PAGE 5
Pro Honoria
by
“Oh, for that matter, I do not much fear Lord Bute, because I bring him the most welcome news he has had in many a day. I may tell you since it will be public to-morrow. The Tzaritza Elizabeth, our implacable enemy, died very suddenly three weeks ago. Peter of Holstein-Gottrop reigns to-day in Russia, and I have made terms with him. I came to tell Lord Bute the Cossack troops have been recalled from Prussia. The war is at an end.” Young Calverley meditated and gave his customary boyish smile. “Yes, I discharged my Russian mission after all–even after I had formally relinquished it–because I was so opportunely aided by the accident of the Tzaritza’s death. And Bute cares only for results. So I would explain to him that I resigned my mission simply because in Russia my wife could not have lived out another year—-“
The earl exclaimed, “Then Honoria is ill!” Mr. Calverley did not attend, but stood looking out into the Venetian Chamber.
“See, Horace, she is dancing with Anchester while I wait here so near to death. She dances well. But Honoria does everything adorably. I cannot tell you–oh, not even you!–how happy these three years have been with her. Eh, well! the gods are jealous of such happiness. You will remember how her mother died? It appears that Honoria is threatened with a slow consumption, and a death such as her mother’s was. She does not know. There was no need to frighten her. For although the rigors of another Russian winter, as all physicians tell me, would inevitably prove fatal to her, there is no reason why my dearest dear should not continue to laugh just as she always does–for a long, bright and happy while in some warm climate such as Italy’s. In nature I resigned my appointment. I did not consider England, or my own trivial future, or anything of that sort. I considered only Honoria.”
He gazed for many moments upon the woman whom he loved. His speech took on an odd simplicity.
“Oh, yes, I think that in the end Bute would procure a pardon for me. But not even Bute can override the laws of England. I would have to be tried first, and have ballads made concerning me, and be condemned, and so on. That would detain Honoria in England, because she is sufficiently misguided to love me. I could never persuade her to leave me with my life in peril. She could not possibly survive an English winter.” Here Calverley evinced unbridled mirth. “The irony of events is magnificent. There is probably no question of hanging or even of transportation. It is merely certain that if I venture from this room I bring about Honoria’s death as incontestably as if I strangled her with these two hands. So I choose my own death in preference. It will grieve Honoria—-” His voice was not completely steady. “But she is young. She will forget me, for she forgets easily, and she will be happy. I look to you to see–even before you have killed Pevensey–that Honoria goes into Italy. For she admires and loves you, almost as much as I do, Horace, and she will readily be guided by you—-“
He cried my lord of Ufford’s given name some two or three times, for young Calverley had turned, and he had seen Ufford’s face.
The earl moistened his lips. “You are a fool,” he said, with a thin voice. “Why do you trouble me by being better than I? Or do you only posture for my benefit? Do you deal honestly with me, Robert Calverley?–then swear it—-” He laughed here, very horribly. “Ah, no, when did you ever lie! You do not lie–not you!”