome to both ofthem. She was delighted with the little Countess's courage and spiritin routing the Dowager and Lady Fanny. Almost always pleased with prettypeople on her first introduction to them, Madame Bernstein raffled ofher niece Lydia's bright eyes and lovely little figure. The marriage wasaltogether desirable. The old man was an obstacle, to be sure, and histalk and appearance somewhat too homely. But he will be got rid of.He is old and in delicate health. "He will want to go to America, orperhaps farther," says the Baroness, with a shrug. "As for the child,she had great fire and liveliness, and a Cherokee manner which is notwithout its charm," said the pleased old Baroness. "Your brother hadit--so have you, Master George! Nous la formerons, cette petite. Eugenewants character and vigour, but he is a finished gentleman, and betweenus we shall make the little savage perfectly presentable." In thisway we discoursed on the second afternoon as we journeyed towardsCastlewood. We lay at the King's Arms at Bagshot the first night, wherethe Baroness was always received with profound respect, and thencedrove post to Hexton, where she had written to have my lord's horses inwaiting for her; but these were not forthcoming at the inn, and aftera couple of hours we were obliged to proceed with our Bagshot horses toCastlewood.

  During this last stage of the journey, I am bound to say the old aunt'stesty humour returned, and she scarce spoke a single word for threehours. As for her companion; being prodigiously in love at the time,no doubt he did not press his aunt for conversation, but thoughtunceasingly about his Dulcinea, until the coach actually reachedCastlewood Common, and rolled over the bridge before the house.

  The housekeeper was ready to conduct her ladyship to her apartments. Mylord and lady were both absent. She did not know what had kept them, thehousekeeper said, heading the way.

  "Not that door, my lady!" cries the woman, as Madame de Bernsteinput her hand upon the door of the room which she had always occupied."That's her ladyship's room now. This way," and our aunt followed, byno means in increased good-humour. I do not envy her maids when theirmistress was displeased. But she had cleared her brow before she joinedthe family, and appeared in the drawing-room before supper-time with acountenance of tolerable serenity.

  "How d'ye do, aunt?" was the Countess's salutation. "I declare now, Iwas taking a nap when your ladyship arrived! Hope you found your roomfixed to your liking!"

  Having addressed three brief sentences to the astonished old lady, theCountess now turned to her other guests, and directed her conversationto them. Mr. Warrington was not a little diverted by her behaviour,and by the appearance of surprise and wrath which began to gather overMadame Bernstein's face. "La petite," whom the Baroness proposed to"form," was rather a rebellious subject, apparently, and proposed totake a form of her own. Looking once or twice rather anxiously towardshis wife, my lord tried to atone for her pertness towards his aunt byprofuse civility on his own part; indeed, when he so wished, no mancould be more courteous or pleasing. He found a score of agreeablethings to say to Madame Bernstein. He warmly congratulated Mr.Warrington on the glorious news which had come from America, and on hisbrother's safety. He drank a toast at supper to Captain Warrington. "Ourfamily is distinguishing itself, cousin," he said; and added, lookingwith fond significance towards his Countess, "I hope the happiest daysare in store for us all."

  "Yes, George!" says the little lady. "You'll write and tell Harry thatwe are all very much pleased with him. This action at Quebec is a mostglorious action; and now we have turned the French king out of thecountry, shouldn't be at all surprised if we set up for ourselves inAmerica."

 
; "My love, you are talking treason!" cries Lord Castlewood.

  "I am talking reason, anyhow, my lord. I've no notion of folks beingkept down, and treated as children for ever!"

  George! Harry! I protest I was almost as much astonished as amused."When my brother hears that your ladyship is satisfied with his conduct,his happiness will be complete," I said gravely.

  Next day, when talking beside her sofa, where she chose to lie in state,the little Countess no longer called her cousin "George," but "Mr.George," as before; on which Mr. George laughingly said she had changedher language since the previous day.

  "Guess I did it to tease old Madam Buzwig," says her ladyship. She wantsto treat me as a child, and do the grandmother over me. I don't want nograndmothers, I don't. I'm the head of this house, and I intend to lether know it. And I've brought her all the way from London in order totell it her, too! La! how she did look when I called you George! I mighthave called you George--only you had seen that little Theo first, andliked her best, I suppose."

  "Yes, I suppose I like her best," says Mr. George.

  "Well, I like you because you tell the truth. Because you was the onlyone of 'em in London who didn't seem to care for my money, though I wasdownright mad and angry with you once, and with myself too, and withthat little sweetheart of yours, who ain't to be compared to me, I knowshe ain't."

  "Don't let us make the comparison, then!" I said, laughing.

  "I suppose people must lie on their beds as they make 'em," says she,with a little sigh. "Dare say Miss Theo is very good, and you'll marryher and go to Virginia, and be as dull as we are here. We were talkingof Miss Lambert, my lord, and I was wishing my cousin joy. How is oldGoody to-day? What a supper she did eat last night, and drink!--drinklike a dragoon! No wonder she has got a headache, and keeps her room.Guess it takes her ever so long to dress herself."

  "You, too, may be feeble when you are old, and require rest and wine towarm you!" says Mr. Warrington.

  "Hope I shan't be like her when I'm old, anyhow!" says the lady. "Can'tsee why I am to respect an old woman, because she hobbles on a stick,and has shaky hands, and false teeth!" And the little heathen sank backon her couch, and showed twenty-four pearls of her own.

  "Law!" she adds, after gazing at both her hearers through the curledlashes of her brilliant dark eyes. "How frightened you both look! Mylord has already given me ever so many sermons about old Goody. You areboth afraid of her: and I ain't, that's all. Don't look so scared at oneanother! I ain't a-going to bite her head off. We shall have a battle,and I intend to win. How did I serve the Dowager, if you please, and myLady Fanny, with their high and mighty airs, when they tried to putdown the Countess of Castlewood in her own house, and laugh at the poorAmerican girl? We had a fight, and which got the best of it, pray? Meand Goody will have another, and when it is over, you will see that weshall both be perfect friends!"

  When at this point of our conversation the door opened, and MadameBeatrix, elaborately dressed according to her wont, actually made herappearance, I, for my part, am not ashamed to own that I felt as great apanic as ever coward experienced. My lord, with his profoundest bows andblandest courtesies, greeted his aunt and led her to the fire, by whichmy lady (who was already hoping for an heir to Castlewood) lay recliningon her sofa. She did not attempt to rise, but smiled a greeting to hervenerable guest. And then, after a brief talk, in which she showed aperfect self-possession, while the two gentlemen blundered and hesitatedwith the most dastardly tremor, my lord said:

  "If we are to look for those pheasants, cousin, we had better go now."

  "And I and aunt will have a cosy afternoon. And you will tell me aboutCastlewood in the old times, won't you, Baroness?" says the new mistressof the mansion.

  O les laches que les hommes! I was so frightened, that I scarce sawanything, but vaguely felt that Lady Castlewood's dark eyes werefollowing me. My lord gripped my arm in the corridor, we quickened ourpaces till our retreat became a disgraceful run. We did not breathefreely till we were in the open air in the courtyard, where the keepersand the dogs were waiting.

  And what happened? I protest, children, I don't know. But this iscertain: if your mother had been a woman of the least spirit, or hadknown how to scold for five minutes during as many consecutive days ofher early married life, there would have been no more humble, henpeckedwretch in Christendom than your father. When Parson Blake comes todinner, don't you see how at a glance from his little wife he puts hisglass down and says, "No, thank you, Mr. Gumbo," when old Gum bringshim wine? Blake wore a red coat before he took to black, and walked upBreeds Hill with a thousand bullets whistling round his ears, beforeever he saw our Bunker Hill in Suffolk. And the fire-eater of the 43rdnow dare not face a glass of old port wine! 'Tis his wife has subduedhis courage. The women can master us, and did they know their ownstrength, were invincible.

  Well, then, what happened I know not on that disgraceful day of panicwhen your father fled the field, nor dared to see the heroines engage;but when we returned from our shooting, the battle was over. America hadrevolted, and conquered the mother country.