"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Pottersleigh, letting his hat sink farther on the nape of his neck, as he placed his gold glasses on his long thin nose and gazed at Sir Madoc, who tossed an empty bottle into the runnel, and continued:--"In Wales we have the lines of Kynaston, who descend from Rhodric Mawr, King of all Wales, and the daughter and coheir of the Bloody Wolf; the Mostyns, from the Lord of Abergeleu who founded the eighth noble tribe; the Vaughans, who come from that King Rhodric who married the daughter of Meuric ap Dyfnwall ap Arthur ap Sitsylt, though that was only in the year 800; and we have the Lloyds----"
"O, papa," exclaimed Winifred, seeing that Estelle was laughing heartily, "we cannot listen to more; and I am sure that your muster-roll of terrible names must have quite convinced Mr. Guilfoyle of his error."
"If it ever existed--I did but jest," said he, bowing and smiling as he turned to her.
Sir Madoc's gust of patriotic ire passed away at the sound of his daughter's voice; but from that moment his manner to Guilfoyle underwent a marked change, for he had already more than once contrived to wound him on this his most tender point. So the usually suave and kind old man became very cool to him as they rode homeward; and early that evening Guilfoyle retired to his room, alleging that he had to write letters.
After dinner, as we idled for a little time in the smoking-room prior to joining the ladies, Lord Pottersleigh led the conversation gradually back to our evening excursion, and with some hesitation began to speak of Guilfoyle.
"You will pardon me, my dear Sir Madoc, for venturing to speak slightingly of any friend of yours; but----"
"Mr. Guilfoyle is no friend of mine," said the other, hastily; "he dropped among us from the clouds, as it were. When with Lady Naseby I met him on the beach at Llandudno. He had done her some service on the Continent, at Catzeneln--what's-its-name?--I invited him on the strength of their past acquaintance--that's all."
"Then, briefly, get rid of him if you can."
"What do _you_ say, Harry?"
"I say with Lord Pottersleigh."
Sir Madoc fidgeted, for his Welsh ideas of hospitality were somewhat shocked by the idea of "getting rid" of a guest.
"I assure you, Sir Madoc," resumed the peer, "that he is quite out of his place amongst us, quite; and despite his usually assumed suavity--for it is assumed--he lacks intensely _l'odeur de la bonne société_, though he affects it; and I overheard two of your late guests making some very dubious remarks concerning him."
"The deuce you did!" exclaimed Sir Madoc, tossing away his half-smoked cigar.
"They spoke quite audibly, as if they cared not who might hear them."
"Who were they?"
"Officers of the 19th, from Chester. 'Guilfoyle!' I heard that fast boy Clavell exclaim, as if with surprise, to another; 'is that fellow, who--' 'The very same.' 'Then how comes he to be a guest here?' 'Just what I was asking of myself, as he is tabooed everywhere. You know they say--' '_They_--who?' 'O, that ubiquitous and irresponsible party so difficult to grapple with--that though he was attaché at some German place, he has been in several conspiracies to pigeon young muffs just come of age. There was particularly one poor fellow of ours whom he rooked at Hamburg of every sixpence, and who was afterwards found drowned in the Alster. And lately I have heard that he was proprietor, or part proprietor, of a gaming-hell in Berlin.' 'By Jove!' exclaimed little Clavell, but can all this be proved?' 'No.' 'Why?' 'He lays his plans too deeply and surely.' Then they walked towards the marquee, and I thought I had hear, enough--quite," added his lordship, snuffing.
Long before Pottersleigh was done, Sir Madoc had blushed purple with stifled rage and mortification. He said,
"My lord, you should have mentioned all this instantly."
"Truth is, I knew not how to approach the subject."
"And I have introduced this fellow to my daughters, to my friends, and to Craigaderyn! D--n me, I shall choke!" he exclaimed, as he started from his chair. "He is deep as Llyn Tegid! I have already lost considerable sums to him at billiards, and I always thought his success at cards miraculous. But an end shall be put to this instantly!--Owen! Owen Gwyllim!"
He kicked a spittoon to the other end of the room, rang the bell furiously for the butler, and dashed off a note to Mr. Guilfoyle. It was sufficiently curt and pointed. He expressed "regret that a gun would not be at his service on the coming 1st of September; but that the carriage would await his orders, for Chester or elsewhere."
Guilfoyle had doubtless been accustomed to meet with affronts such as this. Desiring his baggage to be sent after him, he departed that night with his two horses, his groom (and diamond ring); but, prior to doing so, he had the effrontery to leave P.P.C. cards for Lady Naseby and Estelle, saying that "he should not forget their kind invitation to Walcot Park;" and rode off, scheming vengeance on me, to whom he evidently attributed the whole matter, as he informed Owen Gwyllim that he "would yet repay me, through his solicitor, perhaps, for the interest I had taken in his affairs."
This threw a temporary cloud over our little party, and good Sir Madoc felt a kind of sorrow for Guilfoyle as he surmised how little money he might have in his purse, forgetting that he was proprietor of a pair of horses. To prevent her _amour propre_ being wounded, we most unfortunately did not reveal this man's real character to Lady Naseby; thus, to Sir Madoc's hot temper was attributed his sudden departure.
Though Lady Estelle was excessively provoked that, through her and her mother, whom his service on the Continent had prejudiced in his favour, and through his alleged acquaintance with me, he had become Sir Madoc's guest, in a day or two the whole _contretemps_ was forgotten; but I was fated not to have seen or heard the last of Mr. Hawkesby Guilfoyle.
CHAPTER XIX.--TWO LOVES FOR ONE HEART.
By the peculiarity of our position kept much apart, or seldom finding opportunities, even in a house like Craigaderyn Court, for being alone, as it was perpetually thronged by visitors, we had to content ourselves with the joy of stolen glances that lit up the eye with an expression we alone could read, or that was understood by ourselves only; by tender touches of the hand that thrilled to the heart; and by inflections of the voice, which, do as we might, would at times become soft and tremulous. Our life was now full of petty stratagems and pretty lover-like enigmas, especially when in the presence of Lady Naseby; and now I also became afraid of Winifred Lloyd, who, unoccupied, so far as I could see, by any love-affair of her own, was almost certain, I thought, to see through mine. "There is no conquest without the affections," said Ninon de l'Enclos; "and what mole is so blind as a woman in love?" Yet Estelle was careful to a degree in her bearing, and never permitted her fondness of me to lull her into a sense of security from observation. I learned, however, from my ally Dora, that Lady Naseby was so provoked by what Estelle not inaptly termed our "late _fiasco_," that, save for the weight such a proceeding might have given it, they and the Viscount, too, would have quitted Craigaderyn Court, So they remained; but, thought I, what right had _he_ to be concerned in the matter? And unless I greatly erred, I felt certain that the Countess cared not how soon I received my marching orders for that fatal shore where so many of us were to leave our bones.
Yet many a stolen kiss and snatched caress or pressure of the hand, many a whispered assurance of love, made Estelle and me supremely happy, while the few days that remained of my leave glided quickly--ah, too quickly!--past; and all desire for "glory" apart, I was not sorry when I saw that my fractured arm would prevent my being sent with the next draft, and cause my retention for a little time longer in England. "They who love must drink deeply of the cup of trembling," says some one; "for at times there will arise in their hearts a nameless terror, a sickening anxiety for the future, whose brightness all depends upon this one cherished treasure, which often proves a foreboding of some real anguish looming in the distant hours."
As yet no forebodings came to mar my happiness; it was without alloy, save the prospect of a certain and, as we trusted to Providence, a temporary separation; yet it was well that I saw not the future, or what those distant hours had in store for me.
"Estelle," said I, one day when a happy chance threw us together for a few minutes in an arbour of the garden, where we sometimes met at a certain hour, and separated after by different paths, like a pair of conspirators, "when shall a period be put to all this mystery--this painful, though joyous, false position in which we find ourselves?"
"We can but wait and hope, Harry--wait and hope!" said she, while her head drooped on my shoulder, and my arm went round her.