Alice, or the Mysteries — Book 05

								

is due to Miss Cameron as you suppose.  Lady Vargrave's carriage, which
brought me hither, will be no unsuitable vehicle for Lady Vargrave's
daughter; and Miss Cameron is not, I trust, quite so spoiled by all your
friendly attentions as to be unable to perform a journey of two days with
no other protector than myself."
"I forgot Lady Vargrave's carriage,--or rather I was not aware that you
had used it, my dear sir," said Mr. Merton.  "But you must not blame us,
if we are sorry to lose Miss Cameron so suddenly; I was in hopes that
you too would stay at least a week with us."
The curate bowed at the rector's condescending politeness; and just as he
was about to answer, Mrs. Merton put in,--
"And you see I had set my heart on her being Caroline's bridesmaid."
Caroline turned pale, and glanced at Vargrave, who appeared solely
absorbed in breaking toast into his tea,--a delicacy he had never before
been known to favour.
There was an awkward pause.  The servant opportunely entered with a small
parcel of books, a note to Mr. Merton, and that most blessed of all
blessed things in the country,--the letter-bag.
"What is this?" said the rector, opening his note, while Mrs. Merton
unlocked the bag and dispensed the contents: "Left Burleigh for some
months, a day or two sooner than he had expected; excuse French
leave-taking; return Miss Merton's books, much obliged; gamekeeper has
orders to place the Burleigh preserves at my disposal.  So we have lost
our neighbour!"
"Did you not know Mr. Maltravers was gone?" said Caroline.  "I heard so
from Jenkins last night; he accompanies Mr. Cleveland to Paris."
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Merton, opening her eyes.  "What could take him to
Paris?"
"Pleasure, I suppose," answered Caroline.  "I'm sure I should rather have
wondered what could detain him at Burleigh."
Vargrave was all this while breaking open seals and running his eyes over
sundry scrawls with the practised rapidity of the man of business; he
came to the last letter.  His countenance brightened.
"Royal invitation, or rather command, to Windsor," he cried.  "I am
afraid I, too, must leave you, this very day."
"Bless me!" exclaimed Mrs. Merton; "is that from the king?  Do let me
see!"
"Not exactly from the king; the same thing though:" and Lord Vargrave,
carelessly pushing the gracious communication towards the impatient hand
and loyal gaze of Mrs. Merton, carefully put the other letters in his
pocket, and walked musingly to the window.
Aubrey seized the opportunity to approach him.  "My lord, can I speak
with you a few moments?"
"Me! certainly; will you come to my dressing-room?"

CHAPTER VIII.



    .  .  .  THERE was never
Poor gentleman had such a sudden fortune.



       BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER: The Captain, Act v. sc. 5.
"MY LORD," said the curate, as Vargrave, leaning back in his chair,
appeared to examine the shape of his boots, while in reality "his