"If Annabel were Destiny?"

"Will is stronger than Destiny."

"If Annabel should be Will."

"Love is stronger than Will."

"It is Kate and Piers."

"And the Other One."

He grew impatient at this persistence of an idea that he had not evoked, that he had, in fact, denied. But he could not exorcise it. His very dreams were made and mingled of the two girls,--Kate, whom he loved, Annabel, who came like a splendid destiny to trouble love. In the pageant of sleep, he lost that will-power which controlled his life; he was tossed to-and-fro between blending shadows: Kate was Annabel; Annabel was Kate; and the fretful, unreasonable drama went on through restless hours, always to the same tantalising refrain,--

"_I, Thou, and the Other One!_"

CHAPTER SIXTH

THE BEGINNING OF THE GREAT STRUGGLE

There is no eternity for nations. Individuals may be punished hereafter; nations are punished here. In the first years of the Nineteenth Century, Englishmen were mad on war; and though wise men warned them of the ruin that stalks after war, no one believed their report. The treasure that would have now fed the starving population of England, had been spent in killing Frenchmen. Bad harvests followed the war years, taxation was increased, wages were lowered and lowered, credit was gone, trade languished, hunger or scrimping carefulness was in every household.

For the iniquitous Corn Laws of 1815, forbidding the importation of foreign grain, had raised English wheat to eighty shillings a quarter.

And how were working men to buy bread at such a price? No wonder, they clamoured for a House of Commons that should represent their case, and repeal Acts that could only benefit one cla.s.s, and inflict ruin and misery on all others.

A feeling therefore of intense anxiety pervaded the country on the Second of November,--the day on which the King was to open Parliament.

No one could work; every one was waiting for the King's speech. He was as yet very popular; it was his first message to his people; and they openly begged him for some word of hope--some expression of sympathy for Reform. He went in great state to Westminster, and was cheered by the city as he went. "Will Your Majesty say a word for the poor? G.o.d bless Your Majesty! Stand by Reform!" Such expressions a.s.sailed him on every hand; they were the prayers of a people wronged and suffering, yet disposed to be patient and loyal, and to seek Reform only to spare themselves and the country the ruth and ruin of Revolution.

Richmoor House was on the way of the royal procession, and Kate was there to watch it. A little later, a great company began to a.s.semble in its rooms; for the Duke had promised to bring, or to send, the earliest news of the event. There was however an intense restlessness among these splendidly attired men and women. They could not separate Reform from Revolution; and the French Revolution was yet red and b.l.o.o.d.y in their memories. They still heard the thunder of those famous "Three Days of July," and there was constantly before their eyes, the heir of forty kings finding in a British palace an ignominious shelter. Not only was this the case, but French n.o.blemen, in poverty and exile, were earning precarious livings all around; and English n.o.blemen and ladies looked forward with terror to a similar fate, if the Reformers obtained their desire. Indeed, Sir Robert Inglis had boldly prophesied, "Reform would sweep the House of Lords clear in ten years."

No wonder then the company waiting in Richmoor House were restless and anxious. Kate did not permit herself to speak, and Mrs. Atheling had very prudently remained in her own home. She had told the Squire she "must say what she thought, if she died for it!" and the Squire had answered, "To be sure, Maude. That is thy right; only, for goodness'

sake, say it in thy own house!" But though Kate knew she would follow her mother's example, if she was brought to catechism on the subject, she did not have much fear of such a result; there were too many older ladies present, all of them desirous to express the hatreds and hopes of their cla.s.s.

Yet it was these emotional, expressional women that Annabel Vyner naturally joined. She stood among them like a splendid incarnation of its spirit. She hoped vehemently that "Earl Grey and Lord John Russell would be beheaded as traitors;" she declared she would "go with delight to Tower Hill and see the axe fall." She flashed into contempt, when she spoke of Mr. Brougham. "Botany Bay and hard labour might do for him; and as for the waiting crowds in the streets, the proper thing was to shoot them down, like rabid animals." She wondered "the Duke of Wellington did not do so." These sentiments were vivified by the pa.s.sion that blazed in her black eyes and flushed her brown face crimson, and by the gown of bright yellow Chinese c.r.a.pe which she wore; for it fluttered and waved with her impetuous movements, and made a kind of luminous atmosphere around her.

"What a superb creature!" exclaimed Mr. Disraeli to the Hon. Mrs.

Norton. And Mrs. Norton put up her gla.s.s and looked at Annabel critically.

"Superb indeed--to look at. Would you like to live with her?"

"It would be exciting."

"More so than your 'Vivian Grey,' which I have just read. It is the book of the year."

"No, that honour belongs to a little volume of poems by a young man called Tennyson. Get it; you will read every word it contains."

"I am wedded to my idols,--Byron and Scott and Keble. I am much interested at present in those 'Imaginary Conversations' which that queer Mr. Landor has given us. They are worth reading, I a.s.sure you."

"But why read them? Listen to the 'Conversations' around us! They are of Revolution, Civil War, Exile, and the Headsman. Could anything be more 'Imaginary'?"

"Who can tell? Here comes Richmoor. He may be able to prognosticate.

What a murmur of voices! What invisible movement! Can you divine the news from the messenger's face?"

"He thinks that he brings good news. He may be fatally wrong."

The Duke certainly thought that he brought good news. He was much excited. He came forward with his hands extended, palms upward.

"The King stands by us!" he cried. "G.o.d save the King!"

Twenty voices called out at once, "What did he say?"

"He said plainly that in spite of the public opinion expressed so loudly in recent elections, Reform would have no sanction from the Government. I only stayed until the end of the royal speech. Yet in some way rumours of its purport must have reached the street. In the neighbourhood, there was much agitation, and even anger."

Then Kate slipped away from the excited throng. Piers had evidently remained for the discussion on the King's speech; and it might be midnight when the House adjourned. The winter day was fast darkening; she ordered her chairmen, and the pretty sedan was brought into the vestibule for her. She had no fear, though the very gloom and silence of the waiting crowd was more indicative of danger than noise or threats would have been. When she reached Hyde Park corner, however, angry faces pressed around a little too close, and she was alarmed. Then she threw back her hood and looked out calmly at the crowd, and immediately a clear voice cried out, "It is Edgar Atheling's sister! Take good care of her!" And there was a cheer and a cry, and about twenty men closed round the chair, and saw it safely to its destination.

Then Cecil North stepped to the door and opened it. "I knew it was you, Mr. North!" cried Kate. "I knew your voice. How kind of you to come all the way with me! How glad mother will be to see you!"

"I cannot wait a moment, Miss Atheling. Can you give me any news?"

"Yes. The King says the Government will not sanction Reform."

"Who told you this?"

"The Duke of Richmoor--not an hour ago."

"Then 'good-night.' I am afraid there will be trouble."

Mrs. Atheling and Kate were afraid also. The murmur of the crowd grew louder and louder as the tenor of the King's speech became known; and many a time they wished themselves in the safety and solitude of their Yorkshire home. So they talked, and watched, and listened until the night was far advanced. Then they heard the firm, strong step of the Squire on the pavement; and his imperative voice in denial of something said by a group of men whom he pa.s.sed. In a few minutes he entered the drawing-room with an angry light in his eyes, and the manner of a man exasperated by opposition.

"Whatever is it, John? Is there trouble already?" asked Mrs. Atheling.

[Ill.u.s.tration:]

"Plenty of it, and like to be more. The King has spoken like a fool."

"John Atheling! His Majesty!"

"His Imbecility! I tell you what, Maude, there has been enough said to-day, and to-night, to set all the dogs of civil war loose. Give me a bit of eating, and I will tell thee and Kitty what a lot of idiots are met together in Westminster."

The Squire always wanted a deal of waiting upon; and in a few minutes his valet was bringing him easy slippers and a loose coat, and two handmaidens serving a tray, bearing game pastry, and fruit tarts, and clotted cream. But he would take neither wine, nor strong ale,--

"Water is all a man wants that gets himself stirred up in the House of Commons," he said. "And if I had been in the Lords' House, I would have needed nothing but a strait-jacket."

He had hardly sat down to eat, when Piers Exham came in. No one could have been more welcome, and the young man's troubled face brightened in the sunshine of Kate's smile, and in the honest kindness of the Squire's greeting. "I was just going to tell Mrs. Atheling all I knew about to-night's blundering," he said; "but now we will have your report first, for you have seen the Duke, I'll warrant."

"Indeed, Squire, the Duke is not dissatisfied--though the general opinion is, that the Duke of Wellington has committed an egregious mistake."