Vellenaux A Novel, Edmund William Edmund William [reading a book .TXT] 📗

Chapter 1

 

The Bright Rays Of An Autumn Sun Fell Upon The Richly Stained Glass,

Sending A Flood Of Soft,  Mellow Rainbow Tinted Light Through The

Quaintly Curved And Deeply Mullioned Windows Which Adorned A Portion Of

The Eastern Wing Of That Grand Old Baronial Residence,  Vellenaux,  On A

Fine September Morning,  At The Period During Which Our Story Opens. This

Handsome Pile,  Now The Property Of Sir Jasper Coleman,  Had Been Erected

By One Of His Ancestors,  Reginald De Coleman,  During The Reign Of The

Fifth Henry.

 

This Gallant Knight Had Rendered That Monarch Great Service During His

Wars In France,  Especially At Agincourt,  Where His Skill And Bravery Was

So Conspicuous,  And Used To So Great Advantage,  That King Henry,  On His

Return To England,  Rewarded His Faithful Follower With A Grant Of Land

In Devonshire,  On Which He Was Enabled,  With The Spoils He Had Acquired

And The Ransoms Received From His French Prisoners Of Note,  To Erect A

Magnificent Chateaux,  Which He Called Vellenaux,  After Francois,  Count

De Vellenaux,  A French Noble,  Whose Ransom Contributed Largely To Its

Construction. Here He Continued To Reside Until His Death,  Which

Occurred Several Years After.

 

It Was Now An Irregular Edifice,  Having Been Partially Destroyed And

Otherwise Defaced During The Contests Which Ensued Between The Cavaliers

And Roundheads At The Time Of The Commonwealth. Since Then Alterations

And Additions Had Been Made By His Successors,  And,  Although Of

Different Styles Of Architecture,  Was Now One Of The Handsomest And Most

Picturesque Structures That Could Be Met With Throughout The Length And

Breadth Of The Shire.

 

A Broad Avenue Of Noble Elms Led From The Lodge At The Entrance Of The

Domain And Opened Upon A Beautiful Carriage Drive That Wound Round The

Velvet Lawn,  Which Formed A Magnificent And Spacious Oval In Front Of

The Grand Entrance.

 

Beneath The Outspreading Branches Of The Venerable Oaks,  With Which The

Home Park Was Studded,  Browsed The Red And Fallow Deer,  Who,  On The

Approach Of Any Equestrian Parties,  Or At The Advance Of Some

Aristocratic Vehicle Bearing Its Freight Of Gay,  Laughing Guests Towards

The Hospitable Mansion,  Would Toss Their Antlered Heads,  Or,  Startled,

Seek The Cover Of Those Green Shady Alleys Leading To The Beech Woods

Which Adjoined The Park And Stretched Away Towards The Coast Of Devon.

 

Sir Jasper,  Who Was Still A Bachelor,  And On The Shady Side Of Sixty,

Retained Much Of The Fire And Energy Of His Earlier Years,  Although At

Times Subject To An Infirmity Which The Medical Faculty Describe As

Emanating From Disease Of The Heart. He Had Served With Great

Distinction During The Peninsular War,  Under The Iron Duke,  But,  On

Succeeding To The Baronetcy,  Left The Service And Retired To His Present

Estate,  Where He Spent Most Of His Time At This His Favorite Residence,

As Hunting,  Shooting And Field Sports Generally Had For Him A Charm

That No Allurements Of City Life Could Tempt Him To Forego; Besides He

Had,  In The Earlier Part Of His Military Career,  Visited Many Of The Gay

Capitals Of Europe And Engaged In The Exciting Pleasures Always To Be

Met With In Such Places,  Until He Had Become Satiated And Lost All Taste

For Such Scenes. His Kind Heartedness And Benevolence Won For Him The

Esteem Of The Neighboring Gentry.

 

On The Morning In Question The Baronet,  Who Had But The Evening Previous

Returned From London,  Entered His Study,  And Seating Himself In an Easy

Chair,  Drew Towards Him A Small But Elaborately Carved Antique

Escritoire,  And For Several Moments Was Deeply Engaged In The Perusal Of

Certain Papers And Memoranda; Finally He Drew From His Pocket A Sealed

Packet Which,  Having Opened Carefully,  He Read Over; Then As If Not

Quite Satisfied With The Contents,  Allowed The Paper To Slip From His

Hand To The Table Before Him And Was Soon Lost In Thought. An English

Gentleman,  Unquestionably In The Highest Sense Of The Word,  Was Sir

Jasper Coleman; A True Type Of That Class Who,  From The Time Of The

Norman Conquest To The Present Day,  Whether Beneath The Torrid Or Frigid

Zone'S; On The Bloody Battlefield,  Or Launching Their Thunders On The

Billows Of The White-Crested Main,  Nobly Upheld The Honor Of Their

Country'S Flag,  Whose Heroic Deeds And Honorable Names Have Been Handed

Down Unsullied And Untarnished For Many Generations. Since Leaving The

Service The Worthy Baronet Had Taken No Part In The Political Events Of

The Nation,  But Devoted Himself Entirely To The Welfare Of His Numerous

Tenantry,  And Those Residing In The Neighborhood Of His Large Estate,  To

Whom Assistance And Advice Was At All Times Needed,  Nor Was It Ever

Withheld Or Given Grudgingly When Any Case Of Real Distress Came Under

His Notice.

 

A Fine Subject Fog Poet'S Pen Or Artist'S Pencil Was That Aristocratic

Old Warrior,  As He Sat There Gazing Upon The Rich Woodlands Warmed By

The Glorious Autumn Sun,  Thinking Over By-Gone Days--Days When He Had

Loitered By Some Fair One'S Side In Many A Brilliant Assembly,  Or When

His Nerves Were Steady And His Voice All Powerful,  Leading The Charge On

Many A Well-Fought Field. How Long He Might Have Remained Ruminating On

Things Of The Past It Is Impossible To Say; The Retrospect Might Have

Continued Much Longer Had Not His Attention Been Arrested By A Slight

Noise,  When Suddenly Raising His Head A Smile Of Pleasure Lit Up His

Finely Cut Features As The Door Opened And A Lovely Girl,  Just Merging

Into Womanhood,  Stepped Softly Into The Room. She Was,  Indeed,  Very

Beautiful; Hair Of The Darkest Shade Of Brown Hung In Long And Glossy

Curls From Her Perfectly Shaped Head,  And Rested On The Exquisite White

Neck And Shoulders,  The Contrast Of Which Showed To A Great Degree The

Almost Alabaster Whiteness Of Her Skin; Grecian Nose,  And Eyes Of The

Deepest Blue,  Whose Long Lashes,  When Veiled,  Rested Lovingly On Her

Damask Cheek,  And When Raised,  Revealed A Depth And Brilliancy Which

Does Not Often Fall To The Lot Of Mortals; A Mouth Not Too Small,  Whose

Beautifully Shaped Lips,  When Parted,  Disclosed To The Beholder Teeth Of

Ivory Whiteness,  Small And Most Evenly Set,  Dazzling Indeed Was The

Effect Of Those Pearly Treasures; Tall,  Slight,  And Elegantly Formed,

With A Bearing Aristocratic And Queenly In The Extreme; What Wonder That

She Was The Sunshine Of Old Sir Jasper'S Declining Days And His Much And

Dearly Loved Niece.

 

Gliding Up To Her Uncle She Threw Heir Arms About His Neck And

Imprinted A Kiss On His Noble Brow,  Then Sinking On A Stool At His Feet

Began To Take Him To Task After The Following Fashion: "You Truant,  You

Naughty Uncle,  To Let Me Breakfast Alone In My Own Room Thinking You

Hundreds Of Miles Away,  And Not To Let Me Know That You Returned Last

Night; And Mrs. Fraudhurst Is Just As Bad,  And I Will Not Forgive Her Or

You,  Unless You Tell Me Where You Have Been And All You Have Seen And

Done. Now,  Sir Wanderer,  Commence And Give An Account Of Yourself; You

See I Am Prepared To Listen," Apparently Waiting With Much Attention For

Her Uncle To Enlighten Her As To The Why And Wherefore He Had Journeyed

To London. It Was Evident That The Baronet Had Been In The Habit Of

Making A Confidant Of His Pretty Niece,  But On This Occasion,  For One

Reason Or Another He Had Failed To Do So; She Had Taken Out Of One Of

Her Little Embroidered Pockets In Her Apron,  Some Crochet Work,  And

Applied Herself Diligently Thereunto.

 

Edith Was The Orphan Child Of Sir Jasper'S Much Loved And Only Sister,

Who Did Not Long Survive The Death Of Her Husband,  And On Her Decease

The Baronet Had Adopted The Child,  And As She Grew Up,  Her Affectionate

Disposition And Natural Simplicity Wound Themselves Round The Old Man'S

Heart,  And Thus She Soon Became The Apple Of His Eye,  And He Loved Her

With All The Tender Solicitude Of A Father.

 

She Was Gentle And Friendly To Those Beneath Her,  But Dignified And Firm

With Those Of Her Own Station Of Life,  With A Fund Of Good Practical

Common Sense,  And Was Not Easily Dissuaded From Doing Any Thing When She

Had Once Made Up Her Mind That It Was Her Duty So To Do. She Loved Her

Uncle Well And Was Ever Ready To Minister To His Slightest Wishes. She

Used To Delight Him With The Rich Tone Of Her Voice By Singing

Selections From His Favorite Operas,  Being An Accomplished Musician Both

Vocal And Instrumental. They Would Frequently Wander For Hours Through

The Park Or Woods,  But Of Late He Had Restricted His Walks To The Lawn,

Or Down The Avenue To The Lodge At The Park Gate,  To Hold Converse With

The Keeper,  An Old Soldier Who Had Served Under Him In His Peninsular

Campaigns,  And Often When Relieved From The Attendance On Him Would

Edith And Arthur Carlton,  Hand In Hand,  Stroll Down The Said Avenue To

Listen To The Wonderful Stories Related By The Old Lodge Keeper. But

This Was Some Time Ago,  For This Youth (Of Which More Will Be Heard

Anon) Was Now,  And Had Been For Some Time,  At College At Oxford.

 

"Edith My Darling," Said The Kind Old Man,  Bending Over As He Did So And

Tapping Her Soft Rosy Cheek,  "My Visit To London Was Purely A Business

One,  And I Delayed No Longer Than Was Necessary To Complete It,  But What

I Saw And Heard During My Journey To And Fro,  I Will Relate To,  You In

The Evening."

 

The Lively Girl Was About To Make Some Reply To Her Good Natured Uncle

When A Light Rapping Was Heard; The Door Gently Opened And A Lady About

Five And Thirty Entered; She Was Attired In a Dress Of Black Silk Of

Most Undeniable Paris Cut,  Which Fitted Her To A Miracle; To Edith She

Made A Slight Inclination Of The Head So As Not To Disarrange Her

Coiffure Which Was Most Elaborately Got Up Doubtless With A View To

Produce An Effect.

 

"I Trust,  Sir Jasper,  You Slept Well After Your Tedious Journey."

 

"Very Well,  I Thank You. Oh! I See You Have The Post Bag,  I Am Somewhat

Anxious About Some Letters I Expect To Receive."

 

Moving Around The Back Of The Baronet'S Chair She Came Between Him And

Edith,  Who Took The Bag From Her And Held Out Her Hand To Her Uncle For

The Key To Open It With,  As Was Her Usual Custom Of A Morning; The Key

Was Handed To Her,  And While They Were Thus Engaged The Eagle Eye Of The

Lady In black Fell Upon The Will Which Was Still Lying Partially Exposed

On The Escritoire Just As It Had Fallen From Sir Jasper'S Hand Ere He

Had Sank Into That Reverie Which Had Been Disturbed By The Entrance Of

Edith; She Obtained But A Hurried Glance,  Yet It Was Sufficient For Her

To Decipher Its Full Meaning. As She Realized This A Dark Cloud Passed

Across Her Features,  She Moved Silently To The Window And Looked Out;

When She Again Turned The Cloud Had Vanished And Her Face Was Calm And

Serene. So Occupied With The Mail Bag Had Been Both Uncle And Niece That

The Action Of The Lady In Question,  In First Glancing Over The Paper On

The Desk And Her Subsequent Movement Towards The Window,  Had Remained

Unnoticed By Either.

 

"There Is A Letter For You,  My Dear," Said The Baronet Handing One To

Edith. "Oh!" Said She Joyously,  "It Is From Arthur. He Is The Dearest

Old Fellow,  And One Of The Best Correspondents Alive; He Tells The

Funniest Stories Of The College Scrapes He Gets Into,  And How Cleverly

He Gets Out Of Them,  And Makes All Manner Of Fun In His Caricatures Of

The Musty Old Professors."

 

"There,  There Now,  Away To Your Own Room," Said Her Uncle,  "And Let Me

Know What New Scrape Your Dear Old Fellow Has Been Getting In and Out

Of,  During Our Walk After Dinner." Edith Blushed Slightly And Hurried

Out Of The Apartment.

 

"There Are No Letters For You This Morning,  Mrs. Fraudhurst,  But Here

Are The London Papers,  I Have No Time At Present To Look Over Them,  And

Would Feel Obliged If You Would Lay Them On The Library Table." She Took

Them,  And With A Graceful Courtesy,  Smilingly Left The Room,  And Went

Direct To The Library,  Sat Down At The Table And Drew The Writing

Materials Towards Her As If About To Write; But Ere She Commenced Her

Head Sank On Her Hand And She Appeared To Be,  For Some Moments,  Lost In

Thought. As She Will Be Brought Prominently Forward As Our Story

Progresses,  We Had