Chapter VIII: Lord Oakleigh

On the morning following her strange adventure in the chapel, our heroine arose with the lark, not a whit the worse for her passage through the storm.

The old earl had suffered terribly when the tempest and the night had come, and his darling was known to be absent in the forest, or on the wild crag; but when the swift messenger had brought him the glad intelligence of her safety, his fears departed; and when he had finally held her in his arms, and had then held her off that he might gaze into her beautiful face and know that all was well with her, then his joy was great indeed.

When it was all so happily over he was almost thankful it had happened, for it had told him over again how dearly he loved her and what a treasure she was to him!

On this morning the girl put on her hat, with a light mantle over her shoulders, thinking to take a walk in her garden before breakfast. The air was fresh and pure after the storm and not at all chilly, and the autumnal flowers were in full bloom.

She had reached the place--an inclosure within the outer walls of the castle--and was slowly and thoughtfully walking in one of the graveled paths, when she was startled by the sound of a quick, heavy footfall behind her, and on turning she found herself face to face with Matthew Brandon--by courtesy Lord Oakleigh.

He was not a pleasant man to look at, and yet many might have called him good looking--perhaps handsome. If he had any beauty it was of the Mephistophelean order. He was tall and strong, and dressed in a costly garb of embroidered velvet and satin.

He wore a large diamond in his shirt-front, he had fine rings on two or three fingers, and his gold watch-chain was conspicuous.

His complexion was dark, even to swarthiness; his hair black and quite short, with a pair of eyes now, as in his boyhood, set very near together and deeply sunken in their sockets.

He had a good nose but his lips were heavy and sensual, his mouth large, and his lower jaw broad and strong. He wore no beard, but his cheeks and his chin and his upper lip, where the razor did its work, betrayed the possibility of a beard, black and luxuriant, had he been willing to let it grow.

A friend had once asked him how it was that, with such a chance for a beard, he could be content to sacrifice it.

“Oh!” he had answered with a laugh, “I am black enough as it is; should I add a coal-black beard, I should be blackness incarnate.”

“Cordelia,” he said, when the usual salutations of the morning had been exchanged, “I have a few words to say to you; and I have come out here this morning to say them. I might not have time after breakfast, as I must return to Oxford to-day.”

The girl had stopped in her walk and stood facing him. A tremor, which she could not repress, shook her frame; for she knew very well, or she believed she knew, what he wished to speak about.

“I am listening, Lord Oakleigh.”

“Bah! Why do you eternally ‘lord’ me? I don’t like it, at least from your lips.”

“My lord, I give you the title respectfully, because it is yours. I can call you by your Christian name, if you wish it.”

“I do wish it: and I wish you to remember it. It will do very well for the servants to dub me ‘lord’ and for my grandfather when he is in the mood; but I don’t want it from you.” He paused and looked around.

“Haven’t you a seat anywhere about here?”

“If you are weary, you will find a very comfortable seat in yonder grape-arbor.”

“I’m not weary, my dear lady; but it is sometimes weary work to converse on one’s feet. Come with me to the arbor. I won’t keep you long. Bless me! I hope you’re not afraid of me.”

She was afraid of him; but she would not confess it. There was a coarseness in his manner; a lowness in his speech, his clipping and contracting words more like a private trooper than like an English gentleman, that disgusted her; and there was a look in his gleaming, sunken black eyes that made her afraid.

She presently saw that he would take her hand if she hesitated longer; so, without further remark, she turned and led the way to the arbor she had pointed out.

It was a small affair a framework of wood, over which the closely interwoven branches and tendrils of a number of stout grape-vines formed a complete covering, with plain wooden seats on three of its sides. Cordelia waited until Lord Oakleigh was seated; and she then sat down on the opposite side. She had struggled bravely to compose herself, being determined that nothing he could say should cause her to forget herself or to lose her temper.

“Matthew, it is nearer to the breakfast hour, perhaps, than you think.”

“Oh! don’t worry. I won’t take long to say the little I have in mind.” He paused here, and looked at her curiously. Presently he went on.

“Cordelia--you remember I once told you that when I should be ready to speak on a certain subject I should speak plainly, and in few words; and you will confess that from that time I have given you your own way, so far as I have been concerned. I have not sought to interfere with you in any way, neither in regard to your acts nor your choice of companions. ’Pon my word! I think, all things considered, that I’ve done pretty well, don’t you?”

“Really, my lord, I can not imagine to what circumstance you have reference--what things you would have considered.”

“Can’t you?”

“Indeed, I can not.”

“Well, look here. You know very well that it was the earnest desire of your parents, of your father and of mine, that you and I should grow up to be husband and wife. That you know.”

“That I--do--not--know!” the girl replied, speaking slowly and with strong emphasis.

“What! You don’t know?” cried Oakleigh, feigning great surprise. “But you do know. You can not help knowing. I tell you--”

“Stop!” commanded the young lady, holding up her hand. “Let us not dispute. Your grandfather knows if my father ever expressed any desire of that kind. Let him decide between us.”

“Look ye, Cordelia!” Matthew exclaimed, with the flame of anger in his sunken eyes, “do you mean to throw me over now? After all these years of patient waiting, do you fancy that I am to be cast aside, like a worn-out boot? By the Host! you’ll find it a sorry work to do.”

“Lord Oakleigh!” said the proud girl starting to her feet, her face flushed and her eyes burning with deep indignant fire, “you have no authority--no right--for speaking to me in that manner. Let me tell you, once for all, I never had, I have not now, nor can I ever have a thought of becoming your wife. Let me hope that you will never broach the subject again.”

“My dear lady,” returned the suitor, attempting a sneer, his hot wrath simmering beneath, “you talk foolishly. Do you fancy I shall give up the cherished hope and plan of a lifetime to suit a whim of yours? I tell you, before your father left India he conversed with my father on this subject, and it was arranged between them that you and I should be married. Why do you suppose I have held my tongue so long? I’ll tell you. Simply because I regarded the whole thing as settled.”

“Have you said all you had to say, my lord?” the girl asked as calmly as possible.

“That depends upon how you take what I have said. What I had to say was this: Our marriage will take place before the present year is at an end.”

“Is that all, sir?”

“I would like to have you tell me what you think of it?”

“I have said all that I have to say on that subject, Lord Oakleigh. If you did not understand me, I beg that you will understand me now. I shall never be your wife.”

“But I say, you will.”

“I can not prevent you from saying what you please; but, surely, over my own fate I should be allowed to hold an opinion. Breakfast will be waiting.”

“Stop! By --!” starting up with a fierce oath and grasping her by the arm. “You do not leave me in that fashion. Before you go you must hear a word I have to say. If you will marry me quietly of your own free will--Hush!--keep still till I have said my say!”

She had attempted to break away and leave him, when he had thrust her back upon the seat from which she had arisen.

“There!” he went on, hissing out his words madly. “Sit you there and listen: If you will marry me quietly, as it is your duty to do, all may be well. I will do by you, for your good and comfort, all that any man could do. I will be a true husband to you, kind and loving. But if you refuse me, if you persist in your stubborn will not to be my wife, if you hold out against me and persuade my grandfather to join you, if you do this I will make your life a living torture! I will strike you down so that you shall cry to me for mercy! Aye, the time shall come when you will beg of me to take pity on you and make you my wife! How do you like the picture?”

“Lord Oakleigh! Let me go! I have no more to say.”

“I ask you, how do you like the picture I have drawn?”

“And I ask you to let me go.”

“Won’t you answer me?”

“You need no answer. You do not wish for an answer. If you can find delight in torturing me I suppose I must submit until I can break from you.”

“Why don’t you call me, Monster!--as I see it plainly in your mind to call me?”

“Simply, sir, because I prefer that you should characterize yourself.”

“Cordelia! By --! I would give a thousand pounds if you could be a man for just one poor minute! It is a wonder that I do not strike you where you sit.”

“And yet you ask me to become your wife! I can scarcely understand you.”

“My dear lady, you will understand me better before you are four months older; for I swear, by the heaven above me! that you shall be my wife! Do you hear that? Hold! Just a moment more.” And he looked down upon her with an expression on his dark, passion-wrought face that startled her anew.

“Do you think I do not know which way your fancy is tending?” he demanded, his terrible wrath causing the last drop of blood to leave his face. “As I live, I believe you would marry that smuggler’s brat to-morrow, if your guardian would suffer it! Oh it makes you wince, does it? I think I will see the gentleman.”

“Monster! let me go!” And thus exclaiming she sprang from him, and leaped away. He jumped to catch her; but, at that moment, two men-servants approached the place, and he gave it up, and drew back into the arbor.

“By --!” He muttered to himself a horrible oath, and went on: “I believe she really does love the fellow! What in the world can the old man have been thinking of to allow it? By heavens! if he don’t put a stop to it, I will. I’ll have the girl for my own, if I have to force her to it! Mercy on us! she’s been allowed to associate with young Maitland as though he’d been an own brother to her! No! we’ll put a stop to that. If it can not be done in one way, it can in another!”

With this he smoothed his wrinkled front as well as he could, and left the arbor. He was not in the mood for sitting at the breakfast-table with his grandfather and Cordelia; so he took a turn away toward the river, prolonging his walk for an hour.

On his return to the castle he found that the meal had been kept for him. The others, he was informed, had eaten. He was further informed that the earl desired much to see him.

But he did not have to search. His grandfather came into the breakfast-room while he was eating, and took a seat near him.

“I want to ask you, my dear boy,” the old man said, in his pleasant, cheery way, “when you thought of returning to Oxford.”

“Why, I thought you knew,” the grandson replied with seeming frankness, “that I had planned to go to-day. However, I may put it off till to-morrow. Had you anything of business to propose?”

“Well, my boy,” the earl answered, with an earnest, yearning look into the dark face before him, “you do not forget that you have passed the age of proper youth--that you are now a free and independent man. Let’s see--you were twenty-one--”

“On the first of June last,” Matthew put in, while his grandfather hesitated.

“Exactly. And I had supposed that your term at college would have been at an end.”

“So it would have been had I not taken an extra pull at some of my studies. But it will be over shortly. I shall come home and take a short rest, and then, I think, I’ll take a run for a year or two on the continent.”

“All right, Oakleigh. I am happy to know that you have a settled plan.”

“Hark ye, my lord,” said the young man, after a brief pause, looking up with a wine-glass in his hand, “I have to say to you, that one of my settled plans has been considerably upset this morning.”

“Ah, how is that?”

“Let me answer by asking a question: Was there ever, between my father and Sir William Chester, a settled plan that Cordelia and I should marry?”

The old man started, and an expression of pain settled upon his countenance.

“You know, don’t you?” Matthew added, as his grandfather did not speak. “Was it not a settled plan between the two fathers, before Sir William and his child left India, that Cordelia and I should become man and wife?”

“My dear boy,” the earl replied, speaking slowly and earnestly and with evident pain, “I know all about it; I know all that was said, and all that was done. Have you ever believed that such an arrangement was made?”

“I certainly have.”

“What reason had you for the belief? Surely I never told you so.”

“Perhaps you never did; but you have gone on, allowing me to--”

“Hush! Hush, my boy. You surely can have no cause of complaint against me. Never before have you spoken to me on the subject.”

“At all events,” insisted the youth, “you should have known that I was likely to fall in love with the beautiful girl and to want her for my wife.”

“Well, and what then? If you honestly love her, and will solemnly swear to be to her a true and loving husband, you shall have my consent, with God’s blessing.”

“Aye, but suppose the girl should refuse me?”

“Then, of course, that would be the end.”

“And you would put up with it, would you?”

“What do you mean, Matthew, by that?”

“You would allow the girl to have her own way? You would not make an effort to influence her?”

“To influence her to what?”

“To accept your grandson for a husband.”

The old man started and a perceptible shudder shook his strong frame. He looked again into the dark face before him, and thought of the precious darling who looked to him for care and protection.

“Did you understand me?” Lord Oakleigh asked, with a show of temper, as his grandfather continued to gaze upon him in silence.

“Yes, Matthew, I understood you but too well. I am surprised that you should put such a question to me.”

“In Heaven’s name! why surprised? Is it surprising that I should wish to make Cordelia Chester my wife?”

“Not at all; but I am surprised that you should for one moment suppose that I would urge her to marry against her will. In fact, my boy, I gave to her father, when he lay dying, a solemn promise that I would never do any such thing. She should not be asked to marry without love.”

“Oho-ho-oo!” The angry man laughed coarsely and contemptuously. “If you stick to that you’ll be likely to send your fair ward to a grand market! Do you know whom she will marry if she weds with the man of her heart’s desire?”

“Boy! What do you mean?”

“Upon my word! I believe you know very well what I mean. Don’t you know which way the girl is drifting? If you do not, it is time you opened your eyes!”

“Matthew,” said the earl, drawing himself up proudly, and looking his grandson straight in the face, “I will not profess to misunderstand you. You are speaking, or thinking, of Percy Maitland. I am only sorry that he is not of gentle blood; for I tell you frankly, were he so, I should not hesitate an instant to bestow upon him Cordelia’s hand, provided they both wished it.”

“Which means, I suppose, that you would not give that hand to me?”

“If you will have it, boy, I answer you just as frankly, yes.”

“By --! I begin to understand you!” the young lord exclaimed, prefacing the words with an imprecation the like of which had not been uttered in the earl’s presence for years. “And let me tell you, old man--”

“Hush! Oh, boy! boy! have you no heart?”

“-- --!” Another oath, and then, “You treat me as though I had none. I approach my gentle Lady Cordelia; and she receives me as though I were infected. I ask her if she will be my wife, and she almost spits on me.”

“Ah! Then you have spoken with her?”

“Yes; this very morning. It was her treatment of me that took away my appetite for an earlier breakfast. If I had been a pariah, she could not have treated me more contemptuously. A fine home-coming, truly!”

“Matthew,” said the old man, rising as he spoke, and gazing upon his grandson with mingled feelings of sadness and indignation, “I have but a few words to say, and those I speak to you from my heart though you may try to think otherwise. For the refusal of Cordelia, and for any harsh words she may have spoken, you have yourself to thank. If you spoke to her as you have spoken to me I wonder not that she took quick offense.”

“And how, if I may ask, have I spoken to your lordship?”

“The tone in which you now speak is enough for answer. Add to that the gross profanity which fell from your lips but a few moments since, and the measure of my endurance is reached. Oh, boy! boy! why will you do so? You do not know how I could have loved you, had you but allowed me to do it. For the love of Heaven! will you not try to do differently? Who shall say what might have been had you been pure and good?”

“Which is equivalent to saying, if I understand the king’s English, that I am not pure and good?”

“Neither pure, nor good, nor truthful, Matthew! Alas! that I should live to say it, and that you should live to deserve it.”

“Thanks! Many, many thanks, dear grandpapa! You’ll excuse me if I go out and get a bit of fresh air after this.” And, thus speaking the wretch turned away, with a sneer on his lips and a look of defiance in his eyes, and left the room. And the aged grandsire, when the distant door had been closed and he was left alone, sank into a seat, and burst into tears.

And so, a little later, Cordelia found him.

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