Laura and me will do your manners good. It is easy to see
that you are always thinking about yourself. Don't blush and
stammer — almost all young men are always thinking about
themselves. My sons and grandsons always were until I cured
them. Come here, and let us teach you to behave properly;
you will not have to carve, that is done at the side-table.
Hecker will give you as much wine as is good for you; and on
days when you are very good and amusing you shall have some
Champagne. Hecker, mind what I say. Mr. Pendennis is
Miss Laura's brother ; and you will make him comfortable,
and see that he does not have too much wine, or disturb me
whilst I am taking my nap after dinner. You are selfish: I in-
tend to cure you of being selfish. You will dine here when
you have no other engagements ; and if it rains you had better
put up at the hotel." As long as the good lady could order
everybody round about her, she was not hard to please ; and
all the slaves and subjects of her little dowager court trembled
before her, but loved her.

She did not receive a very numerous or brilliant society.



316



The doctor, of course, was admitted as a constant and faith-
ful visitor; the vicar and his curate; and on public days the
vicar's wife and daughters , and some of the season visitors at
Baymouth were received at the old lady's entertainments : but
generally the company was a small one, and Mr. Arthur drank
his wine by himself, when Lady Rockminster retired to take
her doze, and to be played and sung to sleep by Laura after
dinner.

"If my music can give her a nap," said the good-natured
girl, "ought I not to be very glad that it can do so much good?
Lady Rockminster sleeps very little of nights : and I used to
read to her until I fell ill at Paris , since when she will not hear
of my sitting up."

" Why did you not write to me when you were ill? " asked
Pen, with a blush.

" What good could you do me? I had Martha to nurse me ;
and the doctor every day. You are too busy to write to women
or to think about them. You have your books and your news-
papers , and your politics and your railroads to occupy you. I
wrote when I was well."

And Pen looked at her, and blushed again , as he remem-
bered that, during all the time of her illness, he had never
written to her, and had scarcely thought about her.

In consequence of his relationship, Pen was free to walk
and ride with his cousin constantly, and in the course of those
walks and rides, could appreciate the sweet frankness of her
disposition, and the truth, simplicity, and kindliness , of her
fair and spotless heart. In their mother's life-time, she had
never spoken so openly or so cordially as now. The desire of
poor Helen to make an union between her two children, had
caused a reserve on Laura's part towards Pen ; for which , un-
der the altered circumstances of Arthur's life, there was now
no necessity. He was engaged to another woman ; and Laura



317



became his sister at once, — hiding, or banishing from herself,
any doubts which she might have as to his choice ; striving to
look cheerfully forward, and hope for his prosperity; promi-
sing herself to do all that affection might do to make her
mother*s darling happy.

Their talk was often about the departed mother. And it
was from a thousand stories which Laura told him that Arthur
was made aware how constant and absorbing that silent ma-
ternal devotion had been; which had accompanied him pre-
sent and absent through life, and had only ended with the fond
widow's last breath. One day the people in Clavering saw a
lad in charge of a couple of horses at the churchyard-gate :
and it was told over the place that Pen and Laura had visited
Helen's grave together. Since Arthur had come down into
the country, he had been there once or twice: but the sight of
the sacred stone had brought no consolation to him. A guilty
man doing a guilty deed : a mere speculator, content to lay
down his faith and honour for a fortune and a worldly career ;
and owning that his life was but a contemptible surrender —
what right had he in the holy place? what booted it to him in
the world he lived In , that others were no better than himself?
Arthur and Laura rode by the gates of Fairoaks ; and he shook
hands with his tenant's children , playing on the lawn and the
terrace — Laura looked steadily at the cottage wall, at the
creeper on the porch and the magnolia growing up to her win-
dow. "Mr. Pendennis rode by to-day," one of the boys told
his mother, "with a lady, and he stopped and talked to us,
and he asked for a bit of honeysuckle off the porch, and gave
it the lady. I couldn't see if she was pretty ; she had her veil
down. She was riding one of Cramp's horses, out of Bay-
mouth.'*

As they rode over the downs between home and Baymouth,



318



Pen did not speak much, though they rode very close
together. He was thinking what a mockery life was, and
how men refuse happiness when they may have it ; or, having
it, kick it down; or barter it, with their eyes open, for a
little worthless money or beggarly honour. And then the
thought came, what does it matter for the little space? The
lives of the best and purest of us are consumed in a vain desire,
and end in a disappointment: as the dear souPs who sleeps
in her grave yonder. She had her selfish ambition, as much
as Caesar had; and died, baulked of her life's longing. The
stone covers over our hopes and our memories. Our place
knows us not. " Other people's children are playing on the
grass," he broke out, in a hard voice, "where you and I
used to play, Laura. And you see how the magnolia we
planted has grown up since our time. I have been round to
one or two of the cottages where my mother used to visit. It
is scarcely more than a year that she is gone , and the people
whom she used to benefit care no more for her death than for
Queen Anne's. We are all selfish: the world is selfish: there
are but a few exceptions, like you, my dear, to shine like
good deeds in a naughty world, and make the blackness
more dismal."

"I wish you would not speak in that way, Arthur," said
Laura, looking down and bending her head to the honey-
suckle on her breast. "When you told the little boy to give
me this, you were not selfish."

"A pretty sacrifice I made to get it for you!" said the
sneerer.

"But your heart was kind and full of love when you did so.
One cannot ask for more than love and kindness; and if you
think humbly of yourself, Arthur, the love and kindness are
not diminished — are they? I often thought our dearest
mother spoiled you at home, by worshipping you; and that



319



if you are — I hate the word — what you say, her too great
fondness helped to make you so. And as for the world, when
men go out into it, I suppose they cannot be otherwise than
selfish. You have to fight for yourself, and to get on for
yourself, and to make a name for yourself. Mamma and
your uncle both encouraged you in this ambition. If it is a
vain thing, why pursue it? I suppose such a clever man as
you intend to do a great deal of good to the country, by going
into Parliament, or you would not wish to be there. What
are you going to do when you are in the House of Commons ? "

"Women don't understand about politics, my dear," Pen
said , sneering at himself as he spoke.

"But why don't you make us understand? I could never
tell about Mr. Pynsent why he should like to be there so much.
He is not a clever man — "

"He certainly is not a genius, Pynsent," said Pen.

"Lady Diana says that he attends Committees all day;
that then again he is at the House all night; that he always
votes as he is told; that he never speaks; that he will never
get on beyond a subordinate place, and as his grandmother
tells him, he is choked with red-tape. Are you going to
follow the same career, Arthur? What is there in it so bril-
liant that you should be so eager for it? I would rather that
you should stop at home, and write books — good books,
kind books, with gentle kind thoughts, such as you have,
dear Arthur , and such as might do people good to read. And
if you do not win fame, what then? You own it is vanity , and
you can live very happily without it. I must not pretend to
advise ; but I take you at your own word about the world ; and
as you own it is wicked , and that it tires you, ask you why
you don't leave it? '*

" And what would you have me do ? " asked Arthur.

"I would have you bring your wife to Fairoaks to live



320



there, and study, and do good round about you. I would
like to see your own children playing on the lawn, Arthur,
and that we might pray in our mother's church again once
more, dear brother. If the world is a temptation, are we
not told to pray that we may not be led into it? "

"Do you think Blanche would make a good wife for a
petty country gentleman? Do you think I should become the
charactervery well, Laura?" Pen asked. "Remember temp-
tation walks about the hedgerows as well as the city streets :
and idleness is the greatest tempter of all."

"What does — does Mr. Warrington say?" said Laura,
as a blush mounted up to her cheek, and of which Pen saw the
fervour, though Laura's veil fell over her face to hide it.

Pen rode on by Laura's side silently for awhile. George's
name so mentioned brought back the past to him, and the
thoughts which he had once had regarding George and Laura.
Why should the recurrence of the thought agitate him, now
that he knew the union was impossible? Why should he be
curious to know if, during the months of their intimacy,
Laura had felt a regard for Warrington? From that day until
the present time George had never aUuded to his story, and
Arthur remembered now that since then George had scarcely
ever mentioned Laura's name.

At last he came close to her- "Tell me something,
Laura," he said.

She put back her veil and looked at him. "What is it,
Arthur? " she asked — though from the tremor of her voice
she guessed very weU.

" Tell me — but for George's misfortune — I never knew
him speak of it before or since that day — would you — would
you have given him — what you refused me? "

"Yes, Pen," she said, bursting into tears.

"He deserved you better than I did," poor Arthur groaned



321



forth, with an indescribable pang at his heart. "I am but a
selfish wretch, and George is better, nobler, truer, than I
am. God bless him!"

"Yes, Pen," said Laura, reaching out her hand to her
cousin, and he put his arm round her, and for a moment she
sobbed on his shoulder.

The gentle girl had had her secret, and told it. In the
widow's last journey fromFairoaks, when hastening with her
mother to Arthur's sick bed, Laura had made a different con-
fession ; and it was only when Warrington told his own story,
and described the hopeless condition of his life, that she dis-
covered how much her feelings had changed, and with what
tender sympathy, with what great respect, delight, and ad-
miration she had grown to regard her cousin's friend. Until
she knew that some plans she might have dreamed of were
impossible, and that Warrington, reading in her heart,
perhaps , had told his melancholy story to warn her , she had
not asked herself whether it was possible that her affections
could change; and had been shocked and scared by the dis-
covery of the truth. How should she have told it to Helen,
and confessed her shame? Poor Laura felt guilty before her
friend, with the secret which she dared not confide to her;
felt as if she had been ungrateful for Helen's love and regard;
felt as if she had been wickedly faithless to Pen in with-
drawing that love from him which he did not even care to ac-
cept; humbled even and repentant before Warrington, lest
she should have encouraged him by undue sympathy, or
shown the preference which she began to feel.

The catastrophe which broke up Laura's home, and the
grief and anguish which she felt for her mother's death, gave
her little leisure for thoughts more selfish; and by the time
she rallied from that grief the minor one was also almost
cured. It was but for a moment that she had indulged a hope
Pendennis. III. 21



322



about Warrington. Her admiration and respect for him re-
mained as strong as ever. But the tender feeling with which
she knew she had regarded him, was schooled into such calm-
ness, that it may be said to have been dead and passed away.
The pang which it left behind was one of humility and remorse.
*' O how wicked and proud I was about Arthur," she thought,
"how self-confident and unforgiving! I never forgave from
my heart this poor girl, who was fond of him, or him for en-
couraging her love; and I have been more guilty than she,
poor, little, artless creature ! I, professing to love one man,
could listen to another only too eagerly; and would not par-
don the change of feelings in Arthur, whilst I myself was chan-
ging and unfaithful." And so humiliating herself, and acknow-
ledging her weakness, the poor girl sought for strength and
refuge in the manner in which she had been accustomed to
look for them.

She had done no wrong: but there are some folks who
suffer for a fault ever so trifling as much as others whose stout
consciences can walk under crimes of almost any weight ; and
poor Laura chose to fancy that she had acted in this delicate
juncture of her life as a very great criminal. She determined
that she had done Pen a great injury by withdrawing that love
which, privately in her mother's hearing, she had bestowed
upon him ; that she had been ungrateful to her dead benefac-
tress by ever allowing herself to think of another or of vio-
lating her promise; and that, considering her own enormous
crimes, she ought to be very gentle in judging those of others,
whose temptations were much greater, very likely ; and whose
motives she could not understand.

A year back Laura would have been indignant at the idea
that Arthur should marry Blanche : and her high spirit would
have, risen, as she thought that from worldly motives he should
stoop to one so unworthy Now when the news was brought



323



to her of such a chance (the intelligence was given to her by
old Lady Rockminster, whose speeches were as direct and
rapid as a slap on the face) , the humbled girl winced a little at
the blow, but bore it meekly, and with a desperate acquies-
cence. "He has a right to marry, he knows a great deal more
of the world than I do , " she argued with herself. "Blanche
may not be so light-minded as she seemed, and who ami to
be her judge? I daresay it is very good that Arthur should
go into Parliament and distinguish himself, and my duty is to
do everything that lies in my power to aid him and Blanche,
and to make his home happy. I daresay I shall live with them.
If I am godmother to one of their children, I will leave her my
three thousand pounds! " And forthwith she began to think
what she could give Blanche out of her small treasures , and
how best to conciliate her affection. She wrote her forthwith
a kind letter, in which, of course, no mention was made of
the plans in contemplation, but in which Laura recalled old
times, and spoke her good- will, and in reply to this she re-
ceived an eager answer from Blanche : in which not a word
about marriage was said, to be sure, but Mr. Pendennis was
mentioned two or three times in the letter , and they were to
be henceforth, dearest Laura, and dearest Blanche, and loving
sisters, and so forth.

When Pen and Laura reached home, after Laura's confes-
sion, (Pen's noble acknowledgment of his own inferiority and
generous expression oflove for Warrington, causing the girl's
heart to throb , and rendering doubly keen those tears which
she sobbed on his shoulder,) a little slim letter was awaiting
Miss Bell in the hall , which she trembled rather guiltily as she
unsealed, and which Pen blushed as he recognised ; for he
saw instantly that it was from Blanche.

Laura opened it hastily, and cast her eyes quickly over it,
as Pen kept his fixed on her, blushing.

21*



324



"She dates from London," Laura said. *'She has been
â– with old Bonner, Lady Clavering's maid. Bonner is going to
marry Lightfoot the butler. Where do you think Blanche has
been? '* she cried out eagerly.

"To Paris, to Scotland, to the Casino?"

"To Shepherd's Inn, to see Fanny; but Fanny wasn't
there, and Blanche is going to leave a present for her. Isn't
it kind of her and thoughtful? " And she handed the letter to
Pen who read —

"'I saw Madame Mere, who was scrubbing the room , and
looked at me with very scrubby looks ; but la belle Fanny was
not au logis; and as I heard that she was in Captain Strong's
apartments, Bonner and I mounted au iroisieme to see this
famous beauty. Another disappointment — only the Che-
valier Strong and a friend of his in the room: so we came
away after all without seeing the enchanting Fanny.

"'/e fenvoie mille et mills baisers. When will that horrid
canvassing be over? Sleeves are worn , &c., &c., &c.'"

After dinner the doctor was reading the Times, "A young
gentleman I attended when he was here some eight or nine
years ago, has come into a fine fortune," the doctor said. "I
see here announced the death of John Henry Foker, Esq., of
Logwood Hall, atPau, in the Pyrenees, on the 15th ult."



CIIA.PTER XXin.

In which the Major is bidden lo stand and deliver.
Any gentleman who has frequented the Wheel of Fortune
public-house, where it may be remembered that Mr. James
Morgan's Club was held, and where Sir Francis Clavering had
an interview with Major Pendennis, is aware that there are
three rooms for guests upon the ground floor, besides the bar



325



where the landlady sits. One is a parlour frequented by the
public at large; to another room gentlemen in livery resort;
and the third apartment, on the door of which "Private" is
painted , is that hired by the Club of " The Confidentials , " of
which Messrs. Morgan and Lightfoot were members.

The noiseless Morgan had listened to the conversation be-
tween Strong and Major Pendennis at thelatter's own lodgings,
and had carried away from it matter for much private specu-
lation; and a desire of knowledge had led him to follow his
master when the Major came to the Wheel of Fortune, and to
take his place quietly in the Confidential room, whilst Pen-
dennis and Clavering had their discourse in the parlour.
There was a particular corner in the Confidential room from
which you could hear almost all that passed in the next apart-
ment; and as the conversation between the two gentlemen
there was rather angry, and carried on in a high key, Morgan
had the benefit of overhearing almost the whole of it: and
what he heard, strengthened the conclusions which his mind
had previously formed.

"He knew Altamont at once, did he, when he saw him in
Sidney? Clavering ain't no more married to my Lady than I
am! Altamont 's the man: Altamont 's a convict; young
Harthur comes into Parlyment, and the Gov*nor promises not
to split. By Jove , what a sly old rogue it is, that old Gov'nor !
No wonder he 's anxious to make the match between Blanche
and Harthur: why, she '11 have a hundred thousand if she 's a
penny, and bring her man a seat in Parlyment into the bar-
gain." Nobody saw, but a physiognomist would have liked to
behold, the expression of Mr. Morgan's countenance, when
this astounding intelh'gence was made clear to him. "But for
my hage, and the confounded prejudices of society, " he said,
surveying himself in the glass, "dammy, James Morgan, you
might marry her yourself. " But if he could not marry Miss



326



Blanche and her fortune, Morgan thought he could mend his
own by the possession of this information, and that it might
be productive of benefit to him from very many sources. Of
all the persons whom the secret affected, the greater number
would not like to have it known. For instance, Sir Francis
Clavering, whose fortune it involved, would wish to keep it
quiet; Colonel Altamont, whose neck it implicated, would
naturally be desirous to hush it; and that young hupstart
beast, Mr. Harthur, who was for gettin' into Parly ment on
the strenth of it, and was as proud as if he was a duke with half
a millium a year (such, we grieve to say, was Morgan's opinion
of his employer's nephew) , would pay anythink sooner than
let the world know that he was married to a convick's daughter,
and had got his seat in Parlyment by trafficking with this se-
cret. As for Lady C, Morgan thought, if she 's tired of Claver-
ing, and wants to get rid of him, she '11 pay : if she 's frighten-
ed about her son, and fond of the little beggar, she '11 pay
all the same: and Miss Blanche will certainly come down
handsome to the man who will put her into her rights, which
she was unjustly defrauded of them, and no mistake.
"Dammy," concluded the valet, reflecting upon this won-
derful hand which luck had given him to play, "with such
cards as these, James Morgan, you are a made man. It may
be a reg'lar enewity to me. Every one of 'em must susscribe.
And with what I've made already, I may cut business, give
my old Gov'nor warning, turn gentleman, and have a servant
of my own, begad." Entertaining himself with calculations
such as these, that were not a little likely to perturb a man's
spirit, Mr. Morgan showed a very great degree of self-com-
mand by appearing and being calm, and by not allowing his
future prospects in any way to interfere with his present
duties.

One of the persons whom the story chiefly concerned, Co-



327



lonel Altamont , was absent from London, when Morgan was
thus made acquainted with his history. The valet knew of Sir
Francis Clavering's Shepherd's Inn haunt, and walked thither
an hour or two after the Baronet and Pendennis had had their
conversation together. But that bird was flown ; Colonel Al-
tamont had received his Derby winnings , and was gone to the
Continent. The fact of his absence was exceedingly vexa-
tious to Mr. Morgan. "He'll drop all that money at the
gambling-shops on the Rhind," thought Morgan, "and I
might have had a good bit of it. It 's confounded annoying
to think he 's gone and couldn't have waited a few days
longer." Hope, triumphant or deferred , ambition or disap-
pointment, victory or patient ambush, Morgan bore all alike,
with similar equable countenance. Until the proper day came,
the Major's boots were varnished and his hair was curled,
his early cup of tea was brought to his bedside, his oaths,
rebukes, and senile satire borne, with silent, obsequious
fidelity. Who would think, to see him waiting upon his master,
packing and shouldering his trunks, and occasionally assisting
at table, at the country-houses where he might be staying,
that Morgan was richer than his employer, and knew his se-
crets and other people's? . In the profession Mr. Morgan was
greatly respected and admired, and his reputation for wealth
and wisdom got him much renown at most supper-tables : the
younger gentlemen voted him stoopid , a feller of no idears,
and a fogey, in a word: but not one of them would not say
amen to the heartfelt prayer which some ofthe most serious-
minded among the gentlemen uttered, "When I die may I cut
up as well as Morgan Pendennis I "

As became a man of fashion. Major Pendennis spent the
autumn passing from house to house of such country friends as
were at home to receive him , and if the Duke happened to be



328



abroad, or the Marquis in Scotland, condescending to so-
journ with Sir John or the plain Squire. To say the truth,
the old gentleman's reputation was somewhat on the wane :
many of the men of his time had died out, and the occupants
of their halls and the present wearers of their titles knew not
Major Pendennis; and little cared for his traditions "of the
wild Prince andPoyns,'* and of the heroes of fashion passed
away. It must have struck the good man with melancholy as
he walked by many a London door, to think how seldom it
was now opened for him, and how often he used to knock
at it — to what banquets and welcome he used to pass
through it — a score of years back. He began to own that he
was no longer of the present age, and dimly to apprehend
that the young men laughed at him. Such melancholy musings
must come across many a Pall Mall philosopher. The men,
thinks he, are not such as they used to be in his time : the old
grand manner and courtly grace of life are gone: what is
Castlewood House and the present Castlewood, compared to
the magnificence of the old mansion and owner? The late lord
came to London with four postchalses and sixteen horses : all