"Well, some day thou--" and then the Squire suddenly stopped; but the unfinished thought was flashed to every one present,--"some day thou mayst be d.u.c.h.ess of Richmoor, and have the right to be present;"

and Kate was pleased, and felt her heart warm to conscious hope. She caught her mother watching her, and smiled; and Mrs. Atheling, instantly sensitive to the unspoken feeling, avoided comment by her eager inquiry,--

"Whatever did they say, John?"

"They said the usual words; but the Duke told me there was a breathless silence, and that Lord John Russell said them with the most unusual and impressive emphasis: 'My Lords, the House of Commons have pa.s.sed an Act to Amend the Representation of England and Wales, to which they desire your Lordships' Concurrence.' Lord Grey opened the debate. I dare say Edgar knows all about it. I believe Grey is his leader."

"Yes," answered Edgar, "and very proud I am of my leader. He is in his sixty-eighth year, and he stood there that night to advocate the measure he proposed forty years before, in the House of Commons. Althorp told me he spoke with a strange calmness and solemnity, '_for the just claims of the people_;' but as soon as he sat down Lord Wharncliffe moved that the Bill be rejected altogether."

"That was like Wharncliffe," said the Squire. "No half measures for him."

"Wellington followed, and wanted to know, 'How the King's government was to be carried on by the will of a turbulent democracy?'"

"Wellington would govern with a sword instead of a sceptre. He would try every cause round a drum-head. I am not with Wellington."

"Lord Dudley followed in an elegant, cla.s.sical speech, also against the Bill."

The Squire laughed. "I heard about that speech. Did not Brougham call it, 'An essay or exercise of the highest merit, on democracies--_but not on this Bill_.'"

"Yes. Brougham can say very polite and very disagreeable things. He spoke on the fifth and last night of the debate. Earl Grey said a more splendid declamation was never made. All London is now quoting one pa.s.sage which he addressed to the Lords: 'Justice deferred,' he said, 'enhances the price at which you will purchase your own safety; nor can you expect to gather any other crop than they did who went before you, if you persevere in their utterly abominable husbandry of sowing injustice and reaping rebellion.'"

"Fine words, Edgar, fine words; just like Brougham,--catch-words, to take the common people."

"They did not, however, alarm or take the Lords. My leader closed the debate, and in a magnificent speech implored the archbishops and bishops not to vote against the Bill, and thus stand before the people of England as the enemies of a just and moderate scheme of Reform."

"And yet they voted against it!" said Mrs. Atheling. "I am downright ashamed of them. The very date ought to be put up against them forever."

"It was the seventh of October. All night long, until the dawning of the eighth, the debate was continued; and until three hours after midnight, Palace Yard, and the streets about Westminster, were crowded with anxious watchers, though the weather was cold and miserably wet.

Towards morning their patience was exhausted; and when the carriages of the peers and bishops rolled out in broad daylight there was no one there to greet them with the execrations and hisses they deserved.

The whole of our work this session in the Commons has been done in vain. But we shall win next time, even if we compel the King to create as many new Reform peers as will pa.s.s the Bill in spite of the old Lords."

"Edgar, you are talking nonsense--if not treason."

"Pardon me, Father. I am only giving you the ultimatum of Reform.

The Bill _must_ pa.s.s the Lords next session, or you may call Reform Revolution. The people are particularly angry at the bishops. They dare not appear on the streets; curses follow them, and their carriages have been repeatedly stoned."

"There is a verse beginning, 'Inasmuch as ye did it not,' etc.,--I wonder if they will ever dare to repeat it again. They will do the church a deal of harm."

"Oh, no," said Edgar. "The church does not stand on the bishops."

"Be easy with the bishops," added the Squire. "They have to scheme a bit in order to get the most out of both worlds. They scorn to answer the people according to their idols. They are politically right."

"No, sir," said Edgar. "Whatever is morally wrong cannot be politically right. The church is well represented by the clergy; they have generally sympathised with the people. One of them, indeed, called Smith--Sydney Smith--made a speech at Taunton, three days after our defeat, that has gone like wild-fire throughout the length and breadth of England;" and Edgar took a paper out of his pocket, and read, with infinite delight and appreciation, the pungent wit which made "Mrs. Partington" famous throughout Christendom:--

"As for the possibility of the House of Lords preventing a reform of Parliament, I hold it to be the most absurd notion that ever entered into human imagination. I do not mean to be disrespectful, but the attempt of the Lords to stop the progress of Reform reminds me very forcibly of the great storm at Sidmouth, and of the conduct of the excellent Mrs. Partington on that occasion. In the winter of 1824, there set in a great flood upon that town; the waves rushed in upon the houses; and everything was threatened with destruction. In the midst of this sublime and terrible storm, Dame Partington--who lived upon the beach--was seen at the door of her house, with mop and pattens, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea-water, and vigorously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic was roused. Mrs. Partington's spirit was up; but I need not tell you, the contest was unequal. The Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. Partington. She was excellent at a slop or a puddle; but she should not have meddled with a tempest. Gentlemen, be at your ease, be quiet and steady. You will beat Mrs. Partington."[2]

------ [Footnote 2: Speech at Taunton by Sydney Smith, October 12, 1831.]

"It was not respectful to liken the Lords of England to an old woman, now was it, Mother?" asked the Squire.

But Mrs. Atheling only laughed the more, and the conversation drifted so completely into politics that Kitty and Annie grew weary of it, and said they wished to go to their rooms. And as they left the parlour together, Edgar suddenly stayed Kitty a moment, and said, "I had nearly forgotten to tell you something. Miss Vyner is to be married, on the second of December, to Cecil North. I am going to London in time for the wedding."

And Kitty said, "I am glad to hear it, Edgar," and quickly closed the door. But she lay long awake, wondering what influence this event would have upon Piers and his future, until, finally, the wonder pa.s.sed into a little verse which they had learned together; and with it singing in her heart, she fell asleep:--

"Thou art mine! I am thine!

Thou art locked in this heart of mine; Whereof is lost the little key: So there, forever, thou must be!"

CHAPTER FOURTEENTH

AT THE WORST

In the first joy of their return home, Squire Atheling and his son had not chosen to alarm the women of the family; yet the condition of the country was such as filled with terror every thoughtful mind. The pa.s.sionate emotion evoked by the second rejection of the Reform Bill did not abate. Tumultuous meetings were held in every town and village as the news reached them; houses were draped in black; shops were closed; and the bells of the churches tolled backward. In London the populace was quite uncontrollable. Vast crowds filled the streets, cheering the Reform leaders, and denouncing with furious execrations the members of either House who had opposed the Bill. The Duke of Newcastle, the Marquis of Londonderry, and many other peers were not saved from the anger of the people without struggle and danger. Nottingham Castle, the seat of the Duke of Newcastle, was burnt to the ground; and Belvoir Castle, the seat of the Duke of Rutland, was barely saved. Bristol saw a series of riots, and during them suffered greatly from fire, and the Bishop's palace was reduced to ashes.

Everywhere the popular fury settled with special bitterness and hatred upon the bishops; because, as teachers of the doctrines of Jesus of Nazareth, the "common people" expected sympathy from them. A cry arose, from one end of England to the other, for their expulsion from the Upper Chamber; and proposals even for the abolition of the House of Lords were constant and very popular. For such extreme measures no speaker was so eloquent and so powerful as Mr. O'Connell. In addressing a great meeting at Charing Cross one day, he pointed in the direction of Whitehall Palace, and reminded his hearers that, "A King had lost his head there. Why," he asked, "did this doom come on him? It was," he cried, "because he refused to listen to his Commons and his people, and obeyed the dictation of a foreign wife." And this allusion to the Queen's bad influence over William the Fourth was taken up by the crowd with vehement cheering.

While Bristol was burning, the cholera appeared in England; and its terrors, new and awful and apparently beyond human help or skill, added the last element of supernatural fear to the excited and hopeless people. It is hard to realise at this day, and with our knowledge of the disease, the frantic and abject despair which seized all cla.s.ses. The churches were kept open, supplications ascended night and day from the altars; and on the sixth of November, at one hour, from every place of worship in England, hundreds of thousands knelt to utter aloud a form of prayer which was constantly broken by sobs of anguish:--

"Lord, have pity on thy people! Withdraw thy heavy hand from those who are suffering under thy judgments; and turn away from us that grievous calamity against which our only security is Thy Compa.s.sion."

In the presence of this scourge, Mrs. Atheling found it impossible to persuade the Squire to let his family go up with him and Edgar to London.

About the cholera, the Squire had the common fatalistic ideas.

"You may escape through G.o.d's mercy," he said; "but if you are to die of this fearsome, outlandish sickness, then it is best to face death in your own home."

"But if you should take it in London, and me not near even to bid you 'good-bye,' John! I should die of grief."

"I do hope thou wouldst have more sense, Maude."

"I would follow thee beyond the grave, very quickly, John."

"No, no! Stay where thou art. Thou knowest what Yorkshire is," and though he spoke gruffly, his eyes were dim with unshed tears for the dreadful possibility he thought it right to face.

Kate was specially averse to return to London. It was full of memories she did not wish to revive. Piers was there; and how could she bear to meet him, and neither speak to nor even look at her lover? There was Annabel's marriage also to consider. If she did not attend it, how many unpleasant inquiries and suppositions there would be? If she did accept the formal invitation sent her, how was she to conduct herself towards Piers in the presence of those who knew them both intimately?

The marriage was to take place shortly before the opening of Parliament; and, owing to the wretched condition of the country, it was thought best to give it only a private character. The management of the social arrangements were in Piers's hands, and during these last days a very brotherly and confidential affection sprang up in his heart for the brilliant girl who was so soon to leave them forever. One morning he returned to Richmoor House with some valuable jewels for Annabel. He sent a servant to tell her that he was in the small east parlour and desired her company. Then, knowing her usual indifference to time, he sat down and patiently awaited her coming. She responded almost immediately. But her entrance startled and troubled him. She came in hastily, and shut the door with a perceptible nervous tremour. Her face was flushed with anger; she looked desperate and defiant, and met his curious glance with one of mingled fear and entreaty and reckless pa.s.sion. He led her to a seat, and taking her hands said,--

"My dear Bella, what has grieved you?"

"Oh, Piers! Piers!" she sobbed. "If you have one bit of pity in your heart, give it to me. I am the most miserable woman in the world."

"Bella, if you do not love Cecil--if you want to break off this marriage--"

"Love Cecil? I love him better than my life! My love for Cecil is the best thing about me. It is not Cecil."

"Who is it then?"