Whilst the principal personages in the cabinet, fancying they were leading, were thus blindly led, the nonentities of course followed in their train, and our old friends, the lords of ancient family, were perfectly astonished when they heard the magnificent plans and sagacious councils attributed to them, and sat quite lost in admiration of their own wisdom, whilst their little heads and enormous perriwigs kept bobbing with at least threefold their accustomed rapidity.
Elvira’s accession to the throne had induced both her father and Sir Ambrose to leave the country; the Duke inhabiting his former palace, and Sir Ambrose taking possession of a moveable house in its immediate neighbourhood, where the worthy Baronet found himself perfectly happy in the society of his old friend, and his pretty niece.
“I begin to repent that my daughter is a Queen,” said the Duke to Sir Ambrose, one night after supper, when the whole party were sitting cosily round the fire in Sir Ambrose’s library. “I have not half the enjoyments I used to have when I could have more of her society. Now when I see her, it is but for an instant, and she can scarcely stay to ask me how I do, before she flies off to some of her new plans of improvement.”
“The face of the country will be quite changed in a few years, if all the plans of the Queen prosper,” said Father Morris in his usual smooth hypocritical manner.
“I hope not!” cried Sir Ambrose; “I hope it’s no treason, Duke—but I must confess I wish your daughter had never been Queen, if she can’t leave things as they are.”
“I am pretty much of your opinion: they are such wildgoose schemes too that she takes into her head!” said the Duke piteously. “Only imagine, Sir Ambrose, she showed me this morning a plan for making aerial bridges to convey heavy weights from one steeple to another; a machine for stamping shoes and boots at one blow out of a solid piece of leather; a steam-engine for milking cows; and an elastic summerhouse that might be folded up so as to be put into a man’s pocket!”
“It is really provoking; and Edmund is quite as scheming and visionary. I absolutely think, if we were both to die, they would not feel more than a temporary uneasiness at our loss, their minds are so completely occupied in these gigantic projects.”
“I fear so indeed; all things were otherwise formerly, I remember the time,” etc.
But why detail their reminiscences; it may be easily imagined how comfortably two old men would amuse themselves over a good fire, commenting on the glorious days when they were young; when all went right, or, what was nearly the same thing, when all appeared to them to do so; quite forgetting that age has other eyes than youth, and that the change was in themselves, not the times: we have other things to attend to. Clara was at a splendid party given by Elvira, and Father Morris soon left the Duke’s library to join her.
It was a ball; and the splendid court of Claudia seemed yet more brilliant under the reign of her successor. It was the first time Clara had ever been at court, and the effect the gorgeous magnificence of the scene had upon her was powerful in the extreme. She forgot her cares, her sadness, and her love—all seemed enchantment; and the old lady, who acted as her chaperone, was quite horrorized at her gaucherie.
Brilliant as all was, however, the lovely goddess of the temple far exceeded even the splendour of the shrine; and the beholders gazed upon her with indescribable rapture. Beautiful as the fairy image of a dream; kind, affable, and condescending, Elvira glided through the crowd, followed by her suite to the concert-room. Here, all that the imagination of man could devise of harmony, enchanted the ears. But harsh was every other sound to that which stole upon the senses when Elvira was induced to forget her rank and mingle her voice with the music.
Elvira’s singing was perfection: “clear as a trumpet with a silver sound;” the round full notes now swelled upon the ear in liquid melody, and then died away, soft and sweet, yet distinct even in their faintest strains. Prince Ferdinand was at her side, and his ardent gaze bespoke the intenseness of his admiration. Elvira had not before seen him since the night when her conversation with him had so powerfully excited the jealousy of Edmund; and as she now observed his manner had again attracted Edmund’s attention, she blushed yet more deeply than before.
Edmund saw her blushes; and stung almost to madness by the sight, rushed violently out of the room.
The night was cold and damp, a drizzling mist fell fast, and that peculiar chill which marks the first approaches of winter, hung in the air; but Lord Edmund thought not of the weather, and he strode bareheaded through the palace-gardens with hurried steps and the actions of a maniac; whilst the thick gloom which pervaded the sky, contrasted fearfully with the brilliantly illuminated apartment he had just quitted. The gloominess of the scene, however, harmonized well with Edmund’s feelings; he felt soothed insensibly; and though he still stalked moodily backwards and forwards, he became gradually more calm.
“Ungrateful woman,” thought he, “to treat me thus! Does she not owe everything to me? I could bear her coldness; I could resign her to a throne; but the idea of her loving another drives me to distraction!—Curses on that fiend! that detested Mummy! It must be by his infernal arts that Ferdinand has triumphed: for Elvira evidently loves him, her blushes tell her passion: and Elvira—the cold, the chaste Elvira could never give her love thus—thus almost unsolicited, and at first sight, if it were not the work of magic.
