Nevertheless, Lord M. was back, and every trouble faded under the
enchantment of his presence and his conversation. He, on his side,
had gone through much; and his distresses were intensified by a
consciousness of his own shortcomings. He realised clearly enough that,
if he had intervened at the right moment, the Hastings scandal might
have been averted; and, in the bedchamber crisis, he knew that he had
allowed his judgment to be overruled and his conduct to be swayed by
private feelings and the impetuosity of Victoria. But he was not one
to suffer too acutely from the pangs of conscience. In spite of the
dullness and the formality of the Court, his relationship with the
Queen had come to be the dominating interest in his life; to have been
deprived of it would have been heartrending; that dread eventuality
had been--somehow--avoided; he was installed once more, in a kind of
triumph; let him enjoy the fleeting hours to the full! And so, cherished
by the favour of a sovereign and warmed by the adoration of a girl,
the autumn rose, in those autumn months of 1839, came to a wondrous
blooming. The petals expanded, beautifully, for the last time. For
the last time in this unlooked--for, this incongruous, this almost
incredible intercourse, the old epicure tasted the exquisiteness of
romance. To watch, to teach, to restrain, to encourage the royal
young creature beside him--that was much; to feel with such a constant
intimacy the impact of her quick affection, her radiant vitality--that
was more; most of all, perhaps, was it good to linger vaguely in
humorous contemplation, in idle apostrophe, to talk disconnectedly, to
make a little joke about an apple or a furbelow, to dream. The springs
of his sensibility, hidden deep within him, were overflowing. Often, as
he bent over her hand and kissed it, he found himself in tears.