When Mordaunt arrived at W——, he found that the provincial deities (who were all assembled at dinner with the principal inhabitants of the town), in whose hands the fate of the meeting was placed, were in great doubt and grievous consternation. He came in time, first to balance the votes, and ultimately to decide them. His mind, prudent and acute, when turned to worldly affairs, saw at a glance the harmless though noisy nature of the meeting; and he felt that the worst course the government or the county could pursue would be to raise into importance, by violence, what otherwise would meet with ridicule from most and indifference from the rest.

His large estates, his ancient name, his high reputation for talent, joined to that manner, half eloquent and half commanding, which rarely fails of effect when deliberation only requires a straw on either side to become decision,—all these rendered his interference of immediate avail; and it was settled that the meeting should, as similar assemblies had done before, proceed and conclude, undisturbed by the higher powers, so long as no positive act of sedition to the government or danger to the town was committed.

Scarcely was this arrangement agreed upon, before Lord Ulswater, who had hitherto been absent, entered the room in which the magisterial conclave was assembled. Mr. Glumford (whom our readers will possibly remember as the suitor to Isabel St. Leger, and who had at first opposed, and then reluctantly subscribed to, Mordaunt’s interference) bustled up to him.

“So, so, my lord,” said he, “since I had the honour of seeing your lordship, quite a new sort of trump has been turned up.”

“I do not comprehend your metaphorical elegances of speech, Mr. Glumford,” said Lord Ulswater.

Mr. Glumford explained. Lord Ulswater’s cheek grew scarlet. “So Mr. Mordaunt has effected this wise alteration,” said he.

“Nobody else, my lord, nobody else: and I am sure, though your lordship’s estates are at the other end of the county, yet they are much larger than his; and since your lordship has a troop at your command, and that sort of thing, I would not, if I were your lordship, suffer any such opposition to your wishes.”

Without making a reply to this harangue, Lord Ulswater stalked haughtily up to Mordaunt, who was leaning against the wainscot and conversing with those around him.

“I cannot but conceive, Mr. Mordaunt,” said he, with a formal bow, “that I have been misinformed in the intelligence I have just received.”

“Lord Ulswater will perhaps inform me to what intelligence he alludes.”

“That Mr. Mordaunt, the representative of one of the noblest families in England, has given the encouragement and influence of his name and rank to the designs of a seditious and turbulent mob.”

Mordaunt smiled slightly, as he replied, “Your lordship rightly believes that you are misinformed. It is precisely because I would not have the mob you speak of seditious or turbulent that I have made it my request that the meeting of to-morrow should be suffered to pass off undisturbed.”

“Then, sir,” cried Lord Ulswater, striking the table with a violence which caused three reverend potentates of the province to start back in dismay, “I cannot but consider such interference on your part to the last degree impolitic and uncalled for: these, sir, are times of great danger to the State, and in which it is indispensably requisite to support and strengthen the authority of the law.”

“I waive, at present,” answered Mordaunt, “all reply to language neither courteous nor appropriate. I doubt not but that the magistrates will decide as is most in accordance with the spirit of that law which, in this and in all times, should be supported.”

“Sir,” said Lord Ulswater, losing his temper more and more, as he observed that the bystanders, whom he had been accustomed to awe, all visibly inclined to the opinion of Mordaunt, “sir, if your name has been instrumental in producing so unfortunate a determination on the part of the magistrates, I shall hold you responsible to the government for those results which ordinary prudence may calculate upon.”

“When Lord Ulswater,” said Mordaunt, sternly, “has learned what is due not only to the courtesies of society, but to those legitimate authorities of his country, who (he ventures to suppose) are to be influenced contrary to their sense of duty by any individual, then he may perhaps find leisure to make himself better acquainted with the nature of those laws which he now so vehemently upholds.”

“Mr. Mordaunt, you will consider yourself answerable to me for those words,” said Lord Ulswater, with a tone of voice unnaturally calm; and the angry flush of his countenance gave place to a livid paleness. Then, turning on his heel, he left the room.

As he repaired homeward he saw one of his soldiers engaged in a loud and angry contest with a man in the plain garb of a peaceful citizen; a third person, standing by, appeared ineffectually endeavouring to pacify the disputants. A rigid disciplinarian, Lord Ulswater allowed not even party feeling, roused as it was, to conquer professional habits. He called off the soldier, and the man with whom the latter had been engaged immediately came up to Lord Ulswater, with a step as haughty as his own. The third person, who had attempted the peacemaker, followed him.

“I presume, sir,” said he, “that you are an officer of this man’s regiment.”

“I am the commanding officer, sir,” said Lord Ulswater, very little relishing the air and tone of the person who addressed him.

“Then,” answered the man (who was, indeed, no other than Wolfe, who, having returned to W—— with Mordaunt, had already succeeded in embroiling himself in a dispute), “then, sir, I look to you for his punishment and my redress;” and Wolfe proceeded in his own exaggerated language to detail a very reasonable cause of complaint. The fact was that Wolfe, meeting one of his compatriots and conversing with him somewhat loudly, had uttered some words which attracted the spleen of the soldier, who was reeling home very comfortably intoxicated; and the soldier had most assuredly indulged in a copious abuse of the d—d rebel who could not walk the streets without chattering sedition.

Wolfe’s friend confirmed the statement.

The trooper attempted to justify himself; but Lord Ulswater saw his intoxication in an instant, and, secretly vexed that the complaint was not on the other side, ordered the soldier to his quarters, with a brief but sure threat of punishment on the morrow. Not willing, however, to part with the “d—d rebel” on terms so flattering to the latter, Lord Ulswater, turning to Wolfe with a severe and angry air, said,—

“As for you, fellow, I believe the whole fault was on your side; and if you dare again give vent to your disaffected ravings, I shall have you sent to prison to tame your rank blood upon bread and water. Begone, and think yourself fortunate to escape now!”

The fierce spirit of Wolfe was in arms on the instant; and his reply, in subjecting him to Lord Ulswater’s threat, might at least have prevented his enlightening the public on the morrow, had not his friend, a peaceable, prudent man, seized him by the arm, and whispered, “What are you about? Consider for what you are here: another word may rob the assembly of your presence. A man bent on a public cause must not, on the eve of its trial, enlist in a private quarrel.”

“True, my friend, true,” said Wolfe, swallowing his rage and eying Lord Ulswater’s retreating figure with a menacing look; “but the time may yet come when I shall have license to retaliate on the upstart.”

“So be it,” quoth the other; “he is our bitterest enemy. You know, perhaps, that he is Lord Ulswater of the —— regiment? It has been at his instigation that the magistrates proposed to disturb the meeting. He has been known publicly to say that all who attended the assembly ought to be given up to the swords of his troopers.”

“The butchering dastard, to dream even of attacking unarmed men: but enough of him; I must tarry yet in the street to hear what success our intercessor has obtained.” And as Wolfe passed the house in which the magisterial conclave sat, Mordaunt came out and accosted him.

“You have sworn to me that your purpose is peaceable.” said Mordaunt.

“Unquestionably,” answered Wolfe.

“And you will pledge yourself that no disturbance, that can either be effected or counteracted by yourself and friends, shall take place?”

“I will.”

“Enough!” answered Mordaunt. “Remember that if you commit the least act that can be thought dangerous I may not be able to preserve you from the military. As it is, your meeting will be unopposed.”

Contrary to Lord Ulswater’s prediction, the meeting went off as quietly as an elderly maiden’s tea-party. The speakers, even Wolfe, not only took especial pains to recommend order and peace, but avoided, for the most part, all inflammatory enlargement upon the grievances of which they complained. And the sage foreboders of evil, who had locked up their silver spoons, and shaken their heads very wisely for the last week, had the agreeable mortification of observing rather an appearance of good humour upon the countenances of the multitude than that ferocious determination against the lives and limbs of the well-affected which they had so sorrowfully anticipated.

As Mordaunt (who had been present during the whole time of the meeting) mounted his horse and quitted the ground, Lord Ulswater, having just left his quarters, where he had been all day in expectation of some violent act of the orators or the mob demanding his military services, caught sight of him with a sudden recollection of his own passionate threat. There had been nothing in Mordaunt’s words which would in our times have justified a challenge; but in that day duels were fought upon the slightest provocation. Lord Ulswater therefore rode up at once to a gentleman with whom he had some intimate acquaintance, and briefly saying that he had been insulted both as an officer and gentleman by Mr. Mordaunt, requested his friend to call upon that gentleman and demand satisfaction.

“To-morrow,” said Lord Ulswater, “I have the misfortune to be unavoidably engaged. The next day you can appoint place and time of meeting.”

“I must first see the gentleman to whom Mr. Mordaunt may refer me,” said the friend, prudently; “and perhaps your honour may be satisfied without any hostile meeting at all.”

“I think not,” said Lord Ulswater, carelessly, as he rode away; “for Mr. Mordaunt is a gentleman, and gentlemen never apologize.”

Wolfe was standing unobserved near Lord Ulswater while the latter thus instructed his proposed second. “Man of blood,” muttered the republican; “with homicide thy code of honour, and massacre thine interpretation of law, by violence wouldst thou rule, and by violence mayst thou perish!”