The United States, breaking with feudalism, had been dedicated to that law and was an experiment in its practice. Although it fell woefully short of the ideal, yet the ideal remained; the run and ruck of Americans felt it in their hearts; no other nation in the history of mankind was so nobly founded and offered such good evidence of the law's truth. Its faults were the faults of individual men, not of evil concepts passed down from the sad, dark past. Those who held by those concepts, who did not want the humbly born to raise their heads, those whose own preferments became endangered by men walking free, and the greedy, the hateful, and the base found in America a mighty enemy and hence a positive object of hate. Within Lord Tarlton's cankered soul it had turned into malignance neither sane nor insane, but inhuman, and of the stuff of evil.
I thought I knew when it had happened. With one terrible act he embraced evil, as not a few, but a frightful many, had done before him. It had proven the key to power and place, almost to godhead it seemed to him, and he had come to love it and glory in it. Dick had been suckled in its creed. Sophia had had the protection of her grandmother and the wild moors inhabited by beasts and birds and a few shepherds' families who had no dealings with evil. Harvey had been a proselyte, I thought, and not a very staunch one. His loss of an uncle and an estate in the Revolutionary War had prepared him for the doctrine; he had been under Tarlton's thumb and was a snob of the silly sort without real self-faith, and was, in fact, self-dubious, like so many English snobs. Sophia had kept him away from his master and fellow as much as possible; but again, in their company a great scorn came back upon him, he sat in the high seats, he knew the thrill of power and immunity to punishment; in his face was half-hidden mirth that only his brothers could share or even understand.
Lord Tarlton had made at least three other converts, if I guessed right. Two were American Loyalists who had become Barbary pirates. One was Pike who, although humbly born, was allowed a share in the glory.
This was the second time, once as Homer Whitman and now as Holgar Blackburn, that I had become their laughingstock, antagonist, and, they hoped, their prey. What seemed uncanny coincidence confused me a little while; then I perceived it was not this at all. It was merely the recurrence of event under almost identical circumstances. Before they saw me as an upstart Yankee, one of a hated nation, who dared presume to equality with them and who had got in their way. Now they saw me as an upstart Englishman, one of a class tolerated as long as it was servile, but hated monstrously when it tried to rise, one who lately had made too bold and had got in their way. I did not think they consciously recalled the dinner at Lepanto Palace, but I could not be sure; certainly Sophia was haunted by its memory, and it made unrecognized suggestions to the others. The outcome of that dinner had been a triumph. The Yankee sailor and a good number of his ilk had their hash properly settled. Something told them that Holgar Blackburn's hash would not go unsettled very long.
"Have you gone into the genealogy of your family?" Dick asked, with overdone gravity.
"Not yet."
"You should, by all means. It's quite possible that your paternal ancestors had a coat of arms. If so, you'd be perfectly justified in reviving it. If some branch of the distaff had one, you might get permission to adopt it. Or possibly the king would award you your own."
"The last would be my preference—to start fresh."
"There's the true Englishman for you," Lord Tarlton cried. "He don't want to wear borrowed plumes. When he's hauled himself up by his own bootstraps, he'll honor those bootstraps, by God!"
"Harvey, what do you think would be a suitable device?" Dick asked.
"A lion rampant, certainly. That would mean his fortune was made in Africa, infested with hons. A miner's pick could be emblazoned on the shield, and a shock of wheat to indicate strong, upstanding yeoman stock. A proper motto is most important—what do you think of 'Blackburn bears brunt'?"
"That's awfully silly, Harvey," Sophia broke in.
"What's silly about it? Doesn't a coat of arms granted in the year 1819 deserve as much care as one of three hundred years ago?"
"How about 'Blackburn bears brands'?" I asked. "I've one on the back of my hand."
"I doubt if you mean that seriously," Sophia said. "Just the same, it's a good motto—too fine a motto to put on a coat of arms." Her eyes were too bright.
"I thank you kindly. Lord Tarlton, you suggest I marry and start a family. In your opinion, should I take a girl in my own class, the sturdy yeomanry, or try to marry into the gentry?"
"I'd say, betwixt and between. In the old days we had franklins—above yeomen, and not quite gentlemen. Certain people in trade and in the so-called professions have the same rank now. Then there'd not be such a gap as to mar felicity, and yet the children would be started on their way."
"You don't think there are impoverished ladies—real ladies-open to marriages of convenience? If she were a widow, she might have children whom I'd make my heirs. Or possibly she might have a well-born lover who could attend to that. Surely I shouldn't complain if thereby I could found a house of honor in the shire!"
A hush fell over the board, and the mock-sober faces changed expression.
"I don't think you're quite in earnest, Mr. Blackburn," the little lord remarked.
"Our host's a bit of a wag," cried Harvey, who was getting quite drunk.
At that moment Jim, dressed in sober black, filled my champagne glass. This was according to his rule. When the hired footmen had served the others, I turned again to Lord Tarlton.
"My lord, as the ranking person here, will you offer the toast of obligation?"
"I'd be pleased to." And when we had risen with him: "To George III—old, mad, but still the king!"
When we had seated, I rose again.
"I would like to have you join me in a toast to the head of the other great English-speaking nation of the world. To James Monroe, President of the United States."
"Oh, that happened before!" Sophia burst out.
"What in the devil do you mean?" her father demanded.
"The other dinner. You can pretend you don't remember it, but you do. You asked Homer and he came. It was exactly like this. It's come again."
"Are you mad?"
"I'm not far from it."
"Pardon my daughter's erratic behavior, Mr. Blackburn. I think she refers to a dinner to which I invited an American seaman with whom she thought she was in love. His name was Homer—yours is Holgar, enough like it to jog her memory—and quite true, he offered a toast to his president, perfectly proper conduct. A few days later he was lost at sea—which she took rather hard."
Still without rising, the pretty nobleman reached for and fondled the ivory knob of the light cane leaning against his chair.
"Yes, sir," I said.
"Now for this toast you offer. I must remind you that after the toast to the king, it's customary to drink to the Regent. However, Mr. Monroe is the acknowledged head of a state with whom the king is presently at peace, and if you wish to vary the procedure, why, we'll rise and join you."
"Thank you, I do,"
"Then I'd add this—may he lead the Yankees in the way they should go!"
"You said that before, too," Sophia murmured.
"You must harbor a deep admiration for Mr. Monroe," Lord Tarlton said when we were seated.
"I know very little about him, my lord, but I greatly admire America."
"After the Americans have waged two wars against their rightful king? That takes a good deal of tolerance."