Arrah Neil; or, Times of Old. G. P. R. James

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ which commenced by opposing tyranny and deceit in the rulers of the land, and ended by far exceeding all the tyranny and deceit it had opposed, and adding the most beastly hypocrisy and violence, fraud, rapine, and cruelty, to the crimes and follies which it had found existing. She read and smiled--she read and sighed; for, though her family had taken no part in the deeds of the last twelve months, and though her mother had been through life rather attached to the doctrines of the Presbyterians than their opponents, yet there was something in the cause of the Cavaliers, with all their faults, in their very rashness and want of all pretence--something in the cold-blooded hypocrisy and false pretexts of the Parliamentarians--which had engaged her sympathies on the losing side, and roused her indignation against the successful.

      While she was thus occupied, a horseman passed rapidly before the window towards the principal door of the house, crossing like a quick bird in its flight; and, casting down the paper, Miss Walton ran out, murmuring, "It is Charles!"

      There was a large old-fashioned vestibule hung with pikes and arms, corslets and head-pieces, and stags' antlers, and hunting horns, and all the implements of real battle, and of the mimic warfare of the chase. The door leading to the terrace stood wide open, with an old servant on either side; and as she bounded forward with the expectation of meeting her brother, her countenance beaming with pleasure to greet him on his return, a stranger entered, and advanced at once towards her.

      Annie Walton's face suddenly became graver, and a blush rose into her cheek; but the cavalier came forward with a frank and unembarrassed air, walked straight up to her, and took her hand as if he had been an old friend.

      "You thought it was your brother," he said, with easy grace, saving her all trouble of explanation, "and you are disappointed, Miss Walton. Would that I had a sister to look so joyful on my return to my old halls! but your disappointment will have no long life. Charles Walton will be here ere the world be an hour older; and in the mean time you must show me and my poor beast fair hospitality till the master of the mansion comes himself to tell you more about his friend, Sir Francis Clare."

      He bowed as he thus introduced himself, and Annie Walton, with all courtesy, but with a grave air, invited him to the hall where she had been sitting, trying to call to mind the name he had mentioned amongst those of all her brother's acquaintances. She could recollect no such person, however, as Sir Francis Clare; and although there was in the frankness of the stranger's manner something that pleased her, yet she almost thought it too free in one whom she could not believe to be very intimate with Lord Walton. Yet there was a grace as well as an ease in his demeanour, a tone not easily described, but which can only be acquired by long, intimate habits of familiarity with persons of high mind and education, a self-possession, distinct from impudence, which showed her at once that the visiter was not one of the wild and reckless roysterers of the court and army of King Charles, who presumed without merit, and endeavoured to cover vulgarity of spirit with self-confidence.

      Leading the way then to the hall, she begged the stranger to be seated. He bowed, and let her take her place, while he remained standing before her, calculating rapidly what was passing in her thoughts, and, to say truth, somewhat struck with the beauty of this cynosure of neighbouring eyes, who, whatever he might have expected to find, went far in loveliness beyond his imagination.

      There was a momentary pause while she thought of what was next to come, but the stranger spoke first. "I must seem very bold, I fear, and somewhat too free, Miss Walton," he said at length, "in thus treating you as an old acquaintance; but the circumstances of these days engender strange habits of rapidity in all our doings. Rough times abridge ceremonies, and besides, when our thoughts are familiar even with these whom we have never met, a sort of one-sided friendship grows up in our breast towards them which makes us forget that it is not reciprocal. I have so often heard your brother talk of you, so often conversed, with him of you, that I may think myself lucky that at our first meeting I did not offend you by calling you Annie."

      "It would have surprised more than offended," replied his fair companion, with a smile; "but Charles will, I trust, soon make us better acquainted. Have you seen him lately?"

      "Not for five years," answered Sir Francis Clare; "and yet, sweet lady, know more of his proceedings than you do who parted with him but a week ago; not that he is deep-dyed in plots and conspiracies kept from his sister's ear; but simply, because he wrote to me yesterday one of his brief but comprehensive notes, telling me what he purposed, and giving me a rendezvous here today, which I, with my usual impatience, have run before by near an hour. I heard of him too, as I came along, and though I found that I should be before him, yet I hurried on--not to surprise his sister all alone, and make her wonder what strange rash man had come to visit her, believe me."

      "Such an object were little worth the spur, Sir," replied the lady, laughing: "but if I understand you right, your friendship with my brother must have begun when he was in France."

      "Long before that," replied the cavalier; "but when last I parted with him he was in Italy, where he left me to return to his own house. We bade each other farewell under the Logga de Lanzi, in the fair town of Florence."

      "Oh! how I long to see that place," cried Annie Walton--"it is one of the dreams of my imagination which, perhaps, may never be realized."

      "Few dreams of the imagination ever are," answered her companion. "He who gives himself up to fancy is like a man led by a child, who tells him of all the wonderful things that he will show him in the garden of the world, and when he comes to see the marvels, finds them but May blossoms and brier roses, that fade as soon as gathered, and leave a bunch of thorns in his hand."

      Annie Walton raised her eyes to the stranger's brow, and gazed at the rich floating hair that covered it, to see if she could trace any of the marks of that age which has proved the world and discovered its delusions. But all was youthful and open; there was nothing grey or grave, and she replied--

      "You speak sadly of this earth and its enjoyments, sir; and yet I would not part with Fancy and all her pleasant deceits if I could."

      "Never! Never!" cried Sir Francis Clare, eagerly. "If I may use a paradox, sweet lady, the deceits of reality are ten times more dangerous than those of imagination. If all things are delusions except the hopes of a higher and a holier world, let us keep the pleasant delusions at least, and they are those of fancy--but what have we here?--The last news from London?"

      "The reply of the parliament to the king's message," answered the lady; "and thirty-one good reasons for rejecting his majesty's offers, with the godly and soul-saving declaration of several pious men concerning Popery and Prelacy."

      The stranger laughed.

      "How easy is it," he cried, "to cover gross treason, not only to king, but to country, with fair pretexts of freedom, or to hide what they themselves call the most carnal self-seeking with a garb of religious zeal, and to give the fairest names to the blackest passions of our nature! 'Tis a trite remark, but one that forces itself upon us every day; and yet this is the trade that succeeds in the world, so that gross deceit raises itself to high places, and sits in purple and fine linen, while Honesty is left to beg her bread, and plain Truth stands shivering in a ragged blanket."

      "But I should think such barefaced hypocrisy as this," answered the lady, "would deceive no one. People may pretend to believe it, but it must be mere affectation, as bad as the hypocrisy itself."

      "Your pardon, madam," replied the cavalier: "there never yet was falsehood, however impudent, which, often repeated and told with a smooth face, would not find many to give it ready credence. Not a day passes but we see some monstrous lie, decked out with strong assurances of sincerity and zeal, pass current with the multitude. Oh, lady! there is an appetite for falsehood in the world that makes the many-headed monster gorge the food, however dirty, and, like СКАЧАТЬ