The Fortunes of Nigel

'He?' repeated the lady, with emphasis; 'that brief little word does, indeed, so far explain your mystery;—but come from behind the chair, you silly popinjay! I will wager you have suffered yonder gay young apprentice to sit too near your heart. I have not heard you mention young Vincent for many a day— perhaps he has not been out of mouth and out of mind both. Have you been so foolish as to let him speak to you seriously?—I am told he is a bold youth.'

'Not bold enough to say any thing that could displease me, madam,' said Margaret.

'Perhaps, then, you were not displeased,' said the lady; 'or perhaps he has not spoken, which would be wiser and better. Be open-hearted, my love—your godfather will soon return, and we will take him into our consultations. If the young man is industrious, and come of honest parentage, his poverty may be no such insurmountable obstacle. But you are both of you very young, Margaret—I know your godfather will expect, that the youth shall first serve out his apprenticeship.'

Margaret had hitherto suffered the lady to proceed, under the mistaken impression which she had adopted, simply because she could not tell how to interrupt her; but pure despite at hearing her last words gave her boldness at length to say 'I crave your pardon, madam; but neither the youth you mention, nor any apprentice or master within the city of London—'

'Margaret,' said the lady, in reply, 'the contemptuous tone with which you mention those of your own class, (many hundreds if not thousands of whom are in all respects better than yourself, and would greatly honour you by thinking of you,) is methinks, no warrant for the wisdom of your choice—for a choice, it seems, there is. Who is it, maiden, to whom you have thus rashly attached yourself?—rashly, I fear it must be.'

'It is the young Scottish Lord Glenvarloch, madam,' answered Margaret, in a low and modest tone, but sufficiently firm, considering the subject.

'The young Lord of Glenvarloch!' repeated the lady, in great surprise-'Maiden, you are distracted in your wits.'

'I knew you would say so, madam,' answered Margaret. 'It is what another person has already told me—it is, perhaps, what all the world would tell me—it is what I am sometimes disposed to tell myself. But look at me, madam, for I will now come before you, and tell me if there is madness or distraction in my look and word, when I repeat to you again, that I have fixed my affections on this young nobleman.'

'If there is not madness in your look or word, maiden, there is infinite folly in what you say,' answered the Lady Hermione, sharply. 'When did you ever hear that misplaced love brought any thing but wretchedness? Seek a match among your equals, Margaret, and escape the countless kinds of risk and misery that must attend an affection beyond your degree.—Why do you smile, maiden? Is there aught to cause scorn in what I say?'

'Surely no, madam,' answered Margaret. 'I only smiled to think how it should happen, that, while rank made such a wide difference between creatures formed from the same clay, the wit of the vulgar should, nevertheless, jump so exactly the same length with that of the accomplished and the exalted. It is but the variation of the phrase which divides them. Dame Ursley told me the very same thing which your ladyship has but now uttered; only you, madam, talk of countless misery, and Dame Ursley spoke of the gallows, and Mistress Turner, who was hanged upon it.'

'Indeed?' answered the Lady Hermione; 'and who may Dame Ursley be, that your wise choice has associated with me in the difficult task of advising a fool?'

'The barber's wife at next door, madam,' answered Margaret, with feigned simplicity, but far from being sorry at heart, that she had found an indirect mode of mortifying her monitress. 'She is the wisest woman that I know, next to your ladyship.'

'A proper confidant,' said the lady, 'and chosen with the same delicate sense of what is due to yourself and others!—But what ails you, maiden—where are you going?'

'Only to ask Dame Ursley's advice,' said Margaret, as if about to depart; 'for I see your ladyship is too angry to give me any, and the emergency is pressing.'

'What emergency, thou simple one?' said the lady, in a kinder tone.— 'Sit down, maiden, and tell me your tale. It is true you are a fool, and a pettish fool to boot; but then you are a child—an amiable child, with all your self-willed folly, and we must help you, if we can.—Sit down, I say, as you are desired, and you will find me a safer and wiser counseller than the barber-woman. And tell me how you come to suppose, that you have fixed your heart unalterably upon a man whom you have seen, as I think, but once.'

'I have seen him oftener,' said the damsel, looking down; 'but I have only spoken to him once. I should have been able to get that once out of my head, though the impression was so deep, that I could even now repeat every trifling word he said; but other things have since riveted it in my bosom for ever.'

'Maiden,' replied the lady, 'for ever is the word which comes most lightly on the lips in such circumstances, but which, not the less, is almost the last that we should use. The fashion of this world, its passions, its joys, and its sorrows, pass away like the winged breeze—there is nought for ever but that which belongs to the world beyond the grave.'

'You have corrected me justly, madam,' said Margaret calmly; 'I ought only to have spoken of my present state of mind, as what will last me for my lifetime, which unquestionably may be but short.'

'And what is there in this Scottish lord that can rivet what concerns him so closely in your fancy?' said the lady. 'I admit him a personable man, for I have seen him; and I will suppose him courteous and agreeable. But what are his accomplishments besides, for these surely are not uncommon attributes.'

'He is unfortunate, madam—most unfortunate—and surrounded by snares of different kinds, ingeniously contrived to ruin his character, destroy his estate, and, perhaps, to reach even his life. These schemes have been devised by avarice originally, but they are now followed close by vindictive ambition, animated, I think, by the absolute and concentrated spirit of malice; for the Lord Dalgarno—'

'Here, Monna Paula—Monna Paula!' exclaimed the Lady Hermione, interrupting her young friend's narrative. 'She hears me not,' she answered, rising and going out, 'I must seek her—I will return instantly.' She returned accordingly very soon after. 'You mentioned a name which I thought was familiar to me,' she said; 'but Monna Paula has put me right. I know nothing of your lord—how was it you named him?'

'Lord Dalgarno,' said Margaret;—'the wickedest man who lives. Under pretence of friendship, he introduced the Lord Glenvarloch to a gambling-house with the purpose of engaging him in deep play; but he with whom the perfidious traitor had to deal, was too virtuous, moderate, and cautious, to be caught in a snare so open. What did they next, but turn his own moderation against him, and persuade others that—because he would not become the prey of wolves, he herded with them for a share of their booty! And, while this base Lord Dalgarno was thus undermining his unsuspecting countryman, he took every measure to keep him surrounded by creatures of his own, to prevent him from attending Court, and mixing with those of his proper rank. Since the Gunpowder Treason, there never was a conspiracy more deeply laid, more basely and more deliberately pursued.'

The lady smiled sadly at Margaret's vehemence, but sighed the next moment, while she told her young friend how little she knew the world she was about to live in, since she testified so much surprise at finding it full of villainy.

'But by what means,' she added, 'could you, maiden, become possessed of the secret views of a man so cautious as Lord Dalgarno—as villains in general are?'

'Permit me to be silent on that subject,' said the maiden; 'I could not tell you without betraying others—let it suffice that my tidings are as certain as the means by which I acquired them are secret and sure. But I must not tell them even to you.'

'You are too bold, Margaret,' said the lady, 'to traffic in such matters at your early age. It is not only dangerous, but even unbecoming and unmaidenly.'

'I knew you would say that also,' said Margaret, with more meekness and patience than she usually showed on receiving reproof; 'but, God knows, my heart acquits me of every other feeling save that of the wish to assist this most innocent and betrayed man.—I contrived to send him warning of his friend's falsehood;—alas! my care has only hastened his utter ruin, unless speedy aid be found. He charged his false friend with treachery, and drew on him in the Park, and is now liable to the fatal penalty due for breach of privilege of the king's palace.'

'This is indeed an extraordinary tale,' said Hermione; 'is Lord Glenvarloch then in prison?'

'No, madam, thank God, but in the Sanctuary at Whitefriars—it is matter of doubt whether it will protect him in such a case—they speak of a warrant from the Lord Chief Justice—A gentleman of the temple has been arrested, and is in trouble for having assisted him in his flight.—Even his taking temporary refuge in that base place, though from extreme necessity, will be used to the further defaming him. All this I know, and yet I cannot