said the Professor. ‘But, Constance, there is a greater work before you than you suspect or dream. Greatest of the women of all time, my child, shall you be—if what I hope may be brought to pass. Let not this little disappointment of an hour vex you any longer. Go—gain strength in the country—meditate—and read.’
‘Oh, read!’ cried the girl, impatiently; ‘I am sick of reading.’
‘Read,’ continued the Professor; ‘read—with closed doors—the forbidden books. They stand in your own castle, locked up in cases; they have not been destroyed because they are not known to exist. Read Shakespeare.’
Events which followed prevented the Countess from undertaking this course of study; for she remained in town. From time to time the Professor was wont to startle her by reading or quoting some passage which appealed to her imagination as nothing in modern poetry seemed able to do. She knew that the passage came from one of the old books which had been put away, locked up, or destroyed. It was generally a passage of audacity, clothing a revolutionary sentiment in words which burned themselves into her brain, and seemed alive. She never forgot these words, but she dared not repeat them. And she knew herself that the very possession of the sentiments, the knowledge that they existed, made her ‘dangerous,’ as her enemies called her; for most of them were on the attributes of man.
The conversation was interrupted by a servant, who brought the Countess a note.
‘How very imprudent!’ cried Constance, reddening with vexation. ‘Why will the boy do these wild things? Help me, Professor. My cousin, Lord Chester, wants to see me, and is coming, by himself, to my house—here—immediately.’
‘Surely I am sufficient guardian of the proprieties, Constance. We will say, if you like, that the boy came to see his old tutor. Let him come, and, unless he has anything for your ear alone, I can be present.’
‘Heaven knows what he has to say,’ his cousin sighed. ‘Always some fresh escapade, some kicking over the limits of convention.’ She was standing at the window, and looked out. ‘And here he comes, riding along Park Lane as if it were an open common.’
CHAPTER II
THE EARL OF CHESTER
‘EDWARD!’ cried Constance, giving her cousin her hand, ‘is this prudent? You ride down Park Lane as if you were riding after hounds, your unhappy attendant—poor girl!—trying in vain to keep up with you; and then you descend openly, and in the eyes of all, alone, at my door—the door of your unmarried cousin. Consider me, my dear Edward, if you are careless about your own reputation. Do you think I have no enemies? Do you think young Lord Chester can go anywhere without being seen and reported? Do you think all women have kind hearts and pleasant tongues?’
The young man laughed, but a little bitterly.
‘My reputation, Constance, may just as well be lost as kept. What do I care for my reputation?’
At these terrible words Constance looked at him in alarm.
He was worth looking at, if only as a model, being six feet high, two-and-twenty years of age, strongly built, with crisp, curly brown hair, the shoulders of a Hercules, and the face of an Apollo. But to-day his face was clouded, and as he spoke he clenched his fist.
‘What has happened now, Edward?’ asked his cousin. ‘Anything important? The new groom?’
‘The new groom has a seat like a sack, is afraid to gallop, and can’t jump. As for her nerve, she’s got none. My stable-boy Jack would be worth ten of her. But if a man cannot be allowed—for the sake of his precious reputation—to ride without a girl trailing at his heels, why, I suppose there is no more to be said. No, Constance; it is worse than the new groom.’
‘Edward, you are too masterful,’ said his cousin, gravely. ‘One cannot, even if he be Earl of Chester, fly in the face of all the convenances. Rules are made to protect the weak for their own sake; the strong obey them for the sake of the weak. You are strong; be therefore considerate. Suppose all young men were allowed to run about alone?’
The Professor shook her head gravely.
‘It would be a return,’ she said, ‘to the practice of the ancients.’
‘The barbarous practice of the ancients,’ added Constance.
‘The grooms might at least be taught how to ride,’ grumbled the young man.
‘But about this disaster, Edward; is it the postponement of a cricket match, the failure of a tennis game——’
‘Constance,’ he interrupted, ‘I should have thought you capable of believing that I should not worry you at such a moment with trifles. I have got the most serious news for you—things for which I want your help and your sympathy.’
Constance turned pale. What could he have to tell her except one thing—the one thing which she had been dreading for two or three years?
Edward, Earl of Chester in his own right, held his title by a tenure unique in the peerage. For four generations the Countesses of Chester had borne their husbands one child only, and that a son; for four generations the Earls of Chester had married ladies of good family, certainly, but of lower rank, so that the title remained. He represented, by lineal descent through the male line, the ancient Royal House; and though there were not wanting ladies descended through the female line from old Kings of England, by this extraordinary accident he possessed the old royal descent, which was more coveted than any other in the long lists of the Red Book. It was objected that its honours were half shorn by being transmitted through so many males; but there were plenty to whisper that, according to ancient custom, the young Earl would be none other than the King of England. So long a line of only children could not but result in careful nursing of the estate, which was held in trust and ward by one Countess after another, until now it was one of the greatest in the country; and though there were a few peeresses whose acres exceeded those of the Earl of Chester, there was no young man in the matrimonial market to be compared with him. His hand was at the disposal—subject, of course, to his own agreement, which was taken for granted—of the Chancellor, who, up to the present time, had made no sign.
Young, handsome, the holder of a splendid title, the owner of a splendid rent-roll, said to be of amiable disposition, known to be proud of his descent—could there be a husband more desirable? Was it to be wondered at if every unmarried woman in a certain rank of life, whether maid or widow, dreamed of marrying the Earl of Chester, and made pictures in her own mind of herself as the Countess, sitting in the House, taking precedence as Première, after the Duchesses, holding office, ruling departments, making eloquent speeches, followed and reported by the society papers, giving great entertainments, actually being and doing what other women can only envy and sigh for?
It was whispered that Lady Carlyon would ask her cousin’s hand; it was also whispered that the Chancellor (now a permanent officer of the State) would never grant her request on account of her politics; it was also whispered that a certain widow, advanced in years, of the highest rank, had been observed to pay particular attention to the young Earl in society and in the field. This report, however, was received with caution, and was not generally believed.
‘Serious news!’ Constance for a moment looked very pale. The Professor
