aunt, I bear her name! Should that not bind me to her?”
“Not more than we are all bound by God having placed her on the throne. To say that she is Queen is to express our duty to her. Of that duty there is no question, my dear. The question is, how most faithfully to fulfil that duty, together with the duty of the King’s subjects to one another, and to generations to come. But this is not the question for you and me at this moment. The burden lies, not on us, but on men who have understanding, and knowledge, and conscience equal to such a charge. You and I have a more humble task.”
“I know all you would say about that, aunt, but if Harry and I cannot agree—”
“Well, my child, what then?”
“O! I do not know what I would say! I cannot settle my mind about what we ought to do. I only know I am very miserable.”
And Henrietta laid her head on her aunt’s shoulder, and wept bitter tears.
“Harry is miserable too,” said Lady Carewe. “It was my wish to ascertain what you thought, and not to give you advice in a case in which you must judge for yourselves. But the one thing that I can do is to set before you both the choice you have to make.”
“O, do so!” cried Henrietta.
“There is no doubt of your love for each other?”
A convulsive pressure of the hand gave Lady Carewe an instant confirmation on this point.
“You are both certain at this moment that you can never be happy apart?”
Another confirmation.
“Whether or not it might prove to be so, such is the present conviction of both of you. The question then is, whether differences of judgment, and strong prejudice or conviction on any matter of controversy, should make you part, at the entire sacrifice of the happiness of both. If you think that duty commands this sacrifice, I have no more to say;—no one ought to have a word to say.”
There was a pause; but Henrietta did not speak, or lift her head.
“In such a case you must immediately part, and meet no more for some years at least.”
“I could go to Uncle Oliver’s,” Henrietta murmured; but her aunt felt that her heart was throbbing as if it would burst.
“Or Harry must depart.” Struggling with the trembling of her own voice, Lady Carewe related how Harry recoiled from the idea of remaining in England, except in Henrietta’s company; and how he would hasten to the American settlements, if he must indeed lose all he cared for in life.
Henrietta saw now how serious a question it was whether her particular notion of loyalty ought to impose all this misery. She did not say so; but she told as much by her question.
“But how can we live together if we wrangle as we did yesterday?”
“That is indeed the question, my child. I would ask whether you could not agree either to humble your young minds to learn from wiser folk about these great affairs of the Church and the State, or to refrain from disputing upon them. I should say that you must either agree to this or part: and I am quite sure that the one thing which you must eschew, as you would eschew sin and sorrow, is such dispute as each of you at this moment rues.”
Henrietta sighed. She was not yet ready to promise anything.
“Youthful enthusiasm will account for almost any marvel,” Lady Carewe proceeded; “or else it would be incomprehensible to me that the daughter of John Hampden should, with such significance as she can, cast reproach on her father’s loyalty to the King, while the King himself declares, in the most public manner, his trust in that loyalty.”
Henrietta sprang to her feet, exclaiming—
“The King says so!”
“He more than says it,” replied Lady Carewe, suppressing a remark on the actual value of the King’s word. “As there must be some notice taken in the courts of refusals to pay this ship-money, it is rumoured that your father will be the first put upon his trial. Men say that he is chosen because the King declares that, such is Mr. Hampden’s honour, and virtue, and devotedness to the crown of England that, if he shall be found to be in error, all others will repent of their recusancy.”
This account, which Lady Carewe had from a sure source, was to Henrietta’s mind like a breeze which sweeps the heaven clear of clouds. She saw at once that where the King suspended his judgment, she well might. In a few moments, she was laughing at her own conceit, and ready to cry again with remorse for the wilfulness which had made three persons at least so miserable. It was settled that Harry and she should abstain from dispute till it appeared whether they could agree. Lady Carewe wished she had not requested Harry to leave them uninterrupted during their walk: but she would abridge his suspense as much as she might. She and Henrietta hastened to the cottages; and there they found their task shortened. Most of the dwellings were empty. Some agents of the Kings—two Royal Commissioners—were in the town; and the women had run thither to tell their tale, and implore the King to send after the pirates, and recover the children. Some of the fishermen on the sands were talking, with scowling brows. Nothing good, they said, would be got out of these gentry, for their errand was a bad one. They were more like pirates themselves than the avengers of piracy. It had lately been said that the King was about to claim, or to authorise claims of, the soil which lay between high and low water, all round Great Britain, and up the tidal rivers. It had been supposed impossible that such a trespass could really be proposed for a moment; but there was no doubt that the Commissioners had been setting surveyors to work to ascertain the tidal limits, and measure and calculate the soil between. A seizure of that soil would affect the rights of so many old inhabitants, and the customs of the river and the shore, that signs of tumult began to appear. It was best to hie home, Lady Carewe thought. Henrietta could not help thinking how much more dutiful it would be to give the King what he asked in the way of supplies than to force him to such methods of obtaining money; but she did not now say this. She had said it very often without convincing anybody—unless it were Nathanael; and at this moment she saw what reminded her of her new resolution to keep silence on matters of state which were in controversy.
She had seen the crown of a hat above the park-fence as they approached the gate. Harry was among the trees, watching their entrance. A smile from his mother, and the blush on Henrietta’s face, showed him that he might join them.
“Forgive me!” he and Henrietta whispered to each other at the same moment. He drew her arm within his own; and they reached the house in a state of spirits which relieved the heavy anxiety of the brothers and sisters who were on the lookout for them. As Lady Carewe was taking her seat at the breakfast-table, she heard the music she loved best—the hearty laugh which was natural to Harry, under all but the most dreary circumstances. Henrietta looked mirthful too, when she entered the breakfast-room. She frankly owned afterwards that her folly in making a quarrel about matters which did not offend the King himself, was fair game for any who chose to laugh at it. Harry and she had laughed at themselves and one another, and they must try not to make one another cry any more.
Some of the party, however, looked very grave before breakfast was over. A horseman, well armed, spurred up the lawn, and arrived in a foam at the great door, as the family rushed out upon the steps. It was Simon, Mr. Hampden’s own groom. All was well at home; but Mr. Hampden desired the whole party to return without delay. The coast was not safe, Mr. Hampden’s letter to Lady Carewe declared. He was grieved to spoil the pleasure of the young people: but these were times in which pain and trouble abounded over pleasure; and even the youngest—even his pets, Lucy and Kitty—must learn to bear disappointment with good humour. As for Nathanael, he was as well aware as some older persons that the true manly spirit is cheerful under vexations.
This was admitted to be true; and the children behaved heroically about leaving the sea and the ruins almost before they had begun to enjoy them: but they told one another privately that they thought it very hard that they should have this particular disappointment to bear. They were always willing, or tried to be so, to endure affliction: