the marriage of coningsby and edith took place early in the autumn. it was solemnised at millbank, and they passed their first moon at hellingsley, which place was in future to be the residence of the member for darlford. the estate was to devolve to coningsby after the death of mr. millbank, who in the meantime made arrangements which permitted the newly-married couple to reside at the hall in a manner becoming its occupants. all these settlements, as mr. millbank assured coningsby, were effected not only with the sanction, but at the express instance, of his son.
an event, however, occurred not very long after the marriage of coningsby, which rendered this generous conduct of his father-in-law no longer necessary to his fortunes, though he never forgot its exercise. the gentle and unhappy daughter of lord monmouth quitted a scene with which her spirit had never greatly sympathised. perhaps she might have lingered in life for yet a little while, had it not been for that fatal inheritance which disturbed her peace and embittered her days, haunting her heart with the recollection that she had been the unconscious instrument of injuring the only being whom she loved, and embarrassing and encumbering her with duties foreign to her experience and her nature. the marriage of coningsby had greatly affected her, and from that day she seemed gradually to decline. she died towards the end of the autumn, and, subject to an ample annuity to villebecque, she bequeathed the whole of her fortune to the husband of edith. gratifying as it was to him to present such an inheritance to his wife, it was not without a pang that he received the intelligence of the death of flora. edith sympathised in his affectionate feelings, and they raised a monument to her memory in the gardens of hellingsley.
coningsby passed his next christmas in his own hall with his beautiful and gifted wife by his side, and surrounded by the friends of his heart and his youth.
they stand now on the threshold of public life. they are in the leash, but in a moment they will be slipped. what will be their fate? will they maintain in august assemblies and high places the great truths which, in study and in solitude, they have embraced? or will their courage exhaust itself in the struggle, their enthusiasm evaporate before hollow-hearted ridicule, their generous impulses yield with a vulgar catastrophe to the tawdry temptations of a low ambition? will their skilled intelligence subside into being the adroit tool of a corrupt party? will vanity confound their fortunes, or jealousy wither their sympathies? or will they remain brave, single, and true; refuse to bow before shadows and worship phrases; sensible of the greatness of their position, recognise the greatness of their duties; denounce to a perplexed and disheartened world the frigid theories of a generalising age that have destroyed the individuality of man, and restore the happiness of their country by believing in their own energies, and daring to be great?
