Chapter 12 - Page 2

them had learned to
know much of himself. He had not been so unconscious of them as he had
seemed. Such a man must meet with adventures at any time, and at a
period still tainted by the freedom of a dissolute reign, even though
'tis near twenty years past, his life, in his own despite, must contain
incidents which would reveal much to the world, if related to it.
Roxholm had met with such adventures, little as they were to his taste,
and had found at both foreign and English Courts that all women were
not non-attacking creatures, and in discovering this had learned that a
man must be a stone to resist the luring of some lovely eyes.

"I need not think myself invulnerable," he had thought often. "I can
resist because I have loved none of them. Had it chanced otherwise--God
have mercy on my soul!"

And now the current of his life for weeks seemed strangely set towards
one being. When he returned to London after seeing his parents depart
for Italy, he met in his first walk in the city streets his erst
fellow-collegian and officer, Lieutenant Thomas Tantillion, in England
on leave, who almost hallooed with joy at sight of him, shaking him by
the hand as if his arm had been a pump-handle, and then thrusting his
own arm through it, and insisting affectionately on dragging him along
the street that he might pour forth his renewed protestations of
affection and the story of his adventures.

"Never was I more glad to see a man," he said. "I'm damned if we
scapegraces have not missed thy good-looking face. Thou art a fine
fellow, Roxholm--and good-natured--ay, and modest, too--for all thy
beauty and learning. Many a man, with half thou hast, would wear grand
Court airs to a rattle-pated rascal like Tom Tantillion. Wilford does
it--and he is but a Viscount, and for all his straight nose and fine
eyes but five feet ten. Good Lord! he looks down on us who did not pass
well at the University, like a cock on a dunghill."

The Marquess laughed out heartily, having in his mind a lively picture
of my Lord Wilford, whose magnificence of bearing he knew well.

"Art coming back, Roxholm?" asked Tom next. "When does thy leave
expire?"

"I am coming back," Roxholm answered, "but I shall not long live a
soldier's life. 'Tis but part of what I wish to do."

"His Grace of Marlborough misses thee, I warrant," said Tom. "'Tis
often said he never loved a human thing on earth but John Churchill
and his Duchess, but I swear he warmed to thee."

"He did me honour, if 'tis true," Roxholm said, "but I am not vain
enough to believe it--gracious as he has been."

At that moment his