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-Project Gutenberg's Mary Seaham, Volume 2 of 3, by Elizabeth Caroline Grey
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
-almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
-re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
-with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license
-
-
-Title: Mary Seaham, Volume 2 of 3
-       A Novel
-
-Author: Elizabeth Caroline Grey
-
-Release Date: August 4, 2012 [EBook #40406]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY SEAHAM, VOLUME 2 OF 3 ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online
-Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
-file was produced from images generously made available
-by The Internet Archive)
-
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-
-
-
-
-                        MARY SEAHAM,
-                          A NOVEL.
-
-                        BY MRS. GREY,
-
-           AUTHOR OF "THE GAMBLER'S WIFE," &c. &c.
-
-
-    IN THREE VOLUMES.
-    VOL. II.
-
-    LONDON:
-    COLBURN AND CO., PUBLISHERS,
-    GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
-    1852.
-
-    Notice is hereby given that the Publishers of this work reserve to
-    themselves the right of publishing a Translation in France.
-
-    LONDON:
-    Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
-
-
-
-
-MARY SEAHAM.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER I.
-
-    Then close and closer, clinging to his side,
-    Frank as the child, and tender as the bride,
-    Words, looks, and tears themselves combine the balm,
-    Lull the fierce pang, and steal the soul to calm!
-
-    THE NEW TIMON.
-
-
-Trevor returned. Arthur Seaham entered the house one afternoon, having
-been out in the grounds with Mr. de Burgh to find Mary and Eugene in the
-drawing-room together.
-
-The meeting between the intended brothers-in-law was cordial enough to
-satisfy even Mary's anxious wishes on the occasion, and she was
-delighted to sit by Eugene's side and hear the two converse together
-with the ease and fluency of those who have made up their minds to like,
-and to be liked by the other. Arthur, standing up before the fire, his
-clear eyes all the while scanning, with a critical interest he attempted
-not much to disguise, the countenance and expression of his sister's
-undeniably handsome intended--a scrutiny which, had Mary's love for
-Eugene been of a less assured and confiding character, might have made
-her a little nervous for the result, for she knew well her brother
-Arthur's glance to be a very Ithuriel spear in the way of discernment
-and discrimination; that although so young and guileless of heart, when
-compared with many of his age, he was clearer and wiser of head than
-many of more years and greater worldly experience, and that no outward
-gloss, no specious disguise could blind or beguile him to bestow
-admiration or approval where it was not deserved.
-
-As it was, since he had prepared her for his being very critically
-disposed, she was obliged to rest satisfied, when, the first time they
-were alone together after this opening interview, Arthur pronounced his
-decided satisfaction as to the good looks of his intended
-brother-in-law, but to her more anxious question, of "And you really
-like him?" he replied; "And I am sure I shall really like him very much
-when he has proved himself as thoroughly good a husband as I can desire
-for my dear Mary."
-
-She laughed, and told him he was very cautious, but she must make
-allowances, poor fellow! for she still believed him to be a little bit
-jealous; an imputation well founded or not, as it might be, Arthur did
-not attempt to contradict; and perhaps--particularly as time went on,
-and day after day he saw more plainly in how strong a manner was his
-sister's heart enthralled by this her new affection--how hopelessly the
-stream of former interests, former feeling had turned into this
-new-formed channel. How, though he had found her sisterly love still
-unimpaired, it could now form but a tributary stream to the full
-abounding river which had arisen to engulph her heart; nay, more,
-experiencing how He, the once chief object of her affection, had become
-as nothing in comparison with the exalted place he had before held in
-her regard, how in her lover's presence he must feel himself as nothing,
-or even _de trop_--and in his absence but the temporary substitute, ill
-able to divert the yearning sigh, the longing look, the anxious thought
-for the beloved one's return.
-
-No wonder if the young man did experience, as many are compelled to
-suffer under similar circumstances, a sensation slightly analogous to
-the one of which his sister had playfully accused him--and therefore was
-compelled to be still more watchful over himself, lest such sentiment
-might in any degree interfere with the just and unprejudiced estimate he
-desired to take of Eugene Trevor's merits.
-
-    "'Tis difficult to see another,
-      A passing stranger of a day,
-    Who never hath been friend or brother,
-      Pluck with a look her heart away;
-    'Tis difficult at once to crush
-      The rebel murmur in the breast,
-    To press the heart to earth, and hush
-      Its bitter jealousy to rest,
-    And difficult--the eye gets dim,
-      The lip wants power to smile on _Him_."
-
-But on one point Arthur Seaham soon became fully satisfied, and much did
-it tend to overcome any invidious promptings of the heart against his
-future brother; for the young man's love towards his sister was in the
-main most essentially unselfish. Day by day showed him only more surely,
-not only how she loved Eugene--but the ardour and devotion with which
-she was also beloved by him.
-
-It was impossible to be daily and hourly the witness of their
-intercourse--to watch the anxiety with which he regarded her every
-motion; the earnest attention with which he hung upon her every
-word--the adoring affection with which he gazed upon her sweet
-expressive countenance, and not be assured that his love was, for the
-present at least, deep, earnest and sincere?
-
-And was not this enough to disarm the brother of all present criticism,
-and divert the more close and jealous inquiry which must come hereafter.
-To continue in the words of that favourite poet, from which we find
-ourselves so often quoting, as coming so naturally and gracefully to
-our aid in description of the present case.
-
-    "I never spoke of wealth or race
-      To one who asked so much from me;
-    I looked but in my sister's face,
-      And mused if she would happier be;
-    And I began to watch his mood,
-      And feel with him love's trembling care,
-    And bade God bless him as he wooed
-      That loving girl so fond and fair."
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-And Trevor--he was able with perfect sincerity and unreserve to satisfy
-Mary's mind as to his unfeigned admiration and approval of her darling
-brother. There was no jealousy to interfere here, on his part.
-
-Jealousy? Ah! the most prone to such infirmity, could with difficulty
-have conjured up the shadow of an excuse for similar weakness in his
-case. Had he not won over--secured to himself as much, quite as much
-exclusive love as he could either desire or deserve? Besides, we have by
-this time perceived that Trevor was by no means a man unable to
-appreciate the good and beautiful in mind and character; and how much of
-these were to be found in his young brother-in-law elect! He entered
-with the most kindly interest into his plans and prospects for the
-future, and often as he watched Arthur Seaham's countenance--as to all
-professing any interest in the matter, he with open-hearted animation
-discoursed, or laid before them his views or intentions connected with
-his future career--the half regretful, half admiring gaze with which
-Eugene Trevor regarded the young man, might have seemed to express the
-question to be rising in his mind, as to when he could remember to have
-been so young, so pure, so fresh, so open, happy-hearted.
-
-When indeed?
-
-Perhaps never, Eugene Trevor; for there are minds, in which--like the
-fruits and flowers of foreign climes, matured by the sunshine of an
-hour--passions, tastes, principles, incompatible with youth and purity
-and openness of heart, have either, by nature or the foreign sun of
-circumstances, struck their roots and flourished in the very morning of
-their possessors' lives, and thus, their very youth has been like age.
-
-Once Arthur Seaham rode over to Montrevor with Eugene Trevor. He came
-back in high spirits, pleased with the place, and amused with the
-expedition altogether.
-
-"You will have a fine old home, Mary," he said, "some of these days, for
-Trevor tells me everything will be altered, whenever the house is his,
-and that during his father's lifetime, he does not suppose you and he
-will be a great deal there, but live in London, and other places, which
-perhaps is as well, considering it might be rather a gloomy home for a
-permanence if matters continued as they now are; what with the dear old
-close father, and that fine-lady housekeeper, from whom I received a
-very cynical glance, as I stumbled upon her in the passage, and who
-holds, it seems, such a tight hand over her master and his
-establishment. But I don't object to the old gentleman himself, either.
-No! he is a rare old Solomon, and was very civil and flattering to me,
-with reference to his approval of his son's choice of such a modest,
-discreet, well-behaved young lady, for my sister. He even was so kind as
-to make amends for a very indifferent luncheon--(Trevor was obliged to
-give me on the sly) by presenting me at parting with an excellent piece
-of advice. His son had begun enlightening him as to my intention of
-entering upon the profession of the law, for the purpose of making
-money, which I saw at once raised me immeasurably in his estimation, and
-leading me aside when we were about to start, with so mysterious and
-important an expression, that I began to imagine that the jolly old
-fellow was going to present me with five hundred pounds on the spot, he
-whispered anxiously in my ears, as if my very life depended on what he
-was about to say:
-
-"'That's right, young Sir, that's right--make money--make it as long and
-as much as you can. Make money--make money--and then,' with a very
-expressive and emphatic pause, 'and then--keep it.'"
-
-Mary could not help laughing at her brother's ludicrous description,
-though she told him he was an impertinent boy, thus to deride the
-foibles of her venerable father-in-law. As to anything in his
-character--or even aught with reference to Marryott, as at all affecting
-her happiness at Montrevor--seemed to cast no shade of anxiety over her
-mind. On this point she was as uncareful and unforeseeing as became
-those traits in her general character we have before remarked.
-
-"By the bye," exclaimed her brother, either _à-propos_ to reflections to
-which his late visits at Montrevor had given rise, or with reference to
-hints Mr. de Burgh had once or twice let fall upon the subject, "by the
-bye, I want to ask you what has become of Trevor's unfortunate brother?"
-
-Mary was unable to give the required information.
-
-"The fact is," she said, "the idea is one so very painful, even to me,
-that I never bring a subject forward which must undoubtedly be one
-doubly distasteful and distressing to Eugene. He never broaches it
-himself--I will, however, ask him the question whenever I may have the
-opportunity. It might be a comfort to him if I once broke the ice and
-conversed with him sometimes on the subject."
-
-It was therefore in consequence of this kindly intentioned resolve, that
-one day when walking alone with Eugene through the park home from
-church, he--talking in a more confidential tone than was his usual wont,
-on matters connected with his family affairs, and affecting their future
-prospects--she placed her hand on his, and with the gentlest, tenderest
-sympathy in her tone and manner, murmured, "And where, Eugene, is your
-poor brother?" But she repented ere the words had passed her lips; for
-Eugene perceptibly started, and paused abruptly for a single moment,
-turning a wild, quick glance upon her, whilst though he answered but by
-the single word "Abroad!" it was enough to show that his voice was thick
-and husky as he thus replied. In a moment, however, he seemed to recover
-himself from the very great shock her abrupt, and as she feared,
-ill-judged question had occasioned him, and passing his hand across his
-brow, quickly pursued his way.
-
-Grieved at what she had done, Mary walked on in silence; till Eugene, as
-if he feared she must have been impressed by the signs of emotion into
-which he had been surprised, suddenly began to laugh, although the laugh
-had in it a tone constrained and unnatural.
-
-"I fear, Mary, I frightened you just now," he said, "but the fact is,
-you rather frightened me by your sudden question. It sounded almost as
-solemn and startling as the same inquiry must have done to Cain
-after--after you know what wicked deed."
-
-"Indeed, dear Eugene?" Mary answered with concern, yet inwardly
-surprised at the careless tone and manner her lover had now assumed with
-reference to that distressing subject.
-
-"I am sorry, very sorry, I pained you by my abruptness, but the sad
-subject was so much in my thoughts at the moment, and I had so long
-wished to ask you something about your poor brother, that--"
-
-"Oh yes--of course--certainly, my dearest Mary, I quite understand, and
-shall be very glad to give you some information concerning the poor
-fellow. Just at the first start you must suppose it rather painful to
-bring myself to think or speak upon, as you justly observe, so very sad
-a subject. My poor brother is, as I said before, abroad, travelling I
-believe--of course under guardianship. He was," and his voice faltered
-as if from strong emotion, "he was in confinement for a very short time,
-but that, thank God! was found unnecessary; and now, as I told you, he
-is abroad. I cannot say exactly where just now."
-
-And having hurriedly uttered these particulars, the delivery of which
-seemed to cost him much, he passed his handkerchief over his brow, on
-which, even in this clear fresh November atmosphere, there had been
-wrung forth some burning drops--and hastened on his pale and pitying
-companion, who gently pressed his arm in silent token of her love and
-sympathy.
-
-"Mary," he murmured in a low agitated tone, fervently returning that
-mute acknowledgment, "Mary, you will never forsake me?"
-
-"Forsake you, Eugene! why should I forsake you?"
-
-"Not even if they told you I was unworthy of you--if they tried to
-separate us by lies and false inventions?"
-
-"Dear--dear, Eugene, what can make you talk thus?--forsake you! never:
-even if they were so wicked. Why even if you were really what they
-represented--"
-
-"What--what? you would not forsake me _then_?"
-
-"Cain's wife forsook not her husband, and yet his crime was greater than
-anything you could ever have committed," she answered in a gentle,
-cheerful voice.
-
-"True--true--true," hurriedly he replied, (but why had he been fool
-enough to put Cain into her head?)--"True, dear Mary, you are an angel,
-but then Cain's faithful friend was his wife. I meant, if _before_ we
-were married, they tried to separate us by such measures,--or if for
-instance," he added quite cheerfully and naturally, "if, as you quite
-seem to think possible, I am sorry to perceive, I did turn out a
-villain."
-
-"Then," Mary answered firmly and gravely, "the course of conduct I must
-pursue would be a question of right and wrong; it is difficult for me
-indeed, to realize to myself such a position of affairs; but I know--I
-feel," with a self-accusing sigh, "what my heart would at present
-dictate--that I could never of my own accord forsake you, Eugene--never
-could cancel the engagement which binds us to each other--unless
-indeed," she added, "you, Eugene, should desire it."
-
-"_I_ desire, it!" he repeated with a laugh of tender scorn, "what in the
-world could now arise to render our separation, for a day even,
-desirable in my eyes? No, the time will soon be here when, you know,
-Mary, what you have promised--that we shall never again be obliged to
-part."
-
-Strange--strange world of contradiction; strange indeed, that in so very
-brief a space of time the same enthusiastic speaker should be the
-first--
-
-But we must not anticipate.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER II.
-
-    The nuptial day was fix'd, the plighting kiss
-    Glowed on my lips; that moment the abyss,
-    Which hid by moss-grown time yet yawned as wide
-    Beneath my feet, divorced me from her side.
-    A letter came--
-
-    THE NEW TIMON.
-
-
-"There is a tide in the affairs of man," and Mary's we have seen, from
-the time of her first arrival at Silverton, has seemed to run on to the
-full, with a most uninterrupted flow of smooth prosperity most alarming.
-
-It was quite the latter end of November that the first break in the
-party assembled at Silverton was occasioned by the departure of Arthur
-Seaham for Scotland, where he went for the purpose both of seeing his
-sister Alice, and arranging several matters of business, and at the
-same time to consult his brother-in-law, Mr. Gillespie, whose opinion
-and legal experience he held in high estimation, concerning the measures
-to be adopted with reference to his intended professional studies.
-
-By Christmas, however, Arthur would be in London, and there again meet
-Mary, who in less than ten days from his departure was to accompany the
-de Burgh's to town, Trevor also proceeding thither.
-
-Mrs. de Burgh had persuaded her husband that it was quite indispensable
-for her well-doing that her confinement--expected in January--should
-occur under the auspices of a celebrated London practitioner, and Mr. de
-Burgh, very persuadable on this anxious point, had taken a house for the
-occasion.
-
-"And then of course," Mrs. de Burgh resumed complacently, "we shall
-remain for the season. I shall then be able to look out for a nursery
-governess for the children, and be in town for your wedding, dear Mary,
-all quite comfortably."
-
-Mary, nevertheless, was not to continue the guest of her cousins in
-Brook Street, though they expressed their willingness to accommodate her
-therein; she preferred, all things considered, to avail herself of the
-invitation of her former guardians, the uncle and aunt Majoribanks, to
-visit them in their roomy mansion in Portman Square.
-
-Trevor was anxious that his marriage should take place, if possible,
-very early in the spring, and the preliminaries necessary to that event
-were to be set on foot immediately after the assemblage of the aforesaid
-parties in town; whilst to thicken the plot, and to render the aspect of
-coming events still more _couleur de rose_ in the eyes of the happy
-_fiancée_, the morning before Arthur's arrival, Mary received a letter
-from her sister Agnes, announcing--along with many delighted and
-affectionate congratulations from the late bride on the event, which was
-to render her dear Mary, she hoped, as happy as herself in her new
-estate--the joyful news of her intended return to England in time to
-take upon herself the management and superintendance of her sister's
-wedding; for kind Sir Hugh insisted that it should be his part to give
-the wedding breakfast, at the best house he could take for the occasion;
-whilst at the same time, it seems the worthy baronet and his young wife
-had gone so far as to decide that the intended couple could do no better
-than repair to the baronet's seat in Wales after the happy event for,
-their honeymoon, Glan Pennant being now let to strangers.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Poor Mary! she had been taking a long and delightful ride with her lover
-the day after Arthur left Silverton. There had been no shadow, no cloud,
-cast upon the calm, confiding transport of her heart, as they discussed
-together their happy prospects--the episode of that Sunday walk had
-never been in the slightest degree renewed, nay, seemed as if by either
-party quite forgotten.
-
-Trevor was more gay, more gentle, more tender this day than she had ever
-seen him; and when he lifted her from her horse at the door at
-Silverton, and as he did so, caught the faintest sound of a gentle,
-breeze-like sigh heaved from her bosom, he, with an anxious solicitude
-which made Mary smile, looked into her face, and asked quite fearfully,
-"why she so sighed?"
-
-"I do not know, indeed, dear Eugene," was the reply, "unless it be that
-I am _too happy_."
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-The following morning, Mary and the de Burghs were assembled at the
-breakfast-table, the children present as usual, but Eugene had not yet
-made his appearance; his letters, or rather his letter, for there was
-but one this day, lay as usual by his plate on the table.
-
-"Louey, put that letter down; have I not told you a hundred times, not
-to pull about other people's things?" called out Mr. de Burgh to his
-young daughter, whose meddling little fingers seemed irresistibly
-attracted by the red seal upon this unopened document, as well as by the
-endeavour to test her literary powers by deciphering the printed letters
-composing the post mark.
-
-"Louey, pray do as you are told, and do not make your papa so cross and
-fidgetty," her mother rejoined.
-
-"Just like the rest of her sex," remarked Mr. de Burgh, sarcastically,
-"always fond of prying and peeping. I have little doubt, but that if I
-were not here, the seal and direction would be carefully inspected by
-more than one pair of ladies' eyes--eh, Mary?"
-
-Mary with playful indignation denied the insinuation, whilst Mrs. de
-Burgh was exclaiming contemptuously, that he always had such bad, absurd
-ideas, when the discussion was terminated by the entrance of the
-unconscious object of the conversation, who after having finished his
-morning greeting, proceeded to seat himself at the table, and seeing his
-letter, took it up, glanced at the direction and broke the seal, while
-Louey, who after her last received reproof, had slid round to Mary's
-chair, convicted and ashamed; with her large dark eyes watched this
-proceeding on Eugene's part with the most attentive interest.
-
-The first cover was thrown aside--another sealed letter was enclosed--at
-that direction he also looked, and even the child, had she watched his
-countenance instead of his fingers, might have been struck by its
-immediate change; the deep flush succeeded by the deadly pallor which
-overspread his face. He gave a quick uneasy glance around, but no one
-was observing him, and then again fixing his eyes anxiously upon the
-address, was about to turn and break the seal, when his elbow was
-touched, and the little girl who had glided round to possess herself of
-her former object of ambition--the seal on the discarded envelope--now
-whispered in his ear:
-
-"Don't break that beautiful seal--give it to me."
-
-Trevor started, and looked at first as much confused and disconcerted,
-as if he had been required by the young lady to yield the letter itself
-for public inspection; but recovering himself in a moment, he, as if
-mechanically, obeyed the child's injunction, tearing off the impression;
-and thus recovering her prize, together with another polite request,
-from her father, not to be such a tiresome bore, she returned with it
-to her former refuge, laying it before Mary for her particular
-inspection, who glancing carelessly towards the impression, perceived it
-to be the Trevor coat-of-arms, together with the initials "E. T."
-
-Eugene in the meantime having hastily glanced his eye over the writing
-inside, thrust the letter into his pocket, and proceeded to make a hasty
-but indifferent breakfast.
-
-He did not join the ladies as usual during the few first hours of that
-morning--but Mr. de Burgh informed them in answer to their inquiry, when
-he came once into the drawing-room, that "Trevor was sitting in the
-library, deep in meditation over the 'Times.'" At last he made his
-appearance for a short time, and sat down by Mary's side, but in so very
-abstracted and absent a mood, that she began to be possessed with secret
-misgivings that something had occurred to annoy him, though she kept
-this feeling to herself.
-
-Mrs. de Burgh's quick perception also discovered that something was
-indeed amiss, and she playfully told Eugene that he was very stupid,
-and must take another ride with Mary after luncheon to brisk him up.
-
-But looking down on the ground, in the same altered moody manner which
-characterized his present demeanour, he murmured that he was afraid he
-should be obliged to leave Silverton early in the afternoon.
-
-Mrs. de Burgh, on hearing this, and struck still more by his peculiar
-manner, glanced inquiringly at her cousin, and was preparing to rise in
-order to leave him alone with Mary, when Eugene suddenly got up from his
-chair, and, making some excuse for absenting himself, quitted the
-apartment.
-
-Mary made no remark on this demeanour of her lover, but silently and
-quietly pursued her occupation. It was not in her nature, as we before
-remarked, to fret or torment herself, or others, by easily excited
-fears, or fanciful misgivings. She was fearful, indeed, that Eugene was
-suffering under some temporary anxiety or annoyance, occasioned,
-perhaps, by the letter he had received that morning; but nothing more
-serious entered her imagination.
-
-Eugene did not come in to luncheon, but of that meal he seldom partook,
-and when once, through the open door, Mary caught sight of him standing
-darkly in an adjoining room, his eyes fixed earnestly upon her, she
-smiled her own sweet, affectionate, confiding smile, which he returned
-with a kind of subdued, melancholy tenderness. She found herself at
-length in the drawing-room alone, and heard Eugene's step slowly
-approaching. He half opened the door, and seeing that no one was with
-her, entered the apartment. She held out her hand as he drew near, and
-seizing it, he pressed it passionately to his lips.
-
-"Mary," he murmured, in a low, thrilling tone, whilst he gazed long and
-earnestly into her face, till her soft eyes shrank, like flowers at
-noon, beneath the dark, wild gleam which shone upon them. "My dear,
-good, best-beloved Mary," then his arm encircled her waist, he pressed
-her trembling form against his heart, imprinted a burning kiss upon her
-lips, and ere Mary had recovered from the first strong surprise with
-which this sudden ardour in her lover's conduct naturally inspired her,
-he had left the room, and Mrs. de Burgh entering soon after to ask her
-to drive, she heard that Eugene was gone!
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER III.
-
-    Still must fate, stern, cold, reproving,
-      Link but to divide the heart----
-    Must it teach the young and loving
-      First to prize and then to part.
-
-    L. E. L.
-
-
-The second day after Eugene Trevor's departure, Mary received a letter
-from him, short, hurried, though affectionate, and mentioning that some
-troublesome and rather annoying business obliged him to leave Montrevor.
-He did not say for how long, or where he was going, but Mary sent her
-letter, in answer, directed to Montrevor.
-
-She did not hear from him again.
-
-There wanted but two days to the one fixed for the journey to London.
-The preparations necessarily preceding the removal, as well as her
-naturally patient and tranquil disposition, had hitherto prevented Mary
-from dwelling too uneasily on her lover's silence. After all, it had
-only been for a few days, and she knew him to be naturally no great
-letter-writer. The tiresome business which had taken him from home
-probably engaged much of his time and attention, and he was anxious to
-have it over before they met again.
-
-But when, on coming down to breakfast the morning of the above-mentioned
-day, her anxious glance for the wished for letter was again
-disappointed, she could not forbear giving vent to the anxious
-exclamation, "No letter again from Eugene!"
-
-She glanced as she spoke towards her cousin Louis, and perceived his
-regard fixed upon her, with so anxious, so grave an expression of
-concern, that her heart instantly misgave her, though she said nothing
-more at the time.
-
-Mrs. de Burgh entered the breakfast-room soon after, looking quite
-unconscious, merely inquiring of Mary what news the post had brought;
-and only remarked that Eugene was a very idle fellow, when Mary's
-dejected silence bespoke her to have been disappointed in the results of
-its delivery; immediately after breakfast Mary heard Mr. de Burgh say,
-"Olivia, I wish to speak to you in the library," an unusual occurrence,
-unless there was anything of very especial consequence to be
-communicated, and then she heard the door shut upon them.
-
-She waited half an hour in a state of anxious suspense, which in vain
-she strove to reason with herself was unnecessary and uncalled for. What
-had this interview to do with her--with Eugene? But no--it would not do;
-her heart still beat nervously in her bosom, and she strained her ears
-at every sound, to listen whether it might not be the opening of the
-library door, and her cousin's appearance, to reassure her, no doubt,
-silly apprehension.
-
-Mary was reminded by all this of her feelings on the occasion of her
-anticipated interview with Louis, after his having been informed of her
-engagement with Eugene, and the step she had taken to put an end to the
-nervous impulse under which she then had laboured.
-
-No doubt she would find her intrusion on this occasion perfectly
-uncalled for; but still her presence was never unwelcome, and to relieve
-her mind of its present uneasiness, she could at that moment have braved
-any contingency.
-
-So to the library she proceeded, opened the door, and entered.
-
-"But what is the use of telling her anything about it, poor thing! till
-she gets to London? For Heaven's sake, wait till then."
-
-This was what she heard; and if there had been any doubt on Mary's mind,
-as to whether these words bore reference to herself, the confused and
-disconcerted countenances of both Mr. and Mrs. de Burgh, when they
-became aware of her presence, too fully assured her on that point; and
-advancing, pale and trembling, towards her cousins, she at once faltered
-forth:
-
-"Louis--Olivia! have you heard anything of Eugene? Is he ill? or what
-has happened?" and then she burst into tears.
-
-"No, no, dear Mary, there is nothing the matter with Trevor--he is quite
-well."
-
-Mr. de Burgh hastened to confirm this, and in the gentlest, kindest
-manner made her sit down by his side.
-
-"The fact is," he said, "I have had a letter from him this morning,
-which may possibly damp your spirits a little for the moment, although
-it can, of course, be of no ultimate importance, only defer expected
-happiness to a remoter period."
-
-Mary, drying her eyes, anxiously waited for him to proceed.
-
-"Trevor writes me word that his marriage, owing, it seems, to some
-rather serious business, must of necessity be postponed, he does not say
-till when. But you see," he continued, breaking off into a more cheerful
-and encouraging tone of voice, "there is nothing so fatally unfortunate
-in this."
-
-No, indeed, it was not the bare fact those words conveyed which bowed
-down Mary's trembling spirit, and gave such wan and wintry sadness to
-the smile with which she attempted to acknowledge her cousin's
-comforting words. It was not the mere intelligence that her marriage was
-postponed which fell like a cloud upon her soul, it was that dark
-presentiment which often on occasions of less or greater magnitude
-assails the mind of man, that the happy prosperity of his life has
-reached its culminating point: that the point is turned, and henceforth
-it must take a downward course.
-
-"But why," she faltered, now glancing towards Mrs. de Burgh, who sat
-silent and distressed, "why did he not write and tell me this himself?"
-
-"I think, dear Mary, Louis had better tell you what Eugene said in his
-letter, which was to him, not to me. I will come back presently," and
-rising, Mrs. de Burgh kissed Mary's pale cheek, and gladly made her
-escape from the thing she particularly dreaded--painful circumstances
-over which she could have no control; so Mary once more turned her
-plaintive glance of inquiry upon her cousin Louis.
-
-"Here is his letter!" Mr. de Burgh replied; "if you would like to read
-it, it may be as well that you should do so, as it is all I know, or
-understand about the matter."
-
-Mary took the letter in her trembling hand, and steadying it as she
-could--read in her lover's hand-writing the following communication,
-which, from the concise, unvarnished manner in which it was conveyed,
-led one rather to suspect that it had never been intended for the eye of
-his tender-hearted lady-love, but, with the well-known proverb
-respecting "fine words," &c. uppermost in his mind--penned rather for
-the private benefit of one of his own strong-minded species.
-
-     "Dear de Burgh,
-
-     "You will, I am sure, be surprised, when I tell you that
-     circumstances have lately arisen which render it impossible that my
-     marriage can take place as soon as I had hoped and expected. I need
-     not tell you that my distress and vexation are extreme, the more
-     so, that I am forced to be convinced of the expediency, nay,
-     necessity of this postponement, finding it quite impossible, under
-     the present position of affairs, that with any justice to Mary,
-     our union could be concluded. Of course more particular explanation
-     will be required; but I write this merely to beg that either you or
-     Olivia will break to her this intelligence, of which I feel it
-     right she should not be kept in ignorance, I am myself quite
-     unequal to communicate with her upon the subject. Tell her only
-     that I am concerned and disappointed beyond expression, that I will
-     write to her brother more fully, or to any of her friends who may
-     desire it; but that I cannot, dare not, trust myself to put pen to
-     paper to address her till I can see my way more clearly.
-
-     "Believe me, ever, dear de Burgh,
-
-     "Yours most sincerely,
-
-     "EUGENE TREVOR."
-
-A large tear rolled down Mary's cheek as she refolded and laid aside the
-letter.
-
-"Poor Eugene!" she murmured gently, "how unhappy he seems to be! You
-will write to him, Louis; will you not?" she added: "If so, do tell him
-I am grieved, disappointed, for his sake, but that he must not distress
-and harass himself on my account--that he must be patient till these
-obstacles are removed. Our happiness has, till now, been too great and
-uninterrupted for us to have expected that it could continue without any
-thing to rise and mar the smoothness of its course; we shall only prize
-it the more when it is restored, and love each other the more firmly for
-this little reverse."
-
-"Had you not better perhaps write and tell him all this yourself?" said
-Mr. de Burgh, with a smile of kind and gentle interest.
-
-"I think perhaps I had better not," she answered sadly. "You see he does
-not like to write to me upon the subject, so perhaps it would distress
-him the more to hear from me just now. I know it is a peculiarity in
-Eugene to shrink from the direct discussion of any circumstance painful
-and annoying to his feelings. Tell him therefore, also--if you, Louis,
-will be so kind as to write--not to think it necessary to enter into any
-particulars at present, with my brother, or any one else. It is quite
-bad enough for him to be troubled by these affairs, without further
-annoyance being added to the business. I am quite satisfied with what he
-has imparted--quite satisfied as to the expediency and necessity of our
-marriage being deferred--that I can wait, and shall be content patiently
-to wait, as long as it shall be required."
-
-Yes, Mary, wait--wait--learn patiently to wait--it is woman's lesson,
-which, sooner or later, your sex must learn, and of which your meek soul
-will have but too full experience! The cup of joy so temptingly
-presented "to lips that may not drain," but instead--the sickening hope
-deferred--the long heart thirst--yet still to patiently hold on,
-awaiting meekly her lingering reward. "Bearing all things, believing all
-things, hoping all things, enduring all things."
-
-The few last days previous to a departure, is under any circumstances,
-generally a somewhat uncomfortable and unsettled period. Our Silverton
-party were doubly relieved by its expiration. Eugene's letter seemed to
-have cast a damp over their general spirits.
-
-Mrs. de Burgh, evidently puzzled and perplexed, was at a loss how to
-treat the subject, when discussing it with Mary; whilst Louis, far from
-seeming elated at this hitch in an affair of which he had always
-professed such unqualified disapprobation, was evidently sorry and
-annoyed at this disturbance of his cousin's peace of mind, and whilst
-more than ever, kind and affectionate in his demeanour towards herself,
-was unusually out of humour with every one around him.
-
-As for Mary, she walked about more like a person half awakening from a
-long and happy dream, who feels herself struggling hard not to break the
-pleasant spell. It seemed to her, that there was a dull and silent
-vacuum reigning over the large mansion, she had never before perceived.
-She looked wearily from the window upon the dreary December scene, and
-it seemed that almost for the first time she became aware that it was
-not the bright summer month which had marked her first arrival. She felt
-that now, she also would be glad to go.
-
-What! glad to leave the spot where, who knows poor Mary, but that the
-brief bright summer time of your existence has passed and gone? For
-there is a summer time in the life of every mortal being--a more or
-less bright, passionate ecstatic season of enjoyment, though
-wofully--fearfully evanescent are the flowers and leaves which mark some
-mortals' summer time.
-
-But why lament for this--if, may be, the autumn with its calm cool
-chastened light be longer thine?
-
-The morning of departure arrived--and pale and passive in the midst of
-all the bustle and excitement attendant on the starting of a large
-family party, composed of servants, children, a lady suffering from the
-nervous and uncomfortable feelings attendant on her situation, and a
-rather fidgetty, impatient husband--pale and passive, yet with an
-inwardly bruised and sinking sensation of the heart, Mary entered the
-carriage, and was soon borne far away from the vicinity of Silverton and
-Montrevor.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IV.
-
-    Oh, thou dark and gloomy city!
-      Let me turn my eyes from thee;
-    Sorrow, sympathy nor pity,
-      In thy presence seems to be;
-    Darkness like a pall hath bound thee--
-      Shadow of thy world within--
-    With thy drear revealings round me,
-      Love seems vain, and hope a sin.
-
-    L. E. L.
-
-
-Mary on her arrival in London, went straight to Portman Square, where
-she was received with affectionate gladness by her venerable relations.
-
-They, of course, had been amongst the first to be made aware of their
-niece's matrimonial prospects, and proud and happy did the intelligence
-render the worthy pair. Full and hearty were the congratulations poured
-upon the pale and drooping _fiancée_,--to be silenced for the time by
-the dejected answer:
-
-"Yes, dear aunt, but for the present our marriage is postponed."
-
-After this first ordeal, there was something not ungenial to Mary's
-state of mind in the orderly and quiet monotony of the old-fashioned,
-yet comfortable establishment of the Majoribanks. Their daughter was
-remarkable for nothing but that indolence of habit and disposition which
-a long sojourn in the luxurious East often engenders, and made little
-more impression upon Mary's mind, than the costly shawls in which the
-orientalized lady at rare intervals appeared enveloped; whilst some
-little creatures, chattering in an outlandish tongue, and attended by a
-dark-hued ayah, only occasionally excited her present vague, languid
-powers of interest and attention.
-
-London in December bears by no means an inviting and exhilarating
-aspect; still there are moods and conditions of minds with which at this
-season it better assimilates than in its more bright and genial periods.
-No glare, or glitter, or display then distracts our spirits. Over the
-vast city and its ever-moving myriads, seems to hang one dark, thick,
-impenetrable veil, beneath whose dingy folds, joy and misery, innocence
-and crime, indigence and wealth, alike hurry on their way,
-undistinguishable and indistinct. Men are to our eyes "as trees
-walking,"--by faint, uncertain glimpses we alone recognise the face of
-friend or foe, who see us not--or, in our turn, are seen, by those we
-unconsciously pass by.
-
-Then, and there, in the "dark grey city," more than in "the green
-stillness of the country," we can retire into the sanctuary of our own
-sad hearts--or beneath this vague and dreamy influence the poet's heart
-may wander undisturbed, and as he "hears and feels the throbbing heart
-of man," may calmly image forth his destined theme for thought, or song.
-"The river of life that flows through streets, tumultuous, bearing along
-so many gallant hearts, so many wrecks of humanity;--the many homes and
-households, each a little world in itself, revolving round its
-fireside, as a central sun; all forms of human joy, and suffering
-brought into that narrow compass; and to be in this, and be a part of
-this, acting, thinking, rejoicing, sorrowing with his fellow-men."
-
-Poor Mary! she too went forth, and walked, or drove, as beneath one dim,
-broad shadow; everything without her and within, vague, dreamy, and
-indistinct, except when some pale face or dark eye startled her
-momentarily from her trance, by their fancied or seeming similitude to
-that loved being, whom some suddenly eclipsing power, like the one now
-veiling the wintry sun, had hidden from her aching sight,--but of whom,
-each day, she lived in sure but anxious anticipation of receiving
-tidings either in person or by letter.
-
-Mary had not written to her brother Arthur on the subject of Eugene's
-letter till she came to London, then so lightly did she touch upon the
-matter it contained, giving her brother merely to understand that her
-marriage was deferred for a short period; that he only in his reply
-expressed pleasure at the idea that he was not to lose her quite so
-soon, and at the same time mentioned his intention of remaining in
-Edinburgh a little longer than he had previously intended, according to
-the urgent solicitations of his sister Alice, who had so few
-opportunities of enjoying the society of her relations--and at the same
-time, for the more interested purpose of reaping as long as he was able
-the benefit of his lawyer brother-in-laws' valuable counsel and
-assistance on the subject upon which his mind was so keenly set;
-affording so excellent a preparation for those regular studies, in
-which, after the Christmas vacation, he was to engage as member of the
-Middle Temple.
-
-And thus the affectionate brother remained in perfect ignorance that
-anything was amiss in the concerns of his favourite sister, during this
-protracted absence. But the old couple of course soon began to require
-some more defined explanation as to the state of affairs, and an
-interview with Mr. de Burgh, when he called one morning to see Mary, did
-not tend to throw any very satisfactory light upon the subject. All that
-he could inform them concerning the matter was, that some business was
-pending, which would prevent the marriage from taking place as soon as
-had been intended; that Mrs. de Burgh had heard from her cousin, Mr.
-Trevor, who seemed to be considerably distressed by this impediment, and
-to shrink from holding any direct communion with his betrothed until
-matters had assumed a more favourable aspect; that he announced his
-intention of coming up to town as soon as he could possibly leave his
-father, who was suffering from another dangerous attack of illness.
-Until such time he, Mr. de Burgh, supposed there was nothing to be done,
-particularly as Mary's own solicitations were most urgent to that
-effect; and she, indeed, poor girl, always professed herself perfectly
-satisfied that all was right.
-
-Ah, how could it be otherwise? the bare idea was treason to her
-confiding, trustful heart.
-
-Mary did not see a great deal of Mrs. de Burgh after her first arrival.
-
-It is astonishing how great a barrier a few streets and squares of the
-metropolis can form against the intercourse of dearest and most
-familiar friends. Mrs. de Burgh was ill at first and uncomfortable
-herself, and it only distressed her to see Mary under the present
-unsatisfactory aspect of affairs. Then her confinement intervened, and
-after that she was surrounded by other friends, whose society was
-unassociated with the painful feelings, which by that time had occurred
-to throw a still greater constraint over her intercourse with the pale,
-sad Mary.
-
-How characteristic this is of the general friendship of worldly people.
-How warm, how bright, has been the affection showered upon us when we
-were gay, glad, or hopeful. But let some cloud arise to dim our aspect,
-let our spirits droop, our brow be overcast, then, though they may not
-love us less--though they may feel for and pity us, nay, would do much
-to restore our happiness, if in their power; yet if that cannot
-be--then--"come again when less sad and sorrowful, when your lips once
-more can give back smile for smile--when your voice has lost these notes
-of deep dejection, _then_, oh, come again, and we will with open arms
-receive you, and our love be as fond, as fervent, as unconstrained; but
-till then--away! you chide our spirits, you restrain our mirth."
-
-This is the language which seems to breathe from every altered look and
-tone of our worldly friends.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Mary went one day to see her cousin. She found Olivia on the sofa,
-looking a little delicate, but only the more beautiful from that cause,
-as well as from the subdued, softened expression of her countenance.
-
-Her husband sat affectionately by her side, the brightest satisfaction
-beaming from his handsome features, gazing upon his lovely wife, and
-new-born son, a fine healthy infant, resting on the mother's bosom.
-
-It was altogether a perfect picture of happy family prosperity, and
-tears of heartfelt pleasure rose to Mary's eyes at the sight.
-
-She wished and prayed that it might be an earnest of the establishment
-of a happier and better state of things between that married pair; that
-the long slumbering, or diverted demonstration of affection, now
-reawakened or recalled, might never again be put to silence, or lose
-their reasserted power. Alas! for the transitory nature of pure and holy
-influences like the present, upon the light, inconstant, or the worldly
-hearted; influences of time, or circumstances, which like the shaken
-blossoms of the spring, the breath of vanity or dissipation can in a
-moment dispel and scatter to the ground.
-
-    "They never came to fruit, and their sweet lives soon are o'er,
-    But we lived an hour beneath them, and never dreamed of more."
-
-At least thus we regret to say, it proved with regard to any temporary
-influence to which Mrs. de Burgh might have been subjected. For her
-convalescence, and the allurements and temptations of the ensuing
-season, tended too surely to the overthrow of those hopes and
-aspirations, in which poor Mary so rejoiced, in behalf of her cousin
-Louis and his beautiful wife. But this is wandering from the regular
-progress of our story.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER V.
-
-    I am not false to thee, yet now
-      Thou hast a cheerful eye;
-    With flushing cheek and drooping brow,
-      I wander mournfully.
-
-    Thou art the same; thy looks are gay,
-      Thy step is light and free,
-    And yet, with truth, my heart can say,
-      I am not false to thee.
-
-    MRS. NORTON.
-
-
-Spring was fast advancing. Arthur Seaham had returned some time from
-Scotland, and had entered as a student of the Temple. The Morgans had
-arrived in London, yet the cloud seemed only to thicken the more round
-Mary's prospects.
-
-The friends had ceased to pain her ears by any open animadversion of her
-lover. They seemed to wait in moody silence the issue of affairs; the
-dangerous and precarious condition, in which they had ascertained that
-his father still remained--giving rise, in a great measure, to the idea
-suggested by a vague hint from the son, that on this circumstance
-depended the removal of the impediment which he professed had arisen
-against his marriage--still excusing his non-appearance.
-
-And Mary--though not to hear mention of that beloved name, was to her
-almost as great an agony, as to know that injurious and suspicious
-thoughts were silently harboured in the breast of those around her,
-against that one loved being; and though her cheek day by day was
-becoming more pale, her heart more sinking--yearning for her lover's
-exculpation--yet more she still lived hopefully, trustfully, sure that
-all would eventually be right.
-
-Day by day, she thought "he will be here," sometimes that he might even
-then be in London, only waiting to make his presence known until his
-anxious consultations with his lawyers had set his mind more at rest.
-
-Mary was sometimes induced to accept the urgent solicitations of her
-sister Agnes to accompany herself and Sir Hugh, to such places of public
-amusement as the yet early season rendered admissible.
-
-Lady Morgan, blooming and happy as ever youthful wife could be; with her
-indulgent husband, upon whom his continental sojourn, together with the
-influence of his handsome young spouse, had produced quite a polishing
-and refining effect, were established in a fashionable hotel, for the
-short space of time which now, alas! that there was no marriage to be
-celebrated, they intended--this season--to remain in London.
-
-One night, when on the point of issuing from their private box at one of
-the minor theatres, where they had been witnessing the performance of a
-famous actress, a party of men, who had apparently occupied one of the
-lower boxes on the same side of the house, rushed quickly past, laughing
-and talking with light and careless glee.
-
-Some glanced slightly on the young Lady Morgan; who happened to stand
-forward at the time, and whose appearance momentarily attracted their
-attention; but Mary, without being seen from her position behind her
-sister, caught sight of the party as they passed.
-
-Why did the beatings of her heart stand still--that sick faint chill
-creep over her? could it be--oh, could it indeed be Eugene! nearly
-foremost of that group, whose dark eye had flashed that cursory glance
-upon her sister, as he hurried by--whose voice, in that well known
-cheerful laugh (at least so it had ever been to Mary's ears) had echoed
-on her heart, her anxious, longing, saddened heart?
-
-Oh! could it be--and was it thus she now beheld him--he, whose last
-embrace still thrilled her frame--whose parting kiss still lingered on
-her lips--unconscious of her presence, careless, unthinking of her
-grief.
-
-Yes, thus she first beheld him, for whom she had so long watched and
-waited,--and wept, when none were near.
-
-"Mary dear, are you there?" her sister said looking back, when they had
-stepped out into the passage. "But, my dear darling, how pale you look.
-Sir Hugh," she exclaimed quite reproachfully to her husband, "pray give
-Mary your arm," and with repentant alacrity the Baronet hastened to
-offer his assistance to his half-fainting sister-in-law. "It was the
-heat--the gas," poor Mary murmured; "she would be better when they went
-into the air."
-
-And she did then seem to revive, and entering the carriage, told not a
-word of what had occurred to trouble her; nor hinted the fact of having
-seen Eugene, (if indeed her bewildered fancy had not deceived her), even
-to her brother, when she saw him on the morrow.
-
-No, still in hope and trust, she waited patiently. The very next night
-but one after this occurrence, she was again called for by her sister
-and brother-in-law, to accompany them to the opera, but just re-opened
-for the season.
-
-Oh! the wistful earnestness of that sad eye, straining its aching sight
-to discern some inmate of the opposite boxes, of the stalls below, who,
-for one deceiving moment, made her heart beat fast, by some fancied
-similitude with the object of her thoughts. But no, the vision of the
-night before was not to be renewed on this occasion, though of its
-reality--which at times she was almost inclined to doubt--she was not to
-leave the house quite unassured.
-
-Mary and her sister were waiting in the round room, expecting the return
-of Sir Hugh, who had gone to look for the carriage; Lady Morgan, talking
-to a gentleman with whom she was acquainted, when Mary's attention was
-rivetted by the colloquy between two men, who had previously passed them
-in the vestibule, and near whom they again found themselves standing,
-evidently without the former being aware of their vicinity.
-
-"Oh, yes!" said one, "that was Lady Morgan, the young wife of the rich
-Sir Hugh, the Welsh baronet, more than twice her age; a fine looking
-young woman; but did you see that pale, pretty girl who was with them;
-do you know that she is Miss Seaham, her sister, Eugene Trevor's
-intended."
-
-"Ah, indeed? I saw Trevor to-day, and congratulated him, but I thought
-he did not seem much to like the subject."
-
-"No indeed; I hear he is rather trying to back out of the affair. Some
-spoke in the wheel, I suppose about money matters, and the old father
-who was thought to be dying, seems to have picked up again."
-
-"Well, I should think there were a few things besides money, which would
-rather stand in the way," was the reply, and then the speakers lowered
-their voices as they talked on, and Mary heard--and wished to hear no
-more.
-
-"Dear Agnes, shall we go on? There is Sir Hugh coming," and Lady Morgan
-felt a gentle pressure on her fair round arm, and looking back, caught
-sight once more of her sister's pale and piteous countenance.
-
-"My poor, dear Mary, these places certainly do not suit you," whispered
-her affectionate young _chaperone_, as she passed her sister's trembling
-arm through hers, and pressed onwards through the crowd to meet her
-husband. "I must really carry you back with me as soon as possible to
-our mountain breezes."
-
-"Would that I had never left them, Aggy!" murmured poor Mary in low
-plaintive accents, whilst an uncontrollable flood of tears came to her
-full heart's relief.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-The very next day, Mary set out on one of those expeditions, which at
-this time might be called her only real enjoyment--namely, her visits to
-her brother in his chambers at the Temple; often, as was the case on
-this occasion, to bring him back to dine in Portman Square.
-
-The Majoribanks' chariot, with its fat, slow, sleek horses, and steady
-attendants, being conceded to her special use this evening; she went
-forth heavy at heart, but anxiously striving to rally her spirits, to
-meet her brother with that cheerfulness which in his society she ever
-strove (and found it less difficult than under other circumstances) to
-assume. It was rather early to proceed straight to the Temple, and
-therefore Mary had agreed with her aunt, that she should go first to
-execute some commissions in the opposite direction.
-
-We can easily imagine from what source alone the interest could spring,
-with which her sad eyes gazed through the carriage windows, as she
-passed through some of the streets in this quarter.
-
-Did she not know that somewhere in this vicinity, Eugene always lodged
-when he came to town. And oh! to be passing perhaps the very door of the
-house that contained him, was the gasping utterance of her heart, as she
-swallowed down the tears which struggled upwards at this suggestion.
-
-"But he--he does not care--he can be happy and cheerful without me," was
-the still more bitter thought which succeeded, as she shrank back in the
-carriage in dark and tearless dejection.
-
-But from this she is aroused by one of those matter-of-fact realities of
-common life, which form fortunate and salutary breaks in the tragic, or
-the romance of man's existence.
-
-The carriage stops before a fancy workshop in Bond Street, where many
-colours for her aunt's worsted work are to be matched or chosen.
-
-Mary does not herself alight; but gives a few directions to the well
-initiated footman, who knows perfectly how to give the order--better
-indeed perhaps than she herself--and sits in patient abstraction till
-the man's return. He reappears, puts the parcel into the carriage, then
-draws abruptly back, for some one has touched his arm, and signs that he
-should give place.
-
-Mary languidly lifts her eyes, and Eugene is before her. The place and
-circumstance of this meeting, admitted not at first of any very open
-demonstration of feeling, such as must necessarily have been excited. A
-few low, hurried, agitated sentences were uttered by Trevor, as he bent
-forward into the carriage towards Mary, whose pale lips could scarcely
-articulate incoherent expressions of her sudden joy.
-
-Then, by a peremptory gesture from the gentleman, the servant is
-commanded to let down the steps. He obeys. Trevor springs in. The door
-is closed; a moment's whispered consultation, and in faltering tones
-Mary gives orders to be driven to the Temple, and the carriage rolls off
-in that direction.
-
-Once more alone together--once more by Eugene's side--Mary sees already
-the cloud dispersed--fear, doubt, misgiving, vanished from her path.
-
-How comes it, then, that misery and bewilderment is the confused
-impression which this interview shall afterwards leave upon her mind?
-How is it, that for the most part of that long way, she sits weeping
-silently, her cold hand trembling in the burning palm of Eugene?--he now
-in low, despairing accents bemoaning his grief, his pain--now
-passionately cursing his wretched fortunes, his fatal circumstances?
-
-But no explanation--no hope--no promised deliverance from the sorrow or
-the evil.
-
-Once, indeed, in a low and hurried tone, he breathed into her ear the
-notion of a clandestine marriage--a secret union--one to be kept
-concealed till such a time as the present necessity for secresy should
-be at an end; the idea probably suggested to his mind by passing one of
-those dark, often magnificent, but almost unfrequented churches, so well
-suited, to all appearance, for the celebration of mysterious rites and
-secret ceremonies, which rear their heads in some of the close, dark
-streets of the city. But the firm, though gentle withdrawal of her hand,
-the look of almost cold astonishment which marked her reception of this
-desperate proposition, sufficed to convey to Eugene Trevor's mind the
-full conviction that with all her yielding tenderness, her feminine
-weakness of disposition, never must he hope to tempt his gentle,
-pure-hearted love from the right, straight road of principle and duty
-into any crooked path of deviating, or questionable proceeding.
-
-"No, no, Eugene!" seemed to speak the sadly averted countenance. "No,
-no, Eugene; the grief, the sin, the shame, whatever it may be, that now
-stands between us, can never be set aside, be overstepped by such
-unworthy means as you suggest. I can suffer, I can wait, I can make
-every other sacrifice for your sake; but I cannot err--I cannot thus
-deceive."
-
-But suddenly, during the dreary pause that succeeded, Mary's eye
-recognises some passing object, calling forth a momentary interest in
-her mind, even in this moment of concentrated absorption of feeling.
-
-She makes a quick forward movement of surprise; but when Eugene looked
-inquiringly, as if to discern the cause of her apparent interest, the
-momentary excitement died away, and she answered with melancholy
-composure:
-
-"It was only that I saw Mr. Temple pass--he of whom, you know, I told
-you once."
-
-"What--who--Eus--Temple I mean, did you say? Are you certain--quite
-certain?" he exclaimed, with anxious, eager excitement, far surpassing
-any which the recognition had excited in her own breast; "are you
-sure--quite sure that it was he?"
-
-"Yes" with a sigh; "I do not think I could be mistaken, for he looked so
-earnestly into the carriage; but why--why, Eugene," looking at her lover
-with a faint, melancholy smile, and some expression of surprise, "why
-should it thus excite you?"
-
-"My own dear love," Eugene now said, regaining possession of her hand,
-and trying also to assume a forced smile, as well as tone of careless
-unconcern, "I was not particularly excited, but you know I cannot help
-feeling a slight degree of interest in that man after what you told me.
-And did he see us? you, dearest, I mean?" he continued, still with a
-degree of anxious solicitude in his tone.
-
-"Yes, I think, I am almost sure, he did," she wearily replied, and then
-her exhausted feelings sunk her again into a state of hopeless, listless
-dejection.
-
-And Eugene sat too, for a few minutes, plunged in anxious, thoughtful
-silence, from which he was aroused by a glance towards the windows,
-reminding him that they were approaching closely to Mary's destination.
-
-Immediately, with an exclamation of despair, he pulls the check-string
-and the carriage stops; the servant is at the door. There was but a
-bewildered hasty parting. Trevor springs out into the street, turns upon
-Mary one expressive, eager glance, and he is gone! The carriage
-proceeds a little way, and then rolls within the Temple gates, and Mary
-is found by her brother, when he comes hurrying down to meet her, pale,
-trembling, nearly hysterical, from the effects of all her nerves and
-feelings had undergone.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VI.
-
-    Me, the still "London" not the restless "Town"
-    (The light plume fluttering o'er Cybele's crown,)
-    Delights;--for there the grave romance hath shed
-    Its hues, and air grows solemn with the dead.
-
-    THE NEW TIMON.
-
-
-    Lives of great men all remind us
-      We can make our lives sublime,
-    And, departing, leave behind us
-      Footprints on the sands of time.
-
-    LONGFELLOW.
-
-
-What was the matter?--what had happened?--was Arthur Seaham's anxious
-inquiry, when having for greater privacy entered the carriage, he had
-sat a few minutes by Mary's side, tenderly and soothingly holding her
-hand--till the first paroxysm of emotion, (which to his astonishment
-and dismay, greeted his first appearance) was in a degree subsided.
-
-A few broken words, threw light upon the matter. She had seen--she had
-just parted from Eugene. Arthur pressed no further question at the
-moment, but proposed taking her up-stairs to his chambers, to give her
-wine to recruit the poor girl's agitated spirits; but this Mary
-declined. She only wanted air; she felt suffocated by the heat and
-confinement of the carriage. She would like to get out, and walk home.
-
-But the brother would not agree to this. It would be much too far for
-her to walk just now. No, the carriage should wait, and they might take
-a few turns in the court and gardens. The students were all in
-Hall--they would be quite undisturbed. To the court then they
-accordingly proceeded, Mary leaning on her brother's arm, and the quiet
-refreshment of that quaint old spot, upon this mild spring evening; its
-fresh green grass plot, sparkling fountain and overhanging elms, just
-then putting forth their early shoots, and between which the venerable
-walls and buttresses, of the Temple Hall, revealed their sober beauties;
-the sweet notes of a thrush sounding from the garden below. All these
-combined, affording as it did, so strong a contrast to the din, stir,
-and turmoil from without, as well as the bewildering disquiet and
-agitation through which her mind had lately passed, did not fail to
-produce its soothing influence on poor Mary's nerves and spirits; and
-seated upon one of the benches of the court, she was able, with
-tolerable composure, to unburden the trouble of her heart to that dear,
-kind brother, till it became almost a soothing relief to dilate upon the
-distressing, and unsatisfactory nature of the late interview with her
-lover.
-
-Arthur listened sorrowfully and compassionately to his sister's
-melancholy relation of the blight, which had fallen on the unalloyed
-happiness of which he had found her in such full enjoyment on his return
-to England. He remembered her bright and happy countenance then--and the
-change it now exhibited, so touched and saddened the young man's
-feelings at the time, that he only held Mary's hand, and sympathized,
-soothed, and cheered with words of encouragement--neither expressing
-blame, anger, or suspicion, against the originating source of all this
-woe.
-
-But at length when Mary said: "And now, dear Arthur, I want
-you to assist me, I think something should be done--something
-ascertained--anything will be better than this miserable state of
-uncertainty and suspense," he looked up quickly with a sudden, impatient
-flash from his bright blue eye, and answered:
-
-"Yes indeed, Mary. I think so too, something must, and shall be done."
-
-"But listen to me dear Arthur," she continued mildly. "What I should
-wish to ascertain would be, whether, under the present circumstances of
-affairs--whatever they may be--Eugene's engagement to me, involves him
-in any unforseen trouble or annoyance; for," she added very sadly, "if I
-thought that were the case--"
-
-"Would you give him up?" her brother quickly rejoined, with something of
-pleasurable hope lighting up his countenance, as he seized upon the idea
-suggested.
-
-"Give him up! Oh, cruel words and easily spoken!" Mary averted her head,
-but with a deep drawn sigh, and forced calmness, continued: "I could
-never give Eugene up, unless," and again a sorrowful sigh, as she
-thought upon similar words spoken in a formerly recorded conversation,
-"unless Eugene himself desired it; or, that I discovered it was
-necessary or expedient, to his comfort or prosperity that I should do
-so. If it were really so; or, should it be more for his ease that some
-definite period, one of any length, or duration, should be agreed upon,
-for the postponement of our marriage, he need not fancy I should
-impatiently shrink from such an engagement. And it is this, that I
-should like to be conveyed to Eugene. I would write--but writing is so
-very painful, and unsatisfactory, under such circumstances; I can quite
-enter into poor Eugene's feelings on that point. I would ask you, dear
-Arthur, to go and speak to him--if," and she looked anxiously into her
-brother's face, "if I could be _quite certain_, if I could quite trust
-you in the matter--if I could be perfectly sure that you would not
-allow your jealous affection for myself, to outrun your kindness and
-consideration towards Eugene. Arthur, if you went to him could you
-promise. Oh, I am sure you will not take from me the stay, and comfort,
-I can in this emergency feel alone in you--you will promise that no
-harsh, reproachful, or uncourteous word shall escape your lips, on the
-subject of my concerns."
-
-"Mary, dear," the young man replied with still somewhat of a knit and
-moody brow, "I will do anything to serve and please you; but I only want
-open and straight forward dealings in this affair. It is all this
-equivocating, tantalizing mystery that I can neither abide or
-understand. But," he continued, as Mary again droopingly listened to his
-words, "I am not so selfish as to let any impatient temper of my own,
-stand in the way of your comfort or gratification; I will do all that
-you desire. I will go to Trevor, and _on this occasion_, act and speak,
-as from your own trusting, loving, self."
-
-Mary's spirit was again calmed and revived by this promise of her
-brother's, and after a little more anxious conversation on the subject,
-Arthur Seaham sought further to compose her spirits and divert her mind,
-before leaving the classic spot in which they found themselves. He
-conducted her down the Italian descent into the garden with the broad
-river gliding sluggishly below that parterre, which in the summer months
-from its trees and flowers, is so deserving of the name, but which a
-poet's hand has made to bloom with "roses above the real."
-
-He strove also to excite and amuse her intelligent fancy by pointing
-out, and particularizing some of the principal points and buildings of
-this ancient and interesting seat of learning, ran over the names of
-those, who from "the great of old," to more modern, but none the less
-eminent instances, had either in connection with law, literature, or
-wit, graced or sanctified its precincts by their presence and abode. And
-he playfully asserted that, amongst those, he, Arthur Seaham, intended
-most surely one day to rank.
-
-"Bye the bye, talking of great men, Mary," the young man suddenly
-exclaimed, "from whom do you think I have had a visit, to-day? From Mr.
-Temple."
-
-"Indeed!" answered Mary, with no slight display of interest, "then I was
-right, it really was him who passed us just now."
-
-"Yes, no doubt it was, for he had scarcely left me a quarter of an hour,
-before you arrived; he is on the eve of leaving England for the
-continent, and came, I fancy, to carry away the latest intelligence
-concerning you, Mary; for he made anxious enquiry with regard to your
-marriage, the report of which, it seems, reached his ears; though it
-appears he left Wales some months ago, and has since been living, in
-great seclusion, in some quiet, antiquated nook, in this very
-neighbourhood. Mary, what can be the history of that man? What a
-superior being does his countenance, his whole bearing, bespeak him to
-be, and yet--that some blight has fallen upon his existence, is but too
-evident. He gives one the idea of some being led forth from a higher
-sphere,
-
-    "'To act some other spirit's destiny,
-    Not allowed to hit the scope
-    At which their nature aims--
-    Who pass away,'"
-
-continued the young man, in the words of the suggested quotation:
-
-          "'Having in themselves
-    A better destiny all unfulfilled,
-    A holier, milder being, unenvolved!'
-
-"But, dear Mary, he is much altered since I saw him last. He was then
-like one in whom suffering had been nobly subdued, a holy calm seemed to
-have settled on his soul, a strength, not his own, to have been
-vouchsafed him. To-day he looked ill in body, and worn in mind. I cannot
-but think that since that time he has suffered, and is still suffering,
-from some newly arisen source of pain, or disquietude; and my dear
-sister," Arthur added, with a smile of playful accusation, "I cannot
-help suspecting that you have something to do with the distress, now
-weighing on the mind of this remarkable, but most mysterious man. The
-agitation of his voice and manner when he spoke of you, Mary, was not
-to be concealed."
-
-"Oh, Arthur, do not say so!" Mary exclaimed, with sorrowful earnestness,
-shrinking from the idea of herself being the cause of sufferings, such
-as she now so well could understand, but especially to that good, great,
-and almost venerated man. "And what did you tell him about my
-engagement?" she faintly enquired.
-
-"All I knew, Mary; with him I felt reserve to be both useless and
-unnecessary. He listened to my intelligence with the greatest interest
-and attention, but in silence, and almost immediately after, arose to
-take his leave. I ventured to add, that I was sure it would have given
-you pleasure to have seen him. He shook his head with a sad smile, and
-said, 'he had seen _you_ more than once since you came to London.' Dear
-Mary, you seem as if doomed to mystery in your lovers; and shall I tell
-you something more singular still? I was much struck by something in
-Temple which strongly reminded me of Trevor. Not exactly feature, and
-not at all expression, but a something I cannot well define."
-
-Mary sadly shook her head. There had been at times some vague impression
-of the same kind made upon her own mind; but at present fancy was too
-languid to realise the suggestion.
-
-They returned to the carriage, for though the early dinner-hour of their
-kind, old-fashioned relations had been deferred expressly for their
-nephew's convenience, they almost feared that they should even now have
-trespassed on the good old people's consideration.
-
-But Mary regretfully parted from the calm and silent spot, over which
-the shades of evening were now fast gathering, imparting a still greater
-air of solemn tranquillity to the scene. And often in days to come, when
-the poignant anguish then and there so softened and assuaged, had again
-died away, never to be recalled by the powers of memory--the place, and
-the hour, would float back upon her recollection--like the oasis
-amidst the parching sterility of the desert, to the grateful
-traveller--divested of all but their vague soothing and pleasurable
-associations.
-
-On their way back to Arthur's chamber door, they fell in with several of
-his fellow students, just coming out of Hall.
-
-They all respectfully stepped aside, and made way for "Seaham and his
-sister."
-
-Arthur had already rendered himself not only a most popular and general
-favourite, but much respected, member of the Temple community, by his
-sociable, engaging--yet at the same time, steady, gentlemanly, and
-superior conduct and deportment.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VII.
-
-    Oh, what authority and show of truth
-    Can cunning sin cover itself withal!
-
-    SHAKESPEARE.
-
-
-    Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill,
-    Bend the straight rule to their own crooked will.
-
-    COWPER.
-
-
-That same night, Arthur Seaham called on Eugene Trevor at the hotel, in
-which he had easily ascertained the latter to be established.
-
-He did not entertain much hope of finding him at home at that hour, but
-purposed proceeding there to demand an interview the following day. He
-was more fortunate than he expected.
-
-He was told that Mr. Trevor was in the house, and it was not a little in
-Eugene's favour (in the brother's eyes) that he found him seated in a
-private room in the hotel, plunged in melancholy meditation, over the
-remains of a solitary dinner.
-
-He looked up a little startled and surprised, when the name of his
-visitor was announced; but immediately arose, and shook hands cordially
-with the young man, expressing his pleasure at seeing him again. Then
-when the waiter, who staid to clear the table, had withdrawn and closed
-the door, and Arthur, who had replied to his greeting with somewhat of
-distant gravity, had seated himself silently on an opposite chair,
-Trevor at once, with eyes a little averted, said:
-
-"Seaham, I can well guess what business has brought you here to-night.
-You come, of course, to speak upon the subject of your sister."
-
-"I have come _to-night, from_ my sister," was the calm, but somewhat
-emphasized reply.
-
-"Indeed!" with a nervous uncertainty in his tone, which had not been
-perceptible in his former utterance. "She, Mary, told you, I suppose, of
-that most wretched meeting this afternoon."
-
-"She did," Arthur Seaham again coldly replied; "and it was the nature of
-that meeting which made her desirous to communicate with you, through
-me, feeling herself unequal to treat the subject, as fully and
-satisfactorily as she had wished, by letter."
-
-He again paused; and Trevor fixed his eyes upon the young man's face in
-anxious, agitated inquiry.
-
-"You cannot suppose," Arthur continued, with an effort at calm
-moderation in his tone, "that the interview to which you allude was
-calculated much to raise my sister's spirits, or throw much light on her
-present clouded and uncertain prospects."
-
-Trevor bowed his head in moody assent.
-
-"You are quite right," he muttered gloomily, a darkness gathering over
-his brow; "and it is but natural that you, her brother, should require,
-and demand, further explanation and satisfaction."
-
-"_That_, I again repeat, is not the point which brought me here on _this
-occasion_," Arthur rejoined. "I come, bound by a promise to my sister,
-to speak and act this night, as in her name and person, therefore, you
-can rest well assured," with a mingling of bitterness and tender feeling
-in his tone, "that in her case no explanation or satisfaction is
-required. No, rather, I have to assure you, that her trust and
-confidence still remain unmoved, and only for your own sake does she now
-desire and propose, that matters should be put on a more defined and
-certain footing; either that she should not be suffered to stand any
-longer in the way of your happiness or advantage, by the continuance of
-your now vague and uncertain engagement, or----"
-
-But Trevor, with much eager agitation, at this point interrupted him.
-
-"Mary--your sister," he exclaimed, "she surely cannot, does not wish to
-give me up?"
-
-The brother looked steadily into the speaker's face, as if to ascertain
-that the emotion, which by his tone and manner bespoke the excitement
-this suggestion had caused, was truthfully imaged there; and on the
-whole he was not dissatisfied by the inspection; at least, if the deep
-glow first overspreading his brow, and then the ashy paleness
-succeeding, could be interpreted as corresponding signs of feeling; and
-he replied, though with something of suppressed bitterness:
-
-"Her unselfish, womanly nature does not carry her so far. She is willing
-to make any sacrifice of her own feelings, her happiness, her affections
-if assured that it would tend to the removal of those--of course
-unforeseen, difficulties and annoyances"--with some severe stress upon
-the latter words, "which your engagement to her seems suddenly to have
-been the means of scattering on your path. Or if not this," he hastily
-added, as Trevor again made an effort to interrupt him, "or if not this,
-at least she proposes that some definite period be assigned, during
-which full opportunity and leisure be accorded you for the arrangement
-or removal of the present obstacles to your marriage."
-
-Trevor rose abruptly, and for, several minutes paced the apartment in
-agitated silence. Then he returned to his seat, and with more calm
-determination addressed his companion.
-
-"Seaham!" he said, bending low his head as he spoke, with his downcast
-eyes only at intervals raised from the ground, "Seaham, let me explain
-to you a little the circumstances of my present position, and then you
-will be better able to comprehend the embarrassing perplexity of my
-affairs."
-
-Arthur looked up hopefully--now at least some light was to be thrown on
-the impenetrable mystery of the few last months.
-
-"It is a painful subject," continued Trevor, speaking indeed as if with
-difficulty; "but I must not shrink from breaking it now to you. You are
-aware of the situation of my unfortunate brother?"
-
-Seaham murmured assent.
-
-"And therefore of the ambiguous position in which I at the same time
-stand, with regard to my father's property--"
-
-Arthur again assented, but observed, that Mr. de Burgh had certainly
-given him reason to suppose, that he--Mr. Eugene Trevor's possession of
-the Montrevor property after his father's death--at least, in trust for
-his elder brother, was almost a decided arrangement, and that his
-inheritance to the most considerable part of his father's large fortune
-was certain; but whether or not this were the case, his sister's friends
-had been perfectly satisfied that even as a younger son, he must be
-amply provided for. Eugene hastened to interrupt Arthur Seaham by
-saying:
-
-"And believe me, when I declare, that till the day I parted from your
-sister at Silverton, I never entertained a misgiving as to the
-possibility of any such obstacle, as I then, to my dismay, found to
-exist against the speedy completion of my marriage. The state of the
-case is this: My father is, and has ever been, very peculiar in his
-pecuniary views and arrangements. He has, as you were made to
-understand, most surely, and decidedly favoured me, with regard to the
-inheritance. I do stand in every possible respect in the position of an
-elder son; but at the same time, he has more than nullified any present
-advantage such an arrangement could procure for me, by having so
-arranged his affairs, that during his lifetime I have, under the present
-circumstances, no power to make any settlement on my wife."
-
-"Under what circumstances?" quietly demanded the embryo lawyer.
-
-"That brings me again to that one most painful point. If the present
-state of my unfortunate brother was clearly ascertained, then, perhaps,
-proceedings, from which our feelings in the first instance shrunk, might
-be taken, which would effectually do away with the ambiguity of my
-present circumstances and position."
-
-"And why cannot the fact you mention be ascertained?" persisted Arthur,
-though in a tone of the most delicate consideration.
-
-"Because," answered Trevor, with a hesitation and embarrassment of
-manner, which passed well for painful emotion, "because, for the last
-few years, my brother has entirely eluded the _surveillance_ of his
-friends and guardians. No clue can be found, no trace of him discovered.
-Every search and enquiry has been--and still is in prosecution; some
-doubts even are entertained as to his death." He paused; then passing
-his hand over his brow, as if to prevent further discussion of a subject
-against which his feelings sensitively shrank, he finally added: "My
-lawyer will confirm what I have said, concerning the exertions I have
-made on this point, if you like to refer to him," and he mentioned the
-name and address of the family man of business.
-
-Arthur Seaham mused in silence for several minutes; then said:
-
-"I am therefore to understand, that during the life time of your father,
-or till your brother's destination is ascertained, no further steps can
-be taken with regard to your marriage. One circumstance rather surprises
-me, that your father, aware as he must have been of the restraint thus
-imposed upon your powers of making a settlement upon your wife, allowed
-you to involve yourself so far in a matrimonial engagement. Nay, seemed
-in a certain degree to favour, and encourage your design."
-
-"That" Trevor replied, "I fear is only to be understood by those, who
-are as well acquainted with the peculiar points of my father's
-disposition as myself. The quiet manner in which he took the
-intelligence of my intended marriage, I own surprised me at the time,
-knowing his extreme aversion to any measure, or proceeding, calculated
-in the least degree, to touch upon his ruling passion, or as I may now
-term it in his present stage of existence--his ruling weakness; that is
-to say, any measure that would in the least degree disturb, or infringe
-upon the close and arbitrary arrangements of his financial
-affairs--arrangements which it is the one business of his existence to
-maintain inviolate and undisturbed. I now discover how little cause I
-had to thank him for his seemingly easy acquiescence in my intended
-marriage, and that he has treated me," he added in a subdued and injured
-tone, "far from well or kindly in the matter."
-
-"And you are entirely dependant on his--as it seems most tyrannical
-pleasure?" demanded Seaham, an angry flush mounting to his brow; the
-position in which the cruel, sordid, cunning of the old man's conduct
-had placed his sister, making the most impression on his feelings.
-
-"Most unfortunately so!" was Trevor's reply; "it has been the aim, and
-purpose, of my father's existence to render his children, and all those
-with whom he had to do, as much as possible dependant on his most
-arbitrary and capricious will. You would not think this perhaps, to
-behold him now--to all appearance, that meek and mild old man. But so
-it is; see him as I have lately seen him, on what was supposed to be his
-dying bed, and you would then have full proof and specimen before your
-eyes of the ruling passion strong in death."
-
-"From all this then--I am to conclude," said Arthur Seaham, "that one of
-the two arrangements suggested by my sister are the only alternatives;
-either," and he looked again steadily into Eugene's face, "that you give
-up at once all further engagement."
-
-"To that!" interrupted Trevor, starting from his seat in sudden
-excitement, "to that, tell your sister," he exclaimed passionately, "I
-cannot, _will not consent_. Remind her of the promise she once made to
-me upon the subject, and tell her, that on my part, no power on earth
-shall compel me to give her up. No," he murmured, his eye gleaming
-around from beneath his now darkened brow, as if seeking to address with
-dark defiance some hidden foe, "no threats, no vengeful malice shall
-ever force me to do that."
-
-Seaham regarded him with surprise, but thought to himself: "This man
-certainly loves my sister with a strength and sincerity not to be
-mistaken," and then with rather softened feeling, he said:
-
-"But you will agree perhaps to her other proposition?"
-
-"I do--I must," with eager energy, "there is as you observed, no other
-alternative. Say, some months--perhaps a year. In that time much may be
-effected."
-
-Trevor leant his elbow upon the mantelpiece, and pressed his brow upon
-his hand, in unquiet thought. Seaham rose.
-
-"A year then," he repeated, "for a year, I may tell my sister you agree
-to the necessity of postponing matters. During that time," he added with
-marked significance, "I shall be constantly to be found in London."
-
-"And your sister?" Trevor eagerly demanded.
-
-"Mary will very shortly proceed to Scotland, where she may probably
-remain some time with my sister who lives in Edinburgh."
-
-"What, so far?" Trevor exclaimed impatiently.
-
-"I cannot see," the brother replied with some _hauteur_, "that a greater
-vicinity under present circumstances, would be either necessary or
-desireable. Interviews for instance, such as the one by which my
-sister's feelings were so distressed to-day, can be neither for her
-happiness or advantage."
-
-Trevor had no more to say. He shook hands with Arthur, who appeared to
-have no further desire to remain. Like one subdued and exhausted in mind
-and body, almost silently he suffered the young man to take his leave.
-
-Seaham merely repeated that he should be found, or could be referred to
-at any time at the Temple, and in a few moments had quitted the hotel.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VIII.
-
-    Let us then be up and doing,
-      With a heart for any fate,
-    Still achieving, still pursuing,
-      Learn to labour and to wait.
-
-    LONGFELLOW.
-
-
-In less than a fortnight from the period of this interview, Mary
-escorted by her brother-in-law, Mr. Gillespie, who had been in London on
-business, left England for Edinburgh.
-
-This plan was much more accordant with her state of feeling at this
-period, than would have been that of accompanying her sister Agnes into
-Wales, as the latter was so affectionately anxious she should have done.
-
-It would have been melancholy for her just then to have found her dear
-old home, Glan Pennant, in the hands of strangers, and there is
-something still more melancholy to the feelings in revisiting familiar
-scenes, associated as they may be in the mind with naught but happy
-careless memories, when over the spirit of our dream has passed like a
-blight some subduing change, such as was now overshadowing Mary's
-happiness.
-
-    "It wrings the heart to see each thing the same,
-    Tread over the same steps, and then to find
-    The difference in the heart. It is so sad,
-    So very lonely to be the sole one
-    In whom there is a sign of change."
-
-Besides it was very long since she had seen her sister Alice, so tied to
-home by her many domestic cares and duties.
-
-Agnes' life was one as yet all holiday enjoyment--her heart bounding
-with delight at the prospect of an establishment in her beautiful
-country home--in her own dear neighbourhood.
-
-"There was no sorrow in her note"--and Mary perceived and rejoiced in
-the conviction that her younger sister's happiness needed no additional
-weight. Next to being happy herself, she desired most the power of
-bestowing happiness on others, and a real pleasure she knew would be her
-presence to that excellent elder sister. She would seek in some degree
-to aid and lighten her cares and avocations. It would have been better
-perhaps had she gone there, long ago. But could she bring her heart to
-accede to this assumption?
-
-Oh, no! not yet--not now--not ever could that be.
-
-    "I hold it true, what'er betide,
-    I feel it when I sorrow most,
-    'Tis better to have lov'd and lost
-    Than never to have loved at all."
-
-This, rather we assume, was the language of that faithful heart, still
-clinging too tenderly to the intense happiness of the past, to grudge
-the anguish of its bewildering reverse.
-
-Clouds had arisen to obscure the heaven of her certain happiness--her
-once full hope had been deferred, but the day of despondency or of
-sickening weariness had not yet arrived.
-
-Her lover's explanatory interview with her brother had effectually
-cleared, from her all believing mind, many a vague dread and anxious
-misgiving, which at one time were beginning to disturb her spirit; and
-again she could set herself to wait patiently, buoyed up by her all
-enduring love--her steadfast entire trust. But this hope, and trust,
-beautiful in themselves, could they be set alone on the frail and
-futile creature?
-
-"Hope in the Lord, wait patiently for Him, and he shall give thee thy
-heart's desire. Commit thy way unto Him, and trust in Him, and He will
-bring it to pass."
-
-Surely Mary's meek obedient soul, must have drawn its greatest strength
-and patience from the dictates of this high and holy invocation.
-
-There was too, something perhaps most providentially salutary and
-effective, in the atmosphere of the home, where at this particular
-moment Mary had been led to take up her abode.
-
-Here in the example afforded by her sister Alice's adaptation, and
-appropriation of herself--her tastes, and her talents, to that one
-ultimate end of all, feelings and powers; the performance of her duty,
-in that state of life which had been assigned to her--Mary's gentle
-mind, too prone perhaps, by nature to rest in passive enjoyment, and in
-the barren luxury of emotions, might receive a lesson, strengthening and
-benificial for its future need.
-
-    "That life is not all poetry
-    To gentle measures set,"
-
-    "That Heaven must be won, not dreamed."
-
-How a mind and character, that from amongst all her sisters, had been
-the one most answering to her own, had effectually roused itself from
-the shadowy Paradise of her earlier years, to meet the real demands of
-life--to embrace its actual duties, and defy its uncongenial pains--and
-not only this, but to find therein, more than in the pleasanter summer
-paths of earlier days, or in those refined indulgences in which her
-spirit still loved at times to cherish, true happiness and peace.
-
-    "I have found peace in the bright earth,
-      And in the sunny sky,
-    I have found it in the summer seas,
-      And where dreams murmur by.
-
-    "I find it in the quiet tone
-      Of voices that I love,
-    By the flickering of a twilight fire,
-      And in a leafless grove.
-
-    "I find it in the silent flow
-      Of solitary thought,
-    In calm, half-meditated dreams,
-      And reasonings self-taught.
-
-    "But seldom have I found such peace
-      As in the soul's deep joy,
-    Of passing onward free from harm,
-     Through every day's employ."
-
-And even her brother-in-law, Mr. Gillespie, though of a less kindred
-soul, and with those matter of fact and prosaic points of
-character--attributes in his case, both national and professional. Even
-in his companionship, she found something bracing and effectual, such as
-she might not have done with more yielding and indulgent friends.
-
-Her darling brother--it had been her former happy dream to pass her
-unmarried days in his companionship; and she might have been with him
-now, had it not been deemed, at present, neither convenient or
-expedient.
-
-She must in that case have shared her brother's chambers in London; and
-at her age, and under her peculiar circumstances, such an arrangement
-could scarcely be available, without being an interruption to her
-brother's important studies and pursuits, though he would have made any
-present sacrifice for his sister's sake.
-
-Ah, yes! or why did he turn his eyes so steadily from a sight so
-fascinating to his heart as was that cherub face, which often looked
-down upon him from a pew of the Temple Church--or bravely resist the
-flattering attention and repeated hospitalities of the eminent counsel,
-that cherub's father, in whose house--
-
-    "He saw her upon nearer view,
-    A spirit, but a woman too,"
-
-and who seemed in every way inclined to bestow her notice on the
-promising, agreeable student of the Middle Temple?
-
-Why?--but because he determined to allow no cherub face to usurp the
-foremost place in his affections, no "ladye love," with form however
-beautiful, to become the reigning, mistress of his house and hearth
-until that beloved sister of his youth had secured a dearer, better
-home.
-
-Besides, under any circumstances, he was not such a fool as to think of
-marrying for many a year yet; a pretty business it would be if over the
-dingy pages of Blackstone, and the year book, was for ever flitting the
-bewitching, radiant face of Carrie Elliott.
-
-Thus, then, for a time shall we leave our heroine, whose fortunes, like
-the gentle flowing course of a glistening river, we have hitherto so
-undeviatingly pursued; whilst we turn aside, not willingly, to trace
-through their darker, wilder mazes, the fate and fortunes of those two
-beings, whom an inscrutable Providence had ordained should hold such
-important influence over her destiny.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IX.
-
-    Farewell; and if a soul where hatred's gall
-    Melts into pardon, that embalmeth all,
-    Can with forgiveness bless thee; from remorse
-    Can pluck the stone which interrupts the course
-    Of thought to God; and bid the waters rest
-    Calm in Heaven's smile--poor fellow-man, be blest!
-
-    THE NEW TIMON.
-
-
-Eugene Trevor was fated to encounter another interview of importance
-before he laid down to rest that night, or rather morning, succeeding
-the meeting with Arthur Seaham.
-
-He had gone forth, very soon after the departure of the latter, to seek
-diversion for his disturbed and troubled spirit by excitement--that most
-common resource of man under similar circumstances--offered in the shape
-of those amusements belonging to the sporting club of which he was a
-member.
-
-He returned to the hotel more than one hour after midnight, to be
-informed that a gentleman was waiting to see him on particular business.
-
-"At this time of night?" was the impatient reply. "Who in the world can
-it be?"
-
-The gentleman had not given his name; he had come more than two hours
-ago, but had expressed his intention of remaining to await Mr. Trevor's
-return.
-
-Eugene, with a certain uncomfortable feeling of misgiving at his heart,
-proceeded to the apartment into which his unseasonable visitor had been
-shown. Two candles burnt dimly on the table. Dark, pale, haggard, as the
-imperfect light gleamed upon his features, looked the lover of the
-gentle Mary, thus returning from those midnight excitements in which he
-had plunged to dispel too haunting thoughts and vivid memories connected
-with her pure and holy image; but a something of strange and startled
-wildness was added to their expression, as his eyes fixed themselves
-first uncertainly--and then gradually and clearly identified the face
-and form of him who stood up to receive him--that tall, commanding form,
-before which his own seemed to shrink into insignificance--that face,
-as pale as was his own, but from before whose calm, steady gaze his eyes
-for an instant quailed so fearfully.
-
-"Eustace!"--"Eugene!" were the only words or signs of greeting exchanged
-between them, and Trevor, as if momentarily overcome by the emotions
-excited by the _rencontre_ with his mysterious visitor, sank upon a
-chair by the table, and with perturbed and agitated demeanour, passed
-his burning hand across his heated brow; whilst the other still stood
-erect, looking down upon him with that stern and steady eye, almost
-appalling in its intensity.
-
-"To what am I indebted for this visit?" Eugene murmured at length, in
-hoarse and sullen accents, slightly lifting up his head. "I thought--"
-
-"You thought," replied the same deep, rich voice we last heard sounding
-(though then in very different accents,) upon the Welsh hill side in
-Mary Seaham's ear. "You thought, Eugene, that before this coming dawn,
-many leagues of sea would be between us. And so it would have been, had
-you not your own self broken the promise which bound me to that vow."
-
-"Pshaw!" was the reply, in accents of impatient irony "a mere
-accidental, unavoidable meeting, whose only fruit was the further to
-overwhelm with despairing wretchedness her, for whose happiness and
-welfare you profess such _disinterested_ regard."
-
-"Yes!" was the calm, unmoved reply. "I saw her face turned towards me at
-the time, that face I had used to behold serene, happy, innocent as the
-angels in Heaven, and in its woeful change I read--"
-
-"Your own most righteous work," interrupted Eugene, with a bitter
-mocking laugh. "Had you seen her some time past, before the day when
-you, like a spirit of evil, stepped in between us, you might have beheld
-a sight which perhaps had pleased you even less; that angel face
-brightened and beautified by her love for _me_."
-
-"You are right, it would have pleased me even less, it would have seemed
-to my eyes, like the dove spreading her silver plumes, all glittering in
-the treacherous sunshine, to meet the vulture who has marked it for its
-prey. Yet to-day, I seemed not to read upon that pale and tear-stained
-countenance, the mere passing misery of the moment--that misery of
-which I wish not to deny having been myself the inflictor--but that
-which I might have seen--that which I once saw settled on a mother's
-face; or still more haunting, terrible, impression, the despairing
-misery one might image of a fallen angel, dragged down from her high
-estate, by an unholy, unnatural alliance with a spirit of another
-sphere. For, Eugene, your own heart, your own conscience must convict
-you, that light with darkness, righteousness with unrighteousness,
-Christ with Belial, have as much in common, as yourself, your nature,
-your life, your principles, have to do with those of Mary Seaham; and
-that to unite yourself with her, would be, I repeat, either to draw her
-down to your own level--or, more blessed alternative, to break her
-heart. But both of these destinies I had hoped to have seen averted. You
-had assured me, it was easier for you to resign that 'mess of pottage'
-as you slightingly denominated the inestimable treasure your soul had
-greedily, but more harmlessly marked as your own, than the birthright of
-which you were iniquitously possessed. You had assured me, that you
-would find plausible means--and in that, I doubted not your powers, or
-your will, if it were but to serve your own interest--to break off, not
-only your engagement, but all further communication with Mary Seaham;
-but, Eugene, I _doubt_ you. My back once turned--my _espionage_
-abandoned, as I promised it should be, from the time I set my foot on
-another shore, what will there then be to bound or restrain your
-grasping, avaricious desires. I shall find myself twice trampled in the
-dust, and Mary," his voice trembled as he spoke, "she whom I would save
-from a fate, in my eyes, worse than death, she become your prize, your
-sacrifice, your victim."
-
-He whom Eustace thus severely addressed, retained a moment's moody
-defiant silence.
-
-"Your intention then, is to remain in England," he said at length, with
-an assumption of haughty unconcern, though there might be perceived a
-quivering of the eyelids, and an expression of anxious perturbation in
-his downcast glance. "The old man," with trembling irony in his tone,
-"will doubtless receive you gladly, and there will be nothing to retard
-the nuptials of Mary and myself."
-
-"No, nothing, if she--if Mary Seaham can consent to wed the man"--he
-slightly unbared his wrist--"the man who has done this--the man whose
-name must henceforth ring in her ears as a proverb, a reproach, a
-by-word through the paths of society--the man whose very children shall
-rise up and scorn him--whom God and man must alike reprobate and
-condemn."
-
-Eugene Trevor shrank back as from before some deadly serpent discovered
-to his view. His eye quailed fearfully--his lips and cheek became of a
-livid, ashy hue.
-
-"Eustace," he murmured, in a voice of almost abject
-deprecation--"Eustace, your feelings of revenge and hatred carry you too
-far. You have repented of the agreement made between us, and have come
-thus to threaten and intimidate me. _I_ never meant to draw back from my
-part of the engagement; but if my promise has no weight in your
-consideration, how am I to give you further pledge of my sincerity? I
-swear to you," he continued, eagerly, "that, during the meeting to-day
-with Mary Seaham, into which I was accidentally surprised, I held out no
-hope--no promise which could give her reason to suppose that the
-obstacle to our marriage could now or ever be removed. We parted with
-that understanding; and to-night," he spoke in a low and hurried voice,
-"she sent her brother here to break off our engagement, which could only
-be maintained on such uncertain, uncomfortable terms."
-
-"And you consented?"
-
-"What else had I to do?"
-
-"Now may Heaven be praised," was the low, deep, earnest answer--the
-voice of the speaker swelling as into a strain of rich, clear music;
-whilst with upraised eyes, and countenance lit up with holy adoration,
-he thus ejaculated: "Now Heaven be praised, who sends His angels to
-protect his little ones from the powers and spirits of darkness!
-Eugene," he proceeded, again turning to his companion, but with a
-subdued and softened expression, "you, too, thank your God, that from
-this additional sin you have been mercifully preserved; from that
-offence which it were better that a millstone were hung about your neck
-than that you should commit. You, too, have your reward: take it. I
-leave it in your hands. I will trouble you no more. Home, name, country,
-and heritage, I willingly resign; but remember, on that one condition.
-Retain it only inviolate, for from the ends of the world, its broken
-faith, its most secret violation, would recall me. Farewell, Eugene!
-Should we never meet again on earth, believe that I forgive you all
-offences against me. Nor put down either to revenge, or even _madness_,
-that which He who seeth the heart will, I humbly trust, justify in the
-eyes of men and angels, before His judgment throne, on the last great
-day of account; and there and then, where sin and wrong, and
-wretchedness, shall be done away, may we both meet sanctified,
-reconciled, and renewed."
-
-He was gone. No other parting sign was given; and he, who had now added
-one more sin to the already dark catalogue of his offences, the purchase
-of his freedom from a dreaded evil by a lie, was left darkling and
-alone.
-
-As those two had met, so they parted--those two men whom our readers may
-already have divined were brothers.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER X.
-
-    True, earnest sorrows; rooted miseries;
-    .... vexations, ripe and blown,
-    Sure-footed griefs; solid calamities;
-    Plain demonstrations, evident and clear,
-    Touching their proofs e'en from the very bone--
-    These are the sorrows here.
-
-    HERBERT.
-
-
-More than six and thirty years have passed since Mr. Trevor, the present
-proprietor of Montrevor, had taken to himself a wife, young, lovely, of
-good family, and endowed with much excellence, both of mind and
-disposition.
-
-Miss Mainwaring had consented, in obedience to her parents' wishes, to
-bestow her hand upon this rich and handsome suitor, death having
-deprived her of the first object of her young affections.
-
-Of a gentle and confiding disposition, she had not doubted but that one
-so pleasing and gentlemanly in his manners and demeanour in society, so
-assiduous and devoted in his attentions during courtship, would prove an
-amiable, affectionate husband; and that in resigning her future destiny
-into his hands, she was securing to herself that calm happiness to
-which, (the first bright dreams of youth mellowed and subdued), she
-alone aspired.
-
-Her trust was deceived--her hopes disappointed; too soon was it revealed
-to her sick heart that Henry Trevor, the courteous and agreeable member
-of society, was not the same Henry Trevor of domestic life; that Henry
-Trevor the lover, was a very different person to Henry Trevor the
-husband; that she had been wedded--for her beauty?--no; woman's natural
-vanity might have forgiven that:--for her fortune? no; that was
-comparatively insignificant to count much, even in the close
-calculations of him, into whose well-stored coffers it was carelessly
-flung:--for her gentle virtues, her superior qualities of mind?--no,--no
-abstract love of these had had their part in her lover's choice; but
-because in the submissive spirit--in the mild and gentle character of
-her he saw as one
-
-    "By suffering made sweet and meek,"
-
-he had thought to find a fitting subject for his purpose and his
-will--one easy to be bent, moulded, crushed, if it were necessary, into
-the slave and minister of his favourite lust--his ruling passion--his
-besetting sin--the grasping, covetous, all-devouring love of money!
-
-Scared and dismayed at the prospect opened, like some dark gulf so
-suddenly before her eyes, Mrs. Trevor yielded nevertheless, not without
-an effort, to the fate into which she had been betrayed. She had that
-within her, a degree of sense and spirit, which moved her in her early
-marriage days to use the gentle influence she hoped in some degree to
-have obtained over her husband's affections; to effect some change in
-the general system of affairs she saw daily growing up around her, as
-well as to assert and maintain her own gentle dignity and comparative
-independence as a woman and a wife.
-
-Alas! she knew not the nature of the being with whom she had to cope; it
-was but as the falcon-hunted dove, fluttering within the fowler's
-snare, or beneath the vulture's claw, the cords are but the tighter
-drawn--the grasp more crushingly extended, till the victim feeling his
-impotence to resist, resigns itself powerless to its fate. Mrs. Trevor
-struggled no more. All thought of influence was at an end, except indeed
-that which her gentle virtues, her submissive tears, like the droppings
-of water upon a stone, might in time be permitted to effect.
-
-Her wounded affections withdrew into the still sanctuary of her own
-mind, whilst in patient meekness she performed her duties as a wife.
-This was all Mr. Trevor required. He had gained his point; he had bent
-her to his will. She superintended and accommodated herself to the close
-and grinding economy he exacted in his house. She sacrificed all
-extravagant tastes, all expensive inclinations, bestowed charity and
-kindness alone from the resources of her own scanty, grudgingly-accorded
-allowance. Even in her less responsible requirements she gave him full
-satisfaction.
-
-Mrs. Trevor bore to her husband just three sons--healthy,
-promising boys--none of those superfluous, money-frittering
-excrescences--daughters! These sons all were disposable, convertible to
-some aim or end. There was the heir--that necessary machine to keep the
-greedily-preserved fortune and property in future train; there was a
-second son to secure the good fat family living from escaping into
-extraneous hands, and there was yet another to place in the lucrative
-and distinguished banking-house, in which Mr. Trevor was a sleeping
-partner. Yes, in this she had done well and wisely, and the husband was
-in the end content. But in the first instance, even here, he was not
-entirely satisfied with his wife's conduct. Nature had rebelled against
-the young mother's affording nourishment to her eldest born. Other aid
-was required, and this unwarrantable and unnecessary infraction upon the
-rules and exactions of maternity, sank the parent considerably in her
-lord and master's valuation and esteem. The second time she proved more
-successful--oh, how fully successful, if to that success were to be
-attributed not only the pure health, the more refined vigour of body
-which distinguished the mother's own nursling above his eldest brother,
-the suckling of a farmer's burly daughter; but that nobler nature,
-those high-toned qualities of mind and disposition, which grew with his
-growth and strengthened with his years--and oh, how too successful if
-from that mother's breast he imbibed his own sad heritage of suffering
-and of wrong!
-
-On the third, and last occasion, which presented itself, the face of
-affairs assumed a different aspect. Mr. Trevor, either because he
-grudged his wife as would not have been at all inconsistent with his
-character, the extreme pleasure she experienced in the former case, and
-the excessive fondness with which this child had naturally wound itself
-around its nursing mother's heart. Whether from these, or still more
-unworthy notices, this time Mr. Trevor, on some capricious arbitrary
-plea, objected to his wife indulging in the same natural enjoyment,
-himself selecting the individual, who was to supplant her in this
-office. The wife of a tenant on his estate, about to emigrate to
-Australia, but who preferred remaining behind for some years in service.
-
-Mabel Marryott fulfilled her hired duties well by her patron's infant;
-so well, that according to her master's orders, she was afterwards
-retained, as general superintendant of the nursery establishment, though
-her influence did not long continue limited to that office; and it was
-Mabel Marryott, whose daily business it soon became, to attend upon the
-little Eugene in his morning visits to his father's study; where
-sometimes, for an hour together, upon table or floor, as accorded best
-with his age, or fancy, he sat and played the mimic miser, with his
-favourite toys--the shining heaps of glittering gold or silver, always
-produced on these occasions, to amuse and keep him quiet; whilst in that
-distant room above, where we have seen the unconscious Mary spend so
-happy an hour, sat the wife and mother, struggling with the inward
-anguish of an injured, wounded spirit, or straining the little Eustace
-to her heart, calling him, in deep, earnest accents of endearment, her
-darling--her own boy--her precious nursling; beseeching him never to
-forsake her, to stand by his own mother--to love, and to protect her,
-till the boy's dark, fervent eyes, would suffuse with tears, and he
-would promise, with the little full and throbbing heart beating against
-her breast, always to be "mamma's own boy," and never to leave her even
-when he was a man; and the heir--he, in the meantime, had probably made
-his escape to the stable-yard, to the grooms and stable-boys, for whose
-society he, from his earliest days, shewed much inclination, to the
-danger both of his neck and his morals, by the lessons in horse-riding
-or loose talking he there received--tastes and propensities with which
-his mother found herself powerless to interfere. Mrs. Marryott did not
-object. Master Trevor was neither a manageable or engaging child; these
-tastes and habits took him off her hands; Mr. Trevor saw only that they
-made the boy bold and healthy. They were propensities and amusements
-which cost him nothing; so he desired that he might not be pestered any
-more by the representations of his anxious mother; she might make one
-milksop if she wished, but leave the other alone; Marryott would see he
-came to no real harm.
-
-The boy was to go to Eton when he was twelve. He might, his father
-continued, be allowed to take his own course till then; and Mrs. Trevor,
-though not suffered to interfere in any other department, was expected
-to take upon herself the arduous office of instructress to this one, as
-well as to her other two boys, who were also to be kept at home till
-they had attained the before-mentioned age.
-
-Mr. Trevor had no idea of his wife's talents being put to no better
-purpose than the solace and amusement of her own lonely, joyless
-existence; and the poor lady was too willing to enter on a task, which
-promised a means of drawing her children towards her in closer
-intercourse than was otherwise permitted. Such was the cruel jealousy,
-which dared to prevent the mother from acquiring too great an influence
-and ascendancy over the children's affections.
-
-Long, however, before the time assigned, Mrs. Trevor was forced to
-represent to the father her insufficiency and unfitness for the duty
-imposed upon her.
-
-The thick-headed, mulish-tempered Henry, his heart and mind ever with
-his dogs and horses, very soon began to require some stronger hand and
-firmer will than she possessed to force him into any degree of
-application; whilst the two other boys, the one high-spirited and
-talented in the extreme--the younger taught to look upon his mother in
-little better light than that of a slighted and despised
-dependant--became even earlier, above or beyond her strength and power
-for the work.
-
-But in vain might she remonstrate.
-
-"You are idle, you are idle," was all the answer or relief she obtained.
-
-So she began again, and persevered--much to the wear and tear of body
-and nerves. But that was nothing. It was an employment--and should have
-been an interest and amusement rather than an hardship.
-
-And so the mother laboured on with all a mother's patience and
-long-suffering, bearing rather than contending against the many
-difficulties and discouragements which beset the task.
-
-One rich reward was its attendant--the satisfactory fruit which crowned
-her efforts, however comparatively weak and inefficient they might be,
-as concerned her noble son, Eustace; not but that pain and trouble of a
-certain kind were her portion, even here. But it was a pleasureable
-pain, how exceeded by the ample recompense it afforded.
-
-What fervent gratitude--what deep, strong affection did every tear she
-shed, every sigh she breathed in his cause, fan into life, water into
-vigour in that young pupil's breast! How was she adored, revered, upheld
-supreme at least in the heart of one being in the world.
-
-Eustace Trevor, as those of generous and superior natures generally are
-found to be, was a child of naturally impetuous disposition and
-independent spirit. Though full of genius, and promise of bright things
-to come, it could not be but that he sometimes grieved his gentle
-teacher, and gave her patient spirit pain.
-
-But ah, the contrite grief; the self-indignant sorrow of the child which
-ever followed on such occasions; how was he prostrate in body and spirit
-before the beloved being, whom he had so offended. How the elder brother
-dull, and unrefined in feeling, rather than unamiable at heart, would
-stare with stupid amazement at such animated demonstrations in the
-penitent; whilst the younger--what a glance of cold surprise from his
-dark eye--what a look almost of disdain in his young countenance, as he
-sat, and watched, and wondered to see such affection--such zeal
-displayed in the cause of one he was used to behold, so scorned, so
-slighted so dishonoured, by those who had gained ascendancy over his
-young mind.
-
-It was worth while to love his father--to seek to please and propitiate
-him--or even Mabel Marryott. But _she_! what could she do? what
-influence, did _she_ possess over her children, or any one else either
-for good or evil?
-
-Yet the boy Eugene was by no means an unaffectionate or unengaging
-child, nor devoid of amiability of character; had it not been for the
-early influences which impressed, and moulded his mind and disposition.
-
-His father and Mabel Marryott both loved him in their way; the former
-suffering him to win a greater ascendancy over his close shut heart,
-than that which any other individual ever attained. Nay, to him he even
-relaxed in some degree his strongest, and most guarded point of
-impregnability--his purse strings.
-
-When his elder brothers as children, obtained their grudgingly acceded
-shillings and sixpences, the more valuable crown piece, or sometimes
-half-sovereign was bestowed upon the favoured Eugene--to be triumphantly
-produced at the neighbouring town, where he occasionally rode with his
-brother Eustace, for the gratification of any taste or appetite, in
-which he might choose to indulge; whilst the other expended his scanty
-store on some trifling gift he thought might gratify, or please his much
-loved mother. Yes, this was the most galling of all poor Mrs. Trevor's
-catalogue of grievances--the unjust and cruel partiality exhibited by
-her husband in the treatment of these two younger boys; for the eldest,
-Henry, though neither favoured or in any way much regarded by his
-father, at any rate met with neither injustice or unkindness--inasmuch
-as neither his nature or propensities, rendered him worthy or desirous
-of any greater degree of privilege or advantage, than he obtained--and
-he was sent to Eton at thirteen, when all that was to be done for him
-was done, that was necessary and proper. But the second son,
-Eustace--whether it was the boy's disposition, so antagonistic in every
-respect to his father's; or that it was her own unfortunate attachment
-to this child, or that child's love for herself which drew upon his
-innocent head this unhappy distinction; whether it was this cruel
-jealousy on her husband's part, or the secret influence on the same,
-account, of her insidious enemy, Mabel Marryott. However it might be, a
-spirit and system, it might almost be termed persecution, was maintained
-by the father towards this son from his childhood upwards. He felt
-doubtless too the reflection, which the zealous love of the boy for his
-mother cast upon his own conduct in that respect. Never did Mr. Trevor
-forgive a proof of this spirit, shown forth by the young Eustace in the
-instance we are about to record.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XI.
-
-               Is there not
-    A reverence in the very name of "mother"
-    Could thrill the ruffian purpose?
-
-    SHIEL.
-
-
-        He is the second born of flesh
-    And is his mother's favourite.
-
-    BYRON.
-
-
-It was Eugene's birthday. He had coaxed Marryott to give him a treat of
-cakes and fruit in the garden summer-house. His brothers were invited,
-and even his father honoured the party with his presence.
-
-Marryott presided over the entertainment. Eustace had been out of the
-way, and did not arrive until the others were assembled. He made his
-appearance at the banquet all bright, animated expectation, having but
-just heard of the unwonted indulgence provided him, and prepared to
-partake in it with full boyish enjoyment.
-
-But at the threshold he paused. By one quick glance, his eye had taken
-in each individual of the collected group. A sudden thought seemed to
-press upon the wild beatings of his heart. A cloud overshadowed the
-quick brightness of his brow.
-
-"Come along, Eustace!" cried the boy Eugene, "if you mean to come at
-all."
-
-But no, he did not stir. There he stood, rooted to the spot, his
-changing countenance betokening the struggle of strong feeling passing
-through his breast, another glance--from which shot forth a gleam of
-noble fire--around, and then his dark, full eye fixed itself with calmer
-sternness upon his young brother's face.
-
-"No, thank you, Eugene," he said firmly, "I cannot come. My mother she
-is all alone in the house. I must go to _her_," and instantly he turned,
-and
-
-    "Went away with a step strong and slow,
-    His arch'd lip press'd, and his clear eye undimmed,
-    As if it were a diamond, and his form
-    Borne proudly up, as if his heart breathed through."
-
-On one occasion, Mrs. Trevor heard the voice of her husband raised in
-long and angry accents. She listened with trembling misgiving as to the
-object of his reprehension, but when to words sounds succeeded, plainly
-betokening bodily chastisement, she could no longer refrain, but
-hastened to the spot from whence they proceeded.
-
-It was Mr. Trevor's study, and on opening the door and entering, she
-found indeed her beloved boy Eustace under the hands of his father
-undergoing severe and painful punishment; Eugene standing by like a
-young Saul, witnessing the martyrdom of a Saint Stephen, holding his
-brother's coat over his arm, a little pale perhaps, but watching with a
-tolerably cold and steady eye the proceedings of the parental
-persecution.
-
-The look and tone of sore distress with which the gentle intercessor
-supplicated for mercy, shamed even the unloving husband into compliance.
-
-He released his victim, who turned aside with tearless eyes, but every
-vein of his noble brow swollen with suppressed anguish.
-
-But every thought of his own suffering or disgrace seemed soon to be
-forgotten in the pain and grief he saw upon his mother's countenance, as
-with trembling voice she made inquiry into the offence which had called
-down such unwonted severity upon the culprit.
-
-"He is a squandering spendthrift," was the father's reply; "and you,
-Madam, with your fine ideas and lessons, have helped to make him so; but
-I will teach him better. He was at the same trick once before, and I
-warned him of the consequences. A long time will it be before he gets
-another shilling from me, to waste upon a set of rascally vagabonds
-lurking about the premises, seeking what they may devour."
-
-"Mother!" said the boy firmly, "they were a party of poor mechanics,
-turned out of their homes and deprived of all means of getting their
-bread. One man carried his poor little girl, dying from starvation, in
-his arms; what better could I do?"
-
-Another sharp blow from the father cut short the explanation, and
-Eustace was ordered to leave the room, not to approach his mother, or
-touch a morsel of food, save bread and water, for the remainder of the
-day.
-
-The boy obeyed in silence, but with a bursting heart, and Mrs. Trevor
-remained to listen, in resigned sorrow, to the anathemas poured forth
-against her darling--of his evil and corrupt dispositions, and the
-fearful predictions, that she would live one day to see him turn out the
-disgrace and ruin of the family.
-
-"Only see, Madam, in this one instance the difference between these two
-boys. Eugene, bring your money-box."
-
-The boy, with complacent alacrity, produced a small casket, and opening
-it with a key attached to a ribbon round his neck, exhibited indeed a
-shining store of silver pieces, slightly interspersed with gold.
-
-"Eugene is indeed a rich boy," the mother observed very gravely.
-
-"Yes, and a good, and wise, and prudent boy, and he shall be richer
-still some of these days; I will see to that. Yes, _he_ can--he may
-afford to be generous; he knows how to bestow his gifts in the right
-direction. Eugene, show your mother what I have allowed you to buy out
-of your savings for your attached and valued friend."
-
-The boy, in the same manner as before, uncovered a parcel lying on the
-table, and thereby displayed a roll of rich and handsome silk.
-
-"Is it not beautiful, mamma?" he exclaimed innocently; "it is for
-Marryott; this is her birthday you know."
-
-Mrs. Trevor's lip quivered. She looked pale, and turned away her head.
-
-When were _her_ birthdays so remembered?
-
-"May I take it to her, papa?"
-
-"Yes, yes, take it away, boy!" said Mr. Trevor, rather impatiently; and
-Eugene, proudly shouldering his offering, marched off triumphantly with
-it to Marryott's apartments.
-
-A silent pause ensued. It was broken by Mrs. Trevor, quietly suggesting
-the advisability of a more regular and impartial allowance being
-bestowed upon the two younger boys, remarking that she feared the
-present arrangement was likely to be prejudicial to the characters of
-both, perhaps to their future conduct through life.
-
-The mother spoke more firmly, more courageously than usual. Perhaps the
-incident which had just been enacted, had a little hardened and
-strengthened her spirit for the encounter. But her words were of little
-avail.
-
-"Not at all, not at all," was the angry interruption. "Allow me, Madam,
-to act as I please on that point. I give what I please, and withhold
-what I please, as I see fit and proper; and I have found out pretty well
-before to-day, that whilst I could trust one boy with a whole bank of
-money, the other is not, nor ever will be, worthy to possess one
-shilling of his own. I shall, therefore, act accordingly, and beg you
-will not attempt to interfere upon the subject; it is my department, not
-yours."
-
-Mrs. Trevor could only sigh, and was about to retire. But no. She must
-first undergo another ordeal.
-
-The door opened, and Eugene re-appeared, attended by Marryott.
-
-"She is so pleased, papa, and so obliged," cried the boy, "and is come
-to thank you."
-
-Mrs. Trevor arose with gentle dignity.
-
-Mabel Marryott had not been apprised of her mistress' presence in the
-library, but the expression of her well-disciplined countenance--that
-"face formed to conceal"--scarcely evinced this fact as she paused upon
-the threshold, and with the utmost composure and respect, apologised for
-her intrusion; but begged to be allowed to express her grateful thanks
-for the beautiful present which her dear master Eugene had just brought
-to her. It was much too handsome for her, appealing with the greatest
-deference to Mrs. Trevor; but she would gladly wear it for her dear
-boy's sake.
-
-"Do--do so, Marryott, it is Eugene's present--quite his own," Mr. Trevor
-replied with some embarrassment of manner.
-
-"Indeed, Sir?" with the utmost simplicity; "well, I must say, he is
-always a dear generous child," and she stooped and kissed the boy, who
-rather unwillingly submitted to his nurse's fondling. Mrs. Trevor knew
-that this was the same woman, who had so short a time ago betrayed her
-generous child Eustace, to the unjust anger of his father, and there was
-something in this present demonstration of affection towards this other,
-which went greatly against her feelings.
-
-She rose--never with all her provocations, was her mild ladylike
-deportment laid aside, and said:
-
-"Eugene, dear, open the door for me; I am going up-stairs."
-
-The boy, though unaccustomed to any such _exigeant_ demands on his
-respectful attention, from his mother, nor trained to yield them
-unasked, shook off Marryott's arm, still encircling his waist, and
-willingly obeyed, running to comply with the request. Mrs. Trevor left
-the room as Eustace had done not long before, in silence, and with a
-swelling heart, whilst Mrs. Marryott's glance after her retreating
-figure, seemed to ask what was the meaning of this undue assumption of
-importance in her unassuming mistress.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-The same partial fate which attended the young Eustace under his
-father's roof, extended itself to his life at school. In the rather
-inferior establishment to which he, and his younger brother were
-sent--one very unworthy and inefficient to develope the genius and
-talent, inherent in the boy--qualities which nevertheless struggled
-forth, spite of all disadvantages, into life and power, too little
-appreciated by others--there the favour of the sycophant master, was
-lavished exclusively on the rich father's favourite, to the apparent
-detriment and depreciation of the other. The high and generous spirit of
-the boy, was reported as ill-disposed and unruly, and treated
-accordingly with severity, or more properly speaking, tyranny and
-injustice.
-
-A crushing or hardening effect upon the mind and character, must have
-inevitably been the result of such a process, had it not been for the
-superior nature of the being upon whom it worked; to say nothing of that
-counter charm which ever lay upon his heart, a talisman against the
-power of every evil influence--his mother's love. But there was one
-effect produced by the state of things we have endeavoured to show
-forth, which could not be averted. We mean the seed of future misery,
-thereby sown between the youthful brothers.
-
-In early childhood there had subsisted between them an affection almost
-bordering upon enthusiasm, remarkable in children of their age; in the
-younger how soon, like every other good and truthful inclination of his
-heart and character, contracted and undermined by the still more
-pernicious influence to which by his different circumstances he was
-exposed. It might have been supposed that were the invidious feelings of
-envy, or jealousy, to be engendered in either mind by the system of
-partiality to which they were subjected in such a lamentable degree, it
-would have been in that of the least favoured; but jealousy belonged not
-to the noble nature of Eustace.
-
-Sad surprise--indignant risings in his breast against the injustice of
-his father's conduct, were the consequence, but no invidious feeling
-against the rival object himself. That one indeed, he would ever have
-loved and cherished, borne with and forgiven, as in those young days,
-whilst any evidence of brotherly feeling was given in exchange. But
-no--it was the favoured one, as we often see to be the case--the rich
-and favoured one, who began to envy his poorer brother, even the scanty
-portion which fell to his share.
-
-And of what was there in those early days that Eugene could envy
-Eustace?
-
-What but that boon, which though influenced outwardly to despise--his
-inherent taste for the good and beautiful, caused him secretly to covet,
-above every other gift--the fervent love which he saw bestowed by his
-despised, but angelic mother, on the child, whose affection drew it so
-freely forth--love how ready to be poured as largely on his own head,
-but for the barrier of slight, coldness, and constraint she saw so soon
-interposed between herself and that else equally beloved child.
-
-Oh! the pain, to mark the glances of that dark, clear eye grow cold and
-dim, when turned upon her--the once open brow
-
-    "Cloud with mistrust, and the unfettered lip
-    Curled with the iciness of constant scorn."
-
-But all this belongs more properly to a later, and, alas! darker period
-of the lives of those it is our task to trace, and to which we must
-hasten forward; that period, in which boyhood merges into manhood, and
-the seed sown for good or ill springs forth, and bears--some thirty,
-some sixty, and some an hundred-fold.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XII.
-
-    Have I not had to wrestle with my lot?
-    Have I not suffered things to be forgiven?
-    Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven?
-
-    BYRON.
-
-
-It was Mr. Trevor's good pleasure to bestow the church living in his
-gift upon his second son. On the same principle, we suppose--as it was
-the fashion, at that period--more we trust than in the present time--for
-the least promising and least talented of a family to be devoted to the
-sacred service of the church--did the father, we conclude, in the
-present instance select for this purpose the son least esteemed and
-honoured in his eyes, without any regard to the inclinations of his own
-heart, or his fitness for that vocation.
-
-Eustace Trevor was sent to College, on as small an allowance as could in
-decency be accorded, and commanded there to prepare himself for Holy
-Orders.
-
-How can we describe the trials, the struggles, the discouragements which
-beset the path of one who, under more propitious circumstances, might
-have passed on to such high and distinguished grades of honour and
-distinction?
-
-His noble character and conspicuous talents, drew down upon him the
-love, admiration, and honour of those around him; yet to some degree the
-galling hand which had laid heavy on his boyhood oppressed his powers
-even then.
-
-Great and good as was the young man's nature,
-
-    "Temptation hath a music for all ears,
-    And mad ambition triumpheth to all,
-    And the ungovernable thought within
-    Will be in every bosom eloquent."
-
-The very superiority of Eustace Trevor's nature, his high, and serious
-estimate of the holy nature of the profession which had been forced upon
-him, soon caused the youth to recoil with conscientious horror from
-embracing it upon such terms. He laid his scruples before his father,
-who with contemptuous indignation told him he might then starve, or beg,
-for by no other means should he obtain from him a farthing of
-subsistence--and his mother, whilst she sympathized in his feelings on
-the subject, still encouraged and besought him to make himself worthy of
-the sacred vocation, and bring down those high thoughts and aspirations
-which rendered it incompatible with his desires.
-
-This was the substance of her mild, soft pleadings in the anxious cause:
-
-    "My son, oh leave the world alone!
-    Safe on the steps of Jesus' throne
-    Be tranquil and be blest."
-
-Encouraged by this strong persuasion, Eustace Trevor promised for her
-dear sake to do all in his power to satisfy her solicitude, and
-reconcile his own conscience on the point.
-
-Eugene in the meantime was given a place in the great banking
-establishment before alluded to, a position which only served to throw
-the young man in the way of all the temptations and dissipations of a
-London life, and rather to overthrow those expectations of Mr. Trevor,
-as to the money saving propensities of his favourite.
-
-In his fondness for money, he might indeed show himself a worthy son of
-his father, for to attain it by all attainable means soon became his
-actual object. Yet to whatever pitch this inclination might arrive in
-later years, in these his days of youthful folly, "to spend and not to
-hoard," was certainly his distinguishing propensity; thus affording his
-father plentiful opportunities for displaying to the full, the partial
-injustice of his conduct towards his younger children.
-
-One of the most striking instances in this particular was exhibited a
-few years after the establishment of Eustace at College, when Eugene was
-about nineteen. The latter unexpectedly one summer evening arrived at
-Montrevor from London, in no very happy state of mind.
-
-Gambling was unfortunately one of the pleasures, or more properly
-speaking passions, which assailed the young man most strongly in this
-early part of his career. He had just lost a considerable sum of money
-at the late Derby; and this was the first time that he found himself
-obliged to confess this delinquency to his father, and apply for the
-amount necessary for the payment of the debt of honour thus incurred.
-
-He could scarcely flatter himself that Mr. Trevor's hitherto partial
-favour could avail him in a case of such unwonted enormity. Forfeiture
-of that favour, perhaps a refusal of his application; anger, disgrace at
-home, ignominy, dishonour abroad, all stared him in the face. Eugene
-entered the house at night, and went straight to Mabel Marryott's
-apartment, where, scarcely noticing the eager and astounded greeting of
-his foster-mother, he threw himself upon a seat, and leaning his elbows
-upon the table, he buried his face in his hands, and remained plunged in
-moody silence.
-
-In vain for some time Marryott questioned him, as to what had happened
-to occasion his sudden return, and the discomposure under which he
-appeared to labour. But at length, having shaken off the hand she so
-caressingly placed on his shoulder (for some years the young man had
-begun to discourage any similar demonstrations from his quondam nurse),
-he called for some wine; and having drank off a bumper, he then came out
-with the abrupt communication, that he had lost a thousand pounds, and
-that she must manage to get it from his father.
-
-Mrs. Marryott was astounded.
-
-"Lost a thousand pounds!" Mr. Trevor to be informed of this, and coolly
-asked to supply it. The boy was mad to think of such a thing. No
-favouritism would indeed avail to cover such an enormity in his father's
-eyes. She, with all her confidence in the influence she possessed, would
-not risk the office of intercession in such an outrageous instance, at
-such a time too, when Mr. Trevor was overlooking the accounts of his
-brother Eustace, who had just returned from College, and into a fine
-state of mind she assured him his father was worked up by the
-employment. Then, in anticipation of the paternal indignation she
-prepared him to receive, Mrs. Marryott ventured to bestow upon her
-foster-son some severe strictures upon the imprudence of his conduct,
-all which Job's comfort the young man was in no mood to receive with
-patient equanimity.
-
-Starting from his seat, he rudely told her to hold her tongue, for if
-she did not choose to help him he must go to some one who would; and
-rushing up stairs, he went straight to his mother's sitting-room. Mrs.
-Trevor was alone, seated near the open window, with her eyes fixed sadly
-on the church spire rising amidst the distant trees, and pointing with
-such solemn silence to that blessed home, for which the wounded spirit
-must have so often yearned.
-
-"Eugene!" she exclaimed in surprise, as, turning her sorrowful
-countenance towards the opening door, she beheld her son; and Eugene
-having slightly returned the pressure of her outstretched hand, threw
-himself down upon the nearest seat, in much the same state of moody
-dejection as he had previously done in the apartment of Marryott.
-
-But there seemed something more soothing in the atmosphere of his
-present position--something in the subdued and holy calm of the maternal
-presence, which had never before impressed him in the like degree.
-
-Perhaps it had been a relief to his jealous spirit to find his mother
-thus alone, unaccompanied, as was usually the case when he was in the
-house, by the envied Eustace, to be the witness of his discomfiture, and
-an auditor of his misfortune. And when, perceiving that something was
-amiss, she approached, and, without inquiry, sat down silently by his
-side, he did not now shrink from the fair soft hand which, with almost
-timid tenderness, was placed in gentle sympathy on his arm, but burst
-forth at once in softened accents of appeal with the grievous fact.
-
-"Mother, what am I to do? I have lost upon the Derby a thousand pounds;
-have it I must immediately. I cannot tell my father; some one must get
-it out of him. Marryott won't--will you?"
-
-The mother withdrew the hand which, emboldened by her young son's
-unwonted show of confiding consideration, had ventured to begin to part
-the dark matted locks from his heated brow. Nor was this done from
-dismay at the chief purport of this desperate intelligence, but from the
-cold pang with which these concluding words struck upon her ear:
-"Marryott won't--will you?"
-
-It had not then been the impulse of his filial heart, as for a few brief
-minutes she had gladly hoped, to fly to his mother in his distress. He
-had gone to another first, and only come to her as a last resource--as
-often when a boy had been the case, when Marryott, for fear of his
-father's displeasure at the expense, had refused him some
-indulgence--some of those "good things" we have heard the man Eugene so
-feelingly deplore, and with which the mother had supplied him from her
-own too circumscribed resources.
-
-Had not the present emergency been out of the question to her limited
-powers, how willingly would she in the same manner have relieved her son
-of his pressing anxiety.
-
-As it was, the momentary pang of bitterness allayed, without giving way
-to any irritating manifestation of her feelings, with regard to his
-astounding communication, she only expressed her sorrow at his
-misfortune and perplexity; and refused not to take upon herself the
-office he demanded of her.
-
-"Alas, Eugene! you know the extent of the influence I possess," she
-sadly observed. "I can but break to your father what you have related,
-and trust to his general indulgence towards you, rather than to any
-regard he may be inclined to pay to entreaties of mine in your behalf."
-
-"Exactly; that is all I want, mother; tell him that I will work hard at
-that d--d bank for the next year--that I will make it up to him in some
-way--anything in the world; but if he does not let me have it, I must
-blow my brains out--that's all."
-
-And the mother, sadly sighing over the ruinous course--ruinous as
-regarded his soul's welfare--in which her son had so early embarked--and
-she, without any power to influence or to restrain--left the room.
-
-Mrs. Trevor entered the library with no willing step. She knew well how
-she should find her husband occupied, and the disagreeable nature of her
-mission was less repugnant to her feelings than the pain which would
-most probably be in store for her in her other son's behalf.
-
-And here indeed she did find her Eustace undergoing a more torturing
-mental ordeal than that of the physical chastisement to which she had on
-a former occasion seen him exposed in that same apartment; his noble,
-generous spirit goaded almost beyond the power of endurance, as
-compelled to sit there before his father, and submit to the most close,
-exact, and grinding examination of every detail and minutiæ of his last
-year's expenses, a process accompanied, as was every item of the amount,
-with the most bitter and angry comments on his so-called profligacy and
-extravagance--the galling and degrading nature of which ordeal every
-young man, blameless and well-principled as he may be, will be able
-fully to appreciate.
-
-The mother cast an involuntary glance of tender concern upon the victim,
-and then approached her husband.
-
-"Well, Madam, are you too come to assist me in this delightful
-business?"
-
-"No, Mr. Trevor," in a trembling voice. "I have come to speak to you
-upon another subject--about Eugene."
-
-"Eugene! what in the world have you got to say about him?"
-
-"He has returned home in much distress; he has been unfortunate, and
-requires your assistance, though at the same time is fearful of your
-displeasure."
-
-"The devil he is! well, I am a happy individual. Have I not enough on my
-hands already," with a vindictive glance at Eustace, "without being
-bored in this fresh quarter? I suppose he wants his allowance advanced;
-but be so good as to tell him, Madam, that until I have finished the
-delectable business in which I am engaged, he must please to wait. What
-the deuce did he come running down here for, wasting his time and my
-money. A letter, I should think, would have answered his purpose;
-really, one would suppose I was made of millions."
-
-"But, Mr. Trevor, I am sorry to say that Eugene's case is of greater,
-more immediate importance than you imagine. Eugene, I grieve to tell
-you, has lost a very considerable sum of money at Epsom, and requires an
-immediate remittance for payment (as it is called) of his debt of
-honour."
-
-Mr. Trevor changed colour, and an involuntary oath escaped his lips. But
-something--perhaps it was the glance he saw exchanged between the mother
-and son--caused him to restrain any further ebullition of the feeling
-with which this revelation inwardly inspired him.
-
-For he fancied--how unjustly may be imagined--that something of
-triumphant exultation was expressed in that glance, that it was now the
-father's favourite on whom was about to descend his displeasure--perhaps
-the present forfeiture of his former favour. This was most fortunate for
-Eugene. It turned the course of his passion into another channel.
-
-"And what, allow me to ask," he proceeded with forced composure, "may be
-the amount of this unfortunate involvement?"
-
-Mrs. Trevor, in a low tone, named the sum.
-
-Its extent probably exceeded Mr. Trevor's expectation, and the
-expression of his countenance plainly indicated the struggle of
-contending feelings within his breast.
-
-He took two or three strides about the room, then ordered Eugene to be
-sent to him.
-
-"Nay, Madam, pray do not you trouble yourself," as Mrs. Trevor was
-preparing to leave the room, too willing to escape from the scene of
-whatever nature which was to follow; and he rang the bell, and desired
-Eugene to be summoned.
-
-In a few minutes, during which no one spoke--Mrs. Trevor sitting pale
-and patient, Eustace walking to the window with a look of weary disgust
-upon his countenance, whilst Mr. Trevor's dark eye glanced alternately
-the one from the other, with the wary suspicious glare of an angry
-animal--Eugene entered, prepared for the worst, with a dogged
-indifference of countenance and threw himself upon a chair behind his
-father.
-
-"Well, Sir, and what is this I hear of you?" Mr. Trevor commenced. "Lost
-a thousand pounds! a pretty story truly; and want me to give you the
-money. Really one would think you were heir to twenty thousand a-year,
-instead of a younger son," with a significant glance towards the window,
-"totally and entirely dependent on my bounty."
-
-There was nothing very encouraging in the letter of this exordium.
-Something, however, in the manner in which it was spoken, seemed to give
-hope and courage to the culprit; for shaking off his sullen moodiness,
-he sprang from his seat, and approaching his father, began to pour into
-his ear, in earnest humble strains, a string of protestations,
-representations, and excuses, relating to the subject of his loss--on
-the true Spartan principle, accusing the failure rather than the
-committal of the deed--showing how it had been, by the most unforeseen
-turn of luck, that he had not won _thousands_, instead of losing _one_;
-the good fortune which had attended him, on each preceding occasion of
-the kind; finally declaring his determination to do better for the
-future, or at any rate so manage, that he would blow his brains out
-rather than again trouble his father.
-
-"Well, well, Sir, this all sounds very plausible, indeed," was Mr.
-Trevor's reply, having listened with becoming gravity and consideration
-to the defence; "but I would advise you to give up this losing trade of
-gambling you have commenced. You will find it, let me tell you, far less
-profitable in the end than sticking to your bank. In the meantime, to
-extricate you from your present dilemma, and enable you to turn over a
-new leaf for the future--this also being in your case the first trouble
-you have given me--I will write you a cheque for what you require; but
-remember, this is the last time you must expect from me anything of the
-sort. Your brother there will tell you how I have plenty to do with one
-younger son's worthless extravagance--"
-
-"Mr. Trevor, you are cruelly unjust," interposed the mother's trembling
-voice, indignant tears swelling to her eyelids. "You know that one half
-of what you bestow so freely upon Eugene would amply cover all that
-Eustace owes--"
-
-"Mrs. Trevor, may I request your silence on the subject?" thundered her
-husband. "Have I not often told you, that I desire no interference
-between myself and the affairs of my sons. Supposing I do act with the
-cruel injustice you so flatteringly ascribe to me, what then? have I not
-a right to do what I will with my own?"
-
-And, suiting the action to the words, his hand trembling with agitation,
-he hastened to achieve--that to him almost incredible thing--to write a
-cheque and present it to his youngest son for a thousand pounds, with a
-certain feeling, or at any rate the appearance, of unmurmuring alacrity.
-
-So does one bad feeling at the time being, govern even our worst of
-passions.
-
-Eugene on his part did not, as may well be supposed, trouble himself to
-analyse the merits of his father's unexpected generosity.
-
-He was really overcome with gratitude at the ready manner in which his
-anxiety and trouble were thus alleviated. He thanked his father with
-earnest emotion, and repeated protestations of never again requiring
-such beneficence at his hands.
-
-Mr. Trevor waved him away. He had done the deed--he had shown forth his
-own perfect independence of will and power--satisfied his own bad
-feelings towards the object of his unnatural aversion, and mortified--as
-seemed his constant aim--the partial feelings, as he deemed them of his
-gentle wife towards her second son. And now the ruling passion began
-again to struggle into power.
-
-The remembrance that he had just signed away a thousand pounds of his
-close-kept hoards, without more demur than in former times he might have
-bestowed a half-crown piece upon the boy, began to stir within his
-breast no very great feeling of satisfaction.
-
-Eugene knew his father too well to risk any further provocation of the
-feelings he could pretty plainly divine, and hastened to beat a
-triumphant retreat, purposing to leave Montrevor that same night.
-
-In the exuberance of his feelings, he would probably, at least by a
-glance, have thanked his mother for the service she had so auspiciously
-rendered him; but Mrs. Trevor's looks were sorrowfully averted, and he
-passed her by, not caring to irritate his father by any more manifest
-token of attention. He did, however, stop to shake hands with Eustace as
-he passed the window near which he stood--the first greeting exchanged
-between the brothers, who had not met before for several months.
-
-Eustace Trevor returned his brother's greeting with no lack of kindly
-warmth. He had stood mute and motionless as a statue throughout the late
-trying scene which had been enacted. No sign of dark passion--of
-envious, hateful feeling could have been read upon that countenance,
-pale as marble, and beautiful in its nobly-suppressed emotion. Only
-once--that time when his mother had raised her meek voice in his
-defence, had an expression of strong feeling--a mixture of disdain,
-indignation, and grateful affection--broke forth over his countenance,
-and his dark, full eyes turned upon that much-loved champion with a
-glance not to be described, whilst his lips moved as if he were about to
-entreat her not to distress herself for his sake, when his father's
-angry interruption had more effectually supplied any deprecation on his
-part to that effect.
-
-But now, having returned, as we have said, his brother's greeting in a
-manner which showed no particle of invidious feeling to have been
-excited against the object of such unjust and unmerited favouritism;
-when, too, his mother had softly and sadly left the room, without daring
-to cast another look upon the beloved object for whom her heart was
-bleeding; he came forth and stood before his father, with a firm and
-composed mien and countenance.
-
-"Father!" he said.
-
-Mr. Trevor was looking over some drawer in his _escritoire_, with no
-very happy expression of countenance.
-
-"Well, Sir?" glancing upwards, speaking in the most sharp, irritated
-tone and manner, "what in the name of ---- do you want now? I must
-request you to pester me no more to-night, we will return to the
-pleasant task of settling the rest of your debts to-morrow."
-
-"No, father--that cannot be. I am no longer a child--a boy; and
-it is not in the nature of man to bear, even from a father,
-injustice--degradation, such as that to which I am subjected. I ask you
-then, that this very night, on this very spot, for once, and for ever,
-to let my account be settled between us; and never I solemnly swear,
-here or hereafter shall you be troubled by me or my concerns. What I ask
-is, that you will give me down a sum of money, just sufficient to pay my
-expenses out of this country, and let me work for my bread by the sweat
-of my brow, like others whom I know, in one of the distant colonies; for
-this I say will be preferable, far preferable, to what you now make me
-endure--far more accordant with my feelings of right and honour, than
-shackled, degraded in every point, to be goaded, drawn into a profession
-for which, besides the original disinclination I felt to embrace it, I
-have been rendered still more unfit by the treatment I have received.
-Viewing the office as I do, in a light far too sacred to be entered upon
-by one, in the spirit and temper of mind to which you have reduced me."
-
-"Well, Sir, well; I admire your pious principles; do as you please;
-give up this living. Many a better man than you, no doubt, will be glad
-to have it. Go off to Botany Bay, if you will--but beg, borrow, or steal
-your way out as you like. I must decline advancing you a farthing
-towards that laudable design; all the money you ever get out of me, goes
-to making you a parson; choose that, or beggary; for do not suppose that
-you will be coming over me a second prodigal son. Go, riot as you will,
-but not from me will ever come the wherewithals. Eat the husks, if you
-please; but as for the ring, and the fatted calf, and all that--"
-
-"Sir!" interrupted the young man, by a strong effort suppressing the
-resentment these taunting words fired in his breast from breaking
-through the limits of filial respect. "Far be it from me, to expect such
-things at your hands. No, truly, the very husks of the fields _would_ be
-far sweeter to my taste than the begrudged bread eaten in my father's
-house. And, refused as I am the just and reasonable demand I have made
-to-night--determined as you are to show the cruelly childish dependence
-to which you have reduced me, willingly would I embrace the other
-alternative, and by the sweat of my brow, unaided by you, gain my daily
-subsistence, were it not for the one consideration which draws me back,
-and renders me powerless to resist--my mother."
-
-"Come, come, Sir; no more of this," interrupted Mr. Trevor impatiently,
-wincing consciously--as he generally did from any allusion of the
-kind--at this observation of the zealous son, as if he feared the
-reflection on his own conduct which it implied. "No doubt, as you have
-now found that I am not to be threatened out of another thousand pounds
-to-night, you have plenty of considerations in reserve to reconcile your
-dainty stomach to the loaves and fishes so cruelly forced upon you, in
-preference to the husks to which it so nobly aspired. There--you had
-better go and learn to practise, first, the duty, and obedience, and all
-that you will have to preach to us bye and bye. Let me hear," in a tone
-of taunting irony, "what shall be your first text."
-
-"Fathers, provoke not your children to anger!" was the reply which
-thrilled in low, deep accents from the young man's voice through the
-dusky apartment. But the servant for whom Mr. Trevor had some minutes
-before rang impatiently, entering the next moment with lights, the
-impression, whatever might have been its nature, which it made upon the
-hearer, was dissipated, and a conclusion put to one of those dark,
-painful interviews such as it is our unpleasing task to record, which
-within that long, low library were enacted. Alas! more dark and dreadful
-still are those which have to follow.
-
-Poor Mary Seaham! how would your gentle spirit have quailed with
-shuddering dread, if a vision of what had there been witnessed had dimly
-passed before your sight--those calm, sweet eyes there fixed with such
-trustful and admiring confidence, upon that venerable old man--have
-shrunk with horror and aversion, could "the light of other days" but
-have revealed in all its naked hideousness, the spirit--which now
-chained and incapacitated in its decrepitude and weakness--had once
-worked with such hateful power within that aged form; but what even
-this, to the knowledge of other things which it might also have
-revealed--the close and active part which he--who then sat by her side,
-as an angel of light to her infatuated eyes--had taken in some of these
-deeds of darkness.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIII.
-
-                      In its train
-    Follow all things unholy--love of gold--
-
-    The phantom comes and lays upon his lids
-    A spell that murders sleep, and in his ear
-    Whispers a deathless word, and on his brain
-    Breathes a fierce thirst no water will allay--
-    He is its slave henceforth!
-
-    N. P. WILLIS.
-
-It is often to be found, that men of strongest and least regulated
-passions, calculating, cautious, as may be the nature of their general
-character, are the most easily rendered subserviant to any influence or
-weakness to which they in the first instance, have capriciously chosen
-to lay themselves open.
-
-Thus it was with Mr. Trevor. His unjust partiality towards his youngest
-son turned against him, so far, that the latter gradually gained an
-ascendency over his father's mind, for we cannot exactly call it his
-affections, which no one, not even the favourite Marryott, had ever been
-known to attain in so extended a measure, and effect. To Eugene Trevor's
-credit, it may at least be said, that he was not one, so far as his
-outward conduct and demeanour were concerned, to abuse such a position;
-on the contrary, he was rather disposed to conciliate the continuance of
-it, by every seeming mark of gratitude, and duty, never, however,
-neglecting in any direct, or indirect way to turn to advantage the
-propitious circumstances of his case.
-
-This habit had long engendered that peculiar respectfulness of manner
-and demeanour, which we had occasion to remark so undeviatingly
-maintained by the son, towards the miserly parent.
-
-But perhaps a bond of union had then been established between the father
-and son, of a more subtle and secret character, than any were aware; the
-consciousness on the parent's part, of having pardoned and covered in
-the son, more than he had any right ever to have so covered or forgiven;
-the son subdued in some measure to grateful subjection towards that
-parent, from the consciousness of what had by him been concealed, and
-overlooked; a bond of union, the more strengthened and annealed as years
-wore on, and showed the harmony of character and propensity, however
-differently they might as yet be shown forth, which subsisted between
-them.
-
-Alas! when evil, not good cements the union of man with man--when hand
-joins hand, for deeds or purposes of darkness--especially when by such
-unholy links are seen connected, parent with child--child with parent!
-However, all this might be--there was certainly a suspicious cloak over
-one era of Eugene Trevor's early history, under which no member of his
-family save his father ever penetrated.
-
-We allude to a period, two years perhaps after the event, which has
-lately been brought forward, when he was suddenly removed from the
-business in which he had for a period held a kind of sinacure office;
-and ever afterwards was tacitly suffered by his father to live at large,
-either at home or abroad, following no other profession or pursuit, but
-those pleasures and practices, to which he was but too strongly
-addicted.
-
-There is then good reason to suppose that the liberality of his father
-on the occasion we have quoted, did not put a stop to further losses and
-embarrassments of the same nature on Eugene's part; and one dark
-instance will prove at least, to what extremity he was once driven, at
-the same time as it exemplified the little confidence he was disposed as
-yet to place, in the kindness and long suffering of a parent, whose
-character and disposition he had too much acute insight and observation
-not to be perfectly able to appreciate. He knew that in his father's
-breast existed a passion wherein neither reason, nor benevolence, nor
-natural affection, nor any other faculty had in other cases the least
-influence--whilst in his own breast could he have analyzed its
-propensities with equal exactness, he might have read the love, and
-aspiring after the attainment of the same unrighteous mammon, as deep,
-and vehement, in its development, though as yet subservient in a degree,
-to other feelings--the slave--not as yet the master spirit of other
-appetites and propensities. And alas! in the instance we are about to
-record--how strongly is it proved that a great activity of this passion,
-if the moral qualities of the mind be low--if there exist no honest or
-honourable means, or a desire to pursue those means by which it can be
-gratified--dishonesty, dishonour, every dark and crooked way and means,
-may be the fearful consequences.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-There came another evening when Eugene Trevor returned clandestinely to
-Montrevor, without, as on former occasions, seeking to make his arrival
-known to any member of the establishment. But Mr. Trevor was not long in
-being apprized by Marryott, that his youngest son had some hours since
-entered the house, and had gone straight to his bed-room, from which he
-had not since made his appearance, and she wished to know whether she
-had not better go and see what was the matter?
-
-Perhaps Mr. Trevor had his misgivings as to something being in the wind
-in that quarter, which it were as well that he might see to in _propria
-persona_, therefore, he told Marryott that he would go up stairs
-himself, and find out what the boy was about.
-
-He accordingly proceeded to that distant part of the mansion, which
-contained the sordid rooms, allotted from their boyhood, to the sons of
-the family, and entered the one appropriated to Eugene's use.
-
-Mr. Trevor's stealthy entrance enabled him to stand some minutes without
-notice, for the young man was seated with his back to the door, leaning
-over a table, seemingly in the anxious examination of a small bundle of
-papers he held in his hand, and on which the keen eye of the observer
-fixed itself with suspicious surprize, for they were evidently bank
-notes.
-
-Suddenly the father made a cautious movement forward--something had
-caught his eye. It was one of these same papers, which the draught from
-the open window had probably, unperceived by the owner, wafted from the
-table to the ground, just behind the young man's chair.
-
-The father stooped; and having clutched it in his grasping hand,
-curiously scanned his prize; yes, it was to all appearance one of those
-precious things, after which his soul lusted--a monied note--a note for
-£20 on the London Bank in which he had so great concern.
-
-But how was this? His hand trembled as he held it for stricter
-examination further from his eyes. Perhaps his heart misgave him from
-the first. How had the boy become possessed of all this money?
-
-Ah! a new light flashed upon him, and he became deadly pale.
-
-That well practised vision, that sharp witted perception was not to be
-deceived. The astounding, stunning truth miraculously flashed upon his
-senses, that the paper he held within his grasp was no true genuine
-bank-note on the firm of Maynard, Trevor and Co., but that _it was
-forged_.
-
-One moment after, and Eugene Trevor felt a sharp nervous grasp laid upon
-his arm. He started violently, and the terrified ashy countenance he
-turned towards his father, would at once have convicted him in the eye
-of the beholder of any capital offence of which he might have been
-suspected.
-
-"Wretched boy, what have you done?" gasped the father, as with one hand
-maintaining his hold on the culprit's arm, with the other he held the
-accusing note before his shrinking eye, glaring at the same time
-fearfully upon him. "This--this--" in accents tremulous between rage and
-horror, "I know, I feel convinced, is _forged_!"
-
-The son sat pale and trembling, but attempted not a word of explanation
-or denial.
-
-"And the others--the same?"
-
-They were passively yielded for inspection. All--all--alike!
-
-"Do you wished to be hanged, Sir?" almost shrieked the father.
-
-"I must have money--those might have passed for such."
-
-"Might?--yes, and you might, I say, be hanged."
-
-"Well, if I were hanged, what then? Life's not worth having without
-money," was the dark and moody rejoinder.
-
-"And why should you ever be in want of money?" Mr. Trevor replied in a
-low, trembling voice.
-
-"Why? why--when I see how you serve Eustace."
-
-"Eustace!" in a tone of impatient scorn; "what's Eustace to do with
-you?"
-
-"Or if I could be content to live the life that Harry leads," was the
-sullen continuation, "I might perhaps do very well; but as I have in
-some degree tastes and inclinations beyond those of a groom or a jockey,
-I must have money somehow or another, for accidental emergencies like
-the present. There was nothing left for me but this," pointing to the
-notes, "or to blow my brains out, to which alternative I suppose I have
-now arrived."
-
-"Tut, tut--nonsense!" replied the agitated father; "why did you not come
-to me?"
-
-"You?--why, after that thousand pounds you gave me, I could not expect
-you'd supply me with all I want now."
-
-"And who--who," continued Mr. Trevor, still livid with horror and dismay
-at the dreadful risk his son had run, rather than at the crime he had
-perpetuated; "who, in the name of Heaven, was your abettor in this
-preposterous scheme?"
-
-Eugene Trevor, after a little hesitation, named his accomplice--of
-course, an _attaché_ of the Bank in question--a young man of low birth
-and principles, with whom Eugene Trevor had formed this dreadful
-confederacy, and who was subsequently removed from the bank by the
-connivance of Mr. Trevor, about the same time, as his young patron was,
-as we have before mentioned, mysteriously taken from the business.
-
-"None of these notes have yet been circulated," the father inquired in
-terrified anxiety.
-
-"No; not yet. I brought them down here, and Wilson was to follow, as you
-gave me leave to ask him; and then I was to consider over with him the
-best way of proceeding."
-
-Mr. Trevor mused for a moment; then gathering up the notes in his long,
-thin fingers, carefully, nay, even delicately, as if he could not away
-with some sentiment of tender respect even for that which only bore the
-semblance of his heart's idol; he bade his son, in a low hoarse tone, to
-get up, and follow him down stairs.
-
-Eugene mechanically obeyed; and his father stealthily preceded him back
-to his library, the door of which they having both entered, he carefully
-closed and bolted.
-
-Eugene sank upon a chair, with blanched cheeks, and trembling in every
-limb. He had not tasted food all day; but, more than this, the act of
-moving from one room to the other had probably roused his mental powers,
-and his not yet quite depraved or hardened heart became more sensible to
-the horrors of the risk, and the enormity of the crime from which he had
-been providentially rescued.
-
-His father, seeing the condition his son was in, produced a small flask
-he kept near him for his private use in cases of emergency (he never,
-generally speaking, partook of wine or spirits), and poured him out a
-sparing quantity.
-
-The son looked at the glass contemptuously, swallowed its contents; then
-seized the bottle his father had incautiously left within his reach,
-emptied it of at least half of the remainder, and drank it clean off.
-
-Mr. Trevor, in the meantime, had turned away, to enter upon the business
-in hand. Holding the dangerous papers still clutched fearfully in his
-grasp, he looked around to determine how most securely to dispose of
-them.
-
-It would have been easy to have committed them at once to the flames,
-if any such means of destruction had been provided; and thus every
-memento of his son's guilt might have perished for ever; but though a
-chilly April evening, no fire at such an advanced period was suffered to
-burn upon the miser's cheerless hearth. So he looked from that hopeless
-quarter for some other resource; and going to his _escritoire_, unlocked
-it, and in one of its most secret recesses deposited those deeds of
-intended wrong, destined to afford long, long after their very existence
-was forgotten, a striking example of the fact, that sin, however at the
-time covered or concealed, seldom fails to bear forth some fruit of woe,
-be it to ourselves or others, in future years.
-
-Mr. Trevor then proceeded to open another drawer, and glancing towards
-his son, carefully selected some bank-notes therefrom, brought them to
-Eugene, and thrust them hastily into his hand, as if he feared the
-impulse might have evaporated ere the act was accomplished. They were
-the exact number of those he had counted of the forged notes.
-
-The young man looked on them at first with a bewildered and uncertain
-gaze; then, overcome probably by the reaction of feeling, burst forth
-into a paroxysm of tears, with which he covered his father's hand, as he
-gave vent to a torrent of thanks and deprecations against such
-undeserved generosity.
-
-The aged man--for even then, though scarce past sixty, Mr. Trevor from
-appearance might have been so denominated--that old, old heart having
-long imparted the influence of years to his character and demeanour, he
-seemed by this fervent recognition of his unjust--indeed, under the
-circumstances of the case--iniquitous indulgence, to be spurred on to an
-effusion of warmth towards his favourite, almost monomaniacal in its
-extent. Again he seized his keys, and, one after another, threw open
-wide chest after chest, drawer after drawer of his spacious treasures;
-showing, with layers of notes to a great amount, heaps of shining
-gold--the gathered hoards of years; with which, besides the enormous
-deposits with which the bank of Maynard and Co. was enriched, this
-"exceeding rich man" kept to feast his eyes and delight his heart with
-their sensible and tangible presence.
-
-"There boy--there," he exclaimed, observing with a kind of exulting
-gratification the impression this display made upon the young man's
-countenance--how his eye kindled, and his breath came short and quick,
-as if with the covetous delight which found such sympathy in his own
-breast, "is not that worth living for, think ye.... Well, well, never
-forget again, nor waste and want, as you have lately begun to do; but
-wait, and watch, and learn to do like me, and who knows but some day or
-another...."
-
-He paused, and glanced significantly from his coffers to his son, from
-his son to his coffers.
-
-"Harry will be a lucky fellow," murmured Eugene, averting his
-countenance, over which, at those words, a brightening gleam had passed.
-
-"Pooh, that fool!"
-
-"That fool, Sir, is your eldest son for all that," laughed the other.
-
-"And if he is, what's that? it's my own, all that.... Besides," lowering
-his voice, "mark me, he'll break his neck some of these days."
-
-"Not he, Harry's too good a rider for that; and you know a fool is sure
-to live for ever; but even if he died, there's Eustace."
-
-"Eustace--curse him!" was the fatherly ejaculation.
-
-Even the calculating brother now looked a little shocked, and when just
-at that moment there came a gentle knock at the door, both started, like
-guilty creatures as they were. But the old man glancing at his coffers
-with nervous alarm, hurriedly bade his son to wait, shutting them up,
-and making them fast with hurried trepidation ere the inopportune
-intruder was admitted. It proved to be only Marryott, who presented
-herself with a smooth and unsuspecting countenance, to ask whether Mr.
-Eugene would not come and partake of the supper she had provided for him
-in her own room. And Eugene, though at first about to profess himself
-not hungry, on second thoughts, and a glance from his father, changed
-his mind, shook hands affectionately with his foster-mother, and
-consented to avail himself of her considerate attentions.
-
-A change had come over the young man's dream; a new vista opened before
-his eyes; Satan had showed him the kingdoms of the world, and the glory
-of them; he must bow the knee and worship.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIV.
-
-    Blest order, which in power dost so excel,
-
-           *       *       *       *       *
-
-                             Fain would I draw nigh,
-    Fain put thee on; exchanging my lay sword
-    For that of th' Holy Word.
-
-    HERBERT.
-
-
-About a year from this time an uncle of Mrs. Trevor's died, leaving
-twenty thousand pounds to his niece's second son, Eustace, his god-son;
-and the persecuted young man thus found himself, by this unexpected
-behest, placed in a position which rendered him to a degree independent
-of the tyranny and bondage to which he had been hitherto subjected by
-his father, and at liberty, if so had been his pleasure, to relinquish
-the profession which had in such an arbitrary manner been forced upon
-him. But it was not thus to be. Very different now was the nature of
-the case. He stood a free man--free to choose or to reject the path of
-life before him, and the spirit which had struggled so fiercely in the
-ignoble chains which bound it to that course, now disenthralled, turned
-as naturally as the eagle to the sun, to that high and holy service for
-which he had been prepared.
-
-The proud and restless spirit, soothed and tranquillized, yielded itself
-as a little child to the scarcely-breathed wishes of his mother, that
-the struggles he had so long and nobly endured in bringing down his
-rebellious thoughts and contrary inclinations--the hard studies to which
-he had devoted himself to fit him according to his own high standard for
-the important vocation, might not be thrown away; but that before she
-left this world of sin and sorrow, she might have the happiness of
-seeing her beloved son wedded to that profession, which in her eyes
-offered the only fold of security and protection from the snares and
-temptations which beset the path of manhood--"the bosom of the Church."
-
-Eustace was fully persuaded that his father would now withdraw the
-living he had before so pertinaciously awarded him; for he plainly
-perceived the increasing enmity the bestowal of his uncle's little
-fortune, had raised against him in the breast of his unnatural parent,
-an act purposely, no doubt, made by the testator, to secure it from the
-well-known cupidity of his niece's husband. But what if this were the
-case? The forfeiture of this benefice would but the more fully satisfy
-his own mind, as to the disinterestedness of the change affected in his
-feelings with respect to that profession.
-
-Therefore from this period did Eustace Trevor set himself with heart and
-soul more fully to prepare for the sacred office, and having shone with
-increased brilliancy in the path of learning, covered with honours and
-distinctions, stood ready for the ceremony of ordination.
-
-But this event was retarded; first, by the severe attack of brain-fever,
-the result probably of the course of hard and long-sustained study,
-which nearly brought him to the brink of the grave, and prostrated his
-strength for many an after day; and by the time he had sufficiently
-recovered, another event had occurred, the nature of which seemed likely
-to effect a most important change in the aspect of his future career.
-
-Mr. Trevor's words, spoken in cruel levity, with reference to his eldest
-son, became verified in a manner not often found precedented in the
-course of the world's history. The body of the unfortunate Henry Trevor
-was brought home one morning to his father's house, it having been found
-lying on the road, where, on returning home the night before in a state
-of intoxication--a vice to which he had been unhappily addicted--he had
-been thrown from his horse, and, as it appeared, killed upon the spot.
-
-And Eustace Trevor stood in that brother's place--eldest son, and heir
-to all that would have been his!
-
-It is not often that such instances are afforded us in the order of
-God's dealings; instances which, to our blind sight, cannot but appear
-wisely and providentially appointed.
-
-We would fain cut down the barren tree, that the good and fruitful may
-flourish in its room. But the husbandman wills it not. We would fain
-root out the tares: but he orders that they should flourish on. The evil
-weeds grow apace; whilst too often the flower withers, and fades ere it
-be yet noon.
-
-But here men said all was right. Poor Henry Trevor! removed from a
-sphere in which he could never have played but so ignoble a part; making
-room for one of whom none could desire better to fill his place, as heir
-and future representative of a house and family of such wealth and
-consideration as that of Trevor, and so noble and brilliant a successor
-to its present miserly head.
-
-Few in any way acquainted with Eustace's superiority of character,
-hesitated to look upon the death of the first-born but as a source of
-congratulation rather than of condolence to the new heir, and to
-posterity. So do men err in their calculations of good and evil!
-
-Little did they know the wild heritage of woe this seeming good did
-bring about! Seldom has the death of an unlamented eldest son proved so
-direful in its consequences.
-
-The catastrophe in question, of course interrupted, for a while, the
-intended ordination of Eustace Trevor. It was naturally supposed that no
-further thought would be entertained of his entering the Church, either
-by himself or family. Indeed, we will not say but that his change of
-circumstances altered also, in some degree, his own ideas upon the
-subject.
-
-New prospects, new duties, new spheres of action for his transcendant
-talents, seemed to open before his view. Even Mrs. Trevor might have
-seemed tacitly to bend to the new position of circumstances. It was,
-however, difficult for the son to gain any insight into the wishes of
-his father upon the subject; for some time after his brother's death he
-was denied all access to that parent's presence: Mr. Trevor's vindictive
-feeling against his second son not suffering him to bear the sight of
-him in the new position he now was placed.
-
-No one, indeed, save Eugene and Marryott, from this time were suffered
-often to approach him. The former, from the period recorded in the last
-chapter, spent much of his time at Montrevor; his favour and influence
-with his father increasing day by day. At this treatment, Eustace could
-be neither much astonished or grieved. For his mother's sake alone did
-he ever make Montrevor his abode, and her failing health, which had
-received a further shock from the violent end of her unfortunate son,
-drew him more anxiously than ever to her side.
-
-He laid his future destiny in her hands. If she still desired him to
-embrace the office of priesthood, no change of fortune should induce him
-further to demur.
-
-And no change of fortune _could_ alter the mother's heart's desire on
-that score; but she knew that worldly consideration spoke otherwise. Was
-it for her to gainsay the wisdom of the world, perhaps the dictates of
-her son's own heart?
-
-She bade him further pause and consider the question ere he took the
-indissoluble step, which would bind him so firmly to the service of his
-God. She advised him to go and try the world, to look upon its pride,
-its ambition, and its pleasure. He went. Courted, flattered, and
-admired, all these allurements beckoned him away. The world smiled upon
-the eldest son, and not only the world; he in whose heart of hearts
-hatred and envy were darkly smouldering against one whom fortune had at
-once so unexpectedly favoured, and raised above himself--he also in
-that smiling world spoke him fair, and walked with him as friend--and
-this was his brother.
-
-How was it then that Eustace Trevor finally returned to his original
-intention? Was his eye even then opened to see the hollowness of all
-that thus surrounded him, or that returning thence to his mother's side,
-he beheld her fading form, her anxious eye, and determined in his heart
-that her fainting spirit should be rejoiced--her last days cheered by
-the accomplishment of her soul's earnest desire.
-
-Was it in bitterness of soul at his father's cruel hatred? The still
-more cruel suspicion that dawned upon his perception, in spite of all
-outward seeming, that the heart of his brother was turned against him
-more darkly still; and that he felt it to be absolutely necessary to
-secure himself a definite occupation and object in life, ere the time
-came when the only light of his paternal home would be quenched with his
-mother's life, and he become a voluntary exile from its portals? Be it
-as it may, Eustace Trevor, without giving notice of his intentions to
-any of his family, went to Oxford, and was finally ordained, having by
-consent of the bishop, in consideration of the long preparation and many
-accidental delays which had postponed the event--his long-tested
-readiness and ability for the important vocation--been excused the
-year's probation which must generally intervene, and was admitted on the
-close coming occasion to the office of priesthood.
-
-    "Dread searcher of the hearts,
-    Thou who didst seal
-    Thy servant's choice, oh help him in his parts,
-    Else helpless found, to turn and teach Thy love."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XV.
-
-    The first dark day of nothingness,
-    The last of danger and distress.
-
-    BYRON.
-
-
-Thus signed and sealed, a devoted soldier of the church of God,
-"fearless yet trembling," Eustace Trevor went forth, and proceeded to
-his home--for home he must always term the spot which contained his
-mother.
-
-In his mind was a conflict of many and full fraught feelings. There was
-the consciousness of the great and responsible charge he had that day
-taken, and the new colouring it must henceforth cast upon his future
-existence--accompanied by a calm and holy joy (as at the same time, that
-peace and good-will to all men warmed his heart, yes even to his
-enemies) the world seemed to fade from his estimation, and the kingdom
-of Heaven and its righteousness, to be the only one on which his soul
-was fixed.
-
-But perhaps a less high-toned, but no less pure and holy emotion was the
-one which, unknown to himself, most strongly predominated over the
-rest--the idea of his mother. The glad surprise he had prepared for her
-suffering spirit, the joy he knew would fill those sorrow-dimmed eyes,
-when she learnt the consummation of her heart's desire on his behalf!
-
-It would be difficult to conceive aright the depth and strength of the
-affection which, fed by "love and grief, and indignation," had grown
-with the growth, and strengthened with the strength of Eustace Trevor
-towards his mother; therefore its expression to some might appear
-exaggeration, but such it was, and the nearer he now approached the
-demesne of Montrevor, the more was his mind filled with her pure and
-holy image, and all the happiness he hoped for, both present and future,
-seemed to concentrate in that one point.
-
-The possibility of losing her, seemed to become a thing he could not
-allow himself to think was possible. It was but sorrow and mental
-suffering which had affected her precious health. Happiness should again
-restore it; he would have a home to offer her. Power or principle could
-not bind her to the one, where wrongs, dishonour, and grief, had been so
-long her portion. He would bear her away to more healthful air, and with
-his love and devotion bind up her broken heart, and heal her bruised
-spirit. He had enough to provide for her in comfort, if not in luxury;
-and what luxury--what scarcely comfort, had she ever tasted in her
-husband's penurious abode?
-
-If a thought of the day when those princely possessions he entered would
-be his, crossed his mind, the idea was but fraught with painful regret;
-scarcely daring, as he did, to extend his dreams so far as to
-contemplate the possibility of _her_ being alive when that day came, to
-profit by the circumstance--to find all the grief, and wrong, and
-slight, and dishonour which had marked her existence in her husband's
-wealthy house, exchanged for the honour, power and dominion--to say
-nothing of the peace and prosperity--which should gild her latter days,
-as mistress of her son's rich inheritance.
-
-Yet at the same time it may be truly said no dark thoughts, no covetous
-desire which might have sprung too naturally from this train of ideas in
-any other breast, was hereby suggested. No, he felt too great a calm, a
-peace and contentment, in the present aspect of his life, as contrasted
-with the struggles and trials which had been its early portion, not to
-have contemplated such a _bouleversement_ as that to which we allude
-with any feeling save that of horror and distaste. No--he had seen and
-proved enough of the hateful sin of covetousness, for any such feeling
-to have gained admittance in his breast; nay, not indeed to have fled
-from its very idea, as from a serpent.
-
-"They that will be rich fall into a temptation and a snare, and into
-many foolish and hurtful lusts, which draw men into destruction and
-perdition. For the love of money is the root of evil, which, when some
-coveted after, they have erred from the faith and pierced themselves
-through with many sorrows. But thou, man of God, flee from these things
-and follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience,
-meekness."
-
-Thus, in a frame and state of mind which it would have been far from
-the thoughts of man to conceive as the presager of misery, dark and
-horrible, Eustace Trevor approached his father's house.
-
-It was night, and the mansion seemed wrapped in more than its customary
-gloom and darkness. Every window was closed and shuttered--all save one,
-and from that the only ray of light visible on its whole extent
-glittered through the open casement.
-
-It was enough--the light came from his mother's chamber. The star of his
-home shone forth, as it had ever done, to cheer and welcome his
-approach. He did not seek admittance at the front door. That had never
-been the privilege of himself or brothers during their boyhood, or their
-custom by choice in later years.
-
-There was a more private entrance, through which, after having left
-their horse or other vehicle at the stables, the young Trevors could
-enter or issue at their pleasure--safe from the _espionage_ or uncertain
-welcome of their father. To this Eustace had now recourse. He tried it,
-and finding the doors beyond his expectations unsecured, passed through,
-making his way by a back staircase to his mother's apartments, without
-encountering a domestic or any person on his route.
-
-The house was still and silent as the grave. He entered the boudoir.
-There was no lamp or candle burning there, but the clear light reflected
-from the adjoining chamber, of which the door was ajar, seemed to
-indicate that his mother had retired for the night.
-
-Softly he stepped across the floor to make known to her his arrival. He
-knew she was expecting him about this time, therefore no fear of
-startling her too much by his sudden appearance presented itself to his
-mind--no fear indeed! He listened. All was still--only a slight breeze
-through the window, (he vaguely wondered that it was open at this hour
-though the night indeed was close and still), faintly rustled the canopy
-of the bed and flared the waxen tapers standing on the table. If his
-mother were there, she undoubtedly slept.
-
-He glanced around the room before advancing further to ascertain the
-fact, and was struck by the cold and unnatural order pervading the
-apartment. It was the sign which first chilled his blood and impressed
-him with a vague but horrible dread. Yet he stood no longer; with a
-firm though somewhat quickened step he approached, laid his hand upon
-the drapery, which was slightly drawn round the head of the bed, and
-beheld his mother.
-
-She slept indeed--how fast, how well, one look alone sufficed to reveal!
-But Eustace's eye turned not from the gaze which had first fixed itself
-upon that marble brow.
-
-    "He gazed--how long we gaze in spite of pain,
-    And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain.
-    In life itself she was so still and fair,
-    That death with gentler aspect withered there."
-
-The long faded beauty of her youth seemed to have returned to Mrs.
-Trevor's countenance, as there in "the rapture of repose," she lay.
-
-Yet the son's eye became glazed in its intensity, as if the sight was
-one of horror and fearfulness, whilst the hue of the cold sleeper's
-cheek, was life, and health, and beauty, compared with that which
-settled on his face.
-
-A female servant of the establishment came and found him still standing
-thus. The woman's startled alarm at first was great. To behold that tall
-statue-like figure in the chamber she had left, deserted by all living.
-But any weak demonstration of her fear was awed into reason and
-collectiveness, by the recognition of her dead mistress' son, who at
-length, as she stood transfixed in her first paroxism of terror to the
-spot, turned his face towards her, revealing a countenance on which no
-passionate emotion, no strong grief, nothing but a stern, fearful
-composure, was visible, and demanded in a low, hollow voice:
-
-"When did she die?"
-
-"This morning at nine o'clock," the woman answered, weeping.
-
-    "It was enough--she died; what reck'd it how?"
-
-Eustace waved his hand in sign for her to depart. She obeyed
-immediately, closing the door instinctively behind her; seeming at once
-to feel and understand that he who had most right to command, within
-that chamber, had arrived.
-
-And all through the lonely watches of that night; lock and bolt from
-within, secured, shut out from all intrusion, the agonized communion of
-the living with the peaceful sorrowless dead. The living in his agony
-which no tongue could tell; the dead, whose life might have been called
-one long painful sigh--one sympathetic groan, lying there, serene,
-senseless, smiling on his pain. But too great had been the shock of the
-deep waters which now overwhelmed his soul, for Eustace Trevor to
-consider, and bless God that it was so. He that but an hour before had
-come on his way rejoicing--his spirit lifted up as it were on eagles'
-wings, "from this dim spot which men call earth," to heaven, now was as
-a crushed worm--a broken reed,--stricken to the ground in hopeless,
-powerless despair!
-
-"Why hast thou smitten me, and there is no healing for me? I looked for
-peace and there is no good; for the time of healing, and behold
-trouble!"
-
-Such is man in his best estate; his highest strength is
-weakness--altogether vanity. Let the Almighty call forth his storm to
-break upon his head; let him wither his gourd--his spirit faints, and is
-ready to die.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVI.
-
-    Oh wretch! without a tear, without a thought,
-    Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought.
-
-           *       *       *       *       *
-
-    Look on thy earthly victims and despair.
-
-    BYRON.
-
-
-When the morning arrived, some one came knocking for admittance at the
-door of the chamber of death. The knock was several times repeated
-before it gained any answer or attention; but finally a slow and heavy
-tread was heard traversing the apartment; the bolt was feebly drawn, the
-door opened, and Eustace Trevor stood face to face with Mabel Marryott.
-
-Prepared as she was for this meeting, and in some degree for its being
-one of no pleasing nature, the woman could not but recoil before the wan
-and haggard countenance which presented itself to her view.
-
-Her stony eye shrunk--her bloodless heart quailed at first sight of
-those signs of mighty grief which one night's agony had imprinted there.
-But perhaps it was not so much his appearance as the glance, Eustace,
-still holding the door in his hand, fixed upon her, which thus affected
-her; and he, favoured by this movement on her part, was about, without
-the utterance of a word, again to close the door in her face, when
-quickly recovering from her momentary weakness she prevented the action,
-by stepping quickly forward, and attempted to pass him by. But no;
-firmly he remained within the doorway, effectually frustrating any such
-endeavour. Mabel Marryott looked at him with an air of affected
-surprise, her cool, unabashed demeanour perfectly restored.
-
-"Mr. Eustace," she said, and there was an insolent tinge of patronising
-pity in her tone; "will you allow me, Sir?"
-
-"No; I will not," was the reply which burst forth in accents, which, if
-there were aught of human in her mould, must have shook her very soul to
-its centre; "you are not wanted here; you have done enough--you have
-helped to kill her; what can you desire more? Begone!--tempt me not to
-call down the curse of Heaven upon ..."
-
-"Eustace--Eustace--this is folly; this is madness!" said a voice behind
-him; and the fearful words were stayed on Eustace's lips, when he looked
-up, and beheld his brother. Eugene Trevor, looking very pale and ill
-himself, came forward, and with a glance at Marryott took his brother's
-arm, and led him back through the chamber of death into the boudoir
-beyond, closing the door behind them.
-
-"Good heavens! Eustace, how ill you look! You must not give way in that
-manner--it is weak, it is unmanly. This has been a blow to us all; but
-you know it was not altogether unexpected. Her health has long been
-failing."
-
-But his brother did not heed him. He had lain his head down upon a table
-near the seat on which he sunk. Those cold, inadequate words did not
-touch his deep fathomless grief. But still, the sight and presence of
-one whom, she at least had loved, seemed to have some effect in soothing
-the passionate excitement of misery into which the sight of her she had
-every reason to abhor, had worked him. He forgot even at the time to
-think how ill that love had been requited, and scalding tears,
-
-              "The very weakness of the brain,
-    Which still confessed without relieving pain,"
-
-were trickling from his burning eye-balls, when again he raised his
-face, and turned it towards his brother.
-
-"Eugene, who was with her?" he asked, while at the same time he
-murmured: "Not that woman?"
-
-"No--I think not; it was so sudden at the last, that I believe, not even
-her maid knew of it till she came into her room in the morning. The
-doctor says it was paralysis of the heart."
-
-"Yes--yes, I see; deserted, neglected, even in the hour of death!"
-
-"I saw her the night before, before going to bed," rejoined the other,
-without noticing this interruption. "She seemed pretty well then, but
-did not notice me much--she only asked for you;" and there was something
-of sullen bitterness in the tone of voice in which these words were
-uttered.
-
-His listener groaned.
-
-"And why was I not sent for--_why_?" he repeated with agonized emphasis.
-"Oh, need I ask that question?"
-
-"I told you, that to the last she was not considered in danger,"
-continued the other with some impatience; "of course, there could have
-been no motive."
-
-"No motive; no not more than there ever has been, for all that has been
-done to wither her heart and shorten her days--not more than there has
-ever been for the course of cruel, wanton persecution, which would fain,
-I believe, have crushed the very life blood out of my heart also. But
-that--that is nothing now; it is the thought of her alone which tortures
-my soul to madness. To think of all she was made to endure, for my sake
-and her own--that placid martyred saint; and then no effort made to
-bring me to her side, to soothe her dying pangs, as I alone could do;
-her last glance seeking for her son in vain; her eyes closed perhaps by
-her murderess.... Eugene, has _he_ dared to look upon her?"
-
-"Who! my father?"
-
-"Yes; _your_ father."
-
-"I really do not know whether he has been here, or not, since...."
-
-"He could not--he dare not; only a wretch like her could venture to
-enter there--to look upon that angel face, and not see utter despair and
-condemnation breathed forth from each cold feature upon her destroyer."
-
-"Eustace this is strong language; grief has weakened and excited your
-brain; you want rest and refreshment."
-
-"Rest and refreshment? All the rest I can take is watching by her side,
-guarding her from any desecrating approach; all refreshment, that which
-her cold, calm presence can afford. Strong language did you call it,
-Eugene? Can your mother's son think any language too strong to express
-his hatred--abhorrence--against her mighty wrongs? You cannot be in
-league with those who have destroyed her?"
-
-"I never interfered in those matters," Eugene murmured coldly, but with
-downcast looks. "It does no good, and is no business of ours, and if you
-had taken my advice, Eustace, you would have done the same. It would
-have been the better for you. It is this sort of thing which
-exasperates my father against you."
-
-Oh the look of mingled scorn, surprise, and sorrowful reproach, which
-Eugene Trevor, on lifting up his eyes, saw turned upon him. They shrunk
-again abashed before its power, and ere he dared again to lift them, he
-heard the slow heavy footsteps of his brother returning to the chamber
-of death.
-
-Eugene did not follow there, but rising, went down stairs the other way
-straight to his father's library. Marryott was there, having doubtless
-been reporting to her master the unfavourable reception she had received
-from his eldest son.
-
-Mr. Trevor sat in his dressing-gown cowering over the embers of a scanty
-fire. He looked feeble and haggard, and altogether might have been taken
-for many years beyond his real age. It could not be, we know, that grief
-had thus affected him; but certainly from this period the old
-enchanter's wand seemed more and more to have been wrested from his
-hold, some blight to have fallen upon that cruel and covetous man;
-something which bowed his spirit into the impotence, almost dotage of
-premature old age; converting the tyrant into the slave--the man of
-strong passions into the tool of the passions of others--in all
-respects, indeed, save that which touched in any degree upon the
-mainspring of his being--the darling lust--which coiled like a serpent
-round his heart-strings; nothing but the hand of death could tear away
-his covetousness. How was this? Could it be that the words spoken in the
-bitterness of his son's agonized spirit, had thus been brought to bear
-upon him, that he _had_ dared to look upon his dead wife's angel's face,
-and that the sight had cursed him.
-
-    "Lo! the spell now works around thee,
-    And the clankless chain has bound thee,
-    O'er thy heart and brain together
-    Hath the word been passed, now wither."
-
-He turned round on his son's entrance with a look of nervous dread.
-
-"Oh, it is you, Eugene! Marryott has been telling me what is going on up
-stairs."
-
-"Pshaw!" the young man exclaimed, as he threw himself down on a chair,
-"one must not mind him just now, poor fellow, he is quite distracted."
-
-"I should say so, indeed," sneered the woman significantly.
-
-"But he will not come here, I hope," continued Mr. Trevor, anxiously. "I
-desire that he is not allowed to come near me. I cannot, I will not see
-him!"
-
-"No fear of that, Sir," answered the son coldly; "he is not very likely
-to trouble _you_ with his presence."
-
-"Well, well, that's all right; let him rave as much as he likes out of
-my sight. And now give me a drop of brandy, Marryott, and stir up the
-fire gently, only just gently. It's very cold."
-
-And the victim of conscience cowered and shivered over the scanty flame
-thus excited.
-
-"Eugene, stay!" he continued, "don't you go; I don't like to be left,
-and there's so much business to be talked over, such trouble and
-expense." And the miser set about to calculate grudgingly the cost of
-his wife's funeral.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVII.
-
-    Oh, lie not down, poor mourner,
-    On the cold earth in despair;
-    Why give the grave thy homage?
-    Does the spirit moulder there?
-    Cling to the Cross, thou lone one,
-    For it hath power to save.
-    If the Christian's hope forsake thee,
-    There's no hope beyond the grave.
-
-    HAYNES BAYLEY.
-
-
-If it be terrible to look upon the face of the beloved dead in the first
-hours of dissolution--
-
-    "Before decay's effacing finger
-      Hath swept the cheek where beauty lingers,"
-
---what must it be when hour after hour, like the worm in the bud, the
-tyrant's power steals on its insiduous way, and we stand and gaze our
-last, and see and feel it _must_ be so!
-
-Yet through all this, from which strong man so often shrinks, leaving to
-woman's exhaustless fidelity the sacred care and mournful duty to the
-departed, did Eustace Trevor--"Love mastering agony"--maintain his
-watch, never allowing himself to be persuaded to quit the precincts of
-that chamber, till that dreadful moment which was to cover from his eyes
-all that in this world was precious to his heart--till a day more
-dreadful still should arrive to force it to a close. Night followed day,
-and morning chased away the shadows of darkness; but day and night were
-both alike to the dimmed eyes--the stunned senses of the mourner. He
-never slept, and but sufficient of the food placed for him in the
-neighbouring room, as barely might preserve existence, ever passed his
-lips. He saw no one, but occasionally his brother, and an inferior
-domestic; no other dared approach him. Thus far he had triumphed.
-
-For the rest, stunned and enfeebled, it was to him but as a dark
-bewildered dream, wherein he played his part; nor knew whether friend or
-foe were standing by his side, if those who loved, or those who hated
-him, were mingling in the solemn rite. The darkness of the sepulchre
-seemed to have engulphed every sense or feeling of his soul.
-
-He was taken home from the church almost in a state of insensibility,
-from which it seems that he awoke only too soon to consciousness and
-woe. Late in the evening, at dark, he was heard by some of the awed
-domestics seeking the deserted apartment of their mistress, and the
-following morning was not to be found within the house.
-
-This was reported, and after some search the miserable young man was
-discovered, wet with the dews of heaven, stretched upon the turf which
-enclosed the family mausoleum, which had been open to receive the
-remains of his mother, and where he had probably lain all night.
-
-He was carried back to his chamber, and placed under medical care, his
-brother showing much anxious solicitude on his behalf. The doctor,
-however, the common attendant on the family, pronounced his malady to be
-merely the effect of long fasting, watching and mental distress, and
-which it only required proper measures to allay; whilst for the better
-assurance of these measures being carried out, the worthy practitioner
-placed his patient under the peculiar care and superintendance of his
-great ally, Mrs. Marryott, whose skill and prudence he held in most
-subservient and sycophantish esteem. And with most seeming assiduity,
-Mrs. Marryott entered upon the duties thus imposed.
-
-If anything were likely to fan into flame the fever, already raging in
-the veins of the unhappy Eustace it would be, as is easily to be
-supposed, this most repugnant infliction he was powerless to resist. In
-vain he protested, as far as his feeble strength would allow him,
-against the repugnant imposition of such odious services upon him,
-entreating the assistance of his brother in his release, repulsing the
-detested woman's attentions, and refusing to touch the food or medicines
-offered by her hand.
-
-His brother soothed or reasoned. The doctor told him he must not be
-agitated--felt his pulse, shook his head. Still that Marryott's hateful
-face, with its serpent smile, hung over him, uttering smooth words in
-oily accents in his shrinking ear, or creeping noiselessly about the
-room, whilst his fascinated eye fain would follow loathingly. No wonder,
-then, maddened and excited, that the fever raged more intensely, till,
-mounting higher and higher, his very brain seemed on fire; every image,
-loved or hated, became distorted and indistinct to his mind; till,
-finally, he lay prostrate, raving, struggling, delirious, beneath the
-power of that fearful malady, which had attacked him once before--a
-brain fever!
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-It was a cold, stormy November night. The father and son sat together
-close beside the library fire, after dinner; the latter musing absently
-over a newspaper he held before him, the former deep in the examination
-of an old leather pocket-book, where accounts and memorandums concerning
-money matters were noted down.
-
-The door opened; both looked sharply round: it was Marryott. She put her
-head in at the door, and begged Mr. Eugene to come and speak to her.
-Eugene turned pale, started up, and hastened to obey the summons. Mr.
-Trevor looked after him, put his note-book carefully into his pocket,
-picked up, and appeared to peruse the newspaper his son had thrown down;
-but ever and anon, at every sound that met his ear, his small dark eye
-might be seen peering eagerly towards the door.
-
-"Well, well," turning eagerly towards Eugene, as he entered, looking
-still paler than when he left the room, but taking his seat as before,
-without speaking a word; "well, well, what's the matter? Where have you
-been?"
-
-"With Marryott, talking to her. Panton has just come."
-
-"Well, well--how is he?--worse?"
-
-"Why, yes--I cannot say there is much improvement; but here's Marryott,"
-as the door again opened; "she can tell you more about him and Panton's
-opinion."
-
-Marryott entered, and stationed herself beside Mr. Trevor's chair,
-keeping her eyes fixed upon Eugene, as he sat leaning his elbows on his
-knees, and looking nervously down upon the ground.
-
-"Well, well, Marryott, is he very bad? What does Panton think of him
-now?"
-
-"He thinks very badly of him, indeed, Mr. Trevor," was her answer, in a
-solemn, mysterious voice.
-
-"Really, really; Does he think that he will die?"
-
-The woman cleared her throat.
-
-"No, not quite that, though some might think it even worse."
-
-She paused, and tried to catch Eugene's pertinaciously averted eye.
-
-"Go on, go on. What, in the name of Heaven, is it then? Is he mad?"
-
-"It is shocking to see him, Sir," Marryott hastened to rejoin, as if not
-sorry to have been spared the direct utterance of this communication;
-"and Mr. Panton has great fears whether his reason is not to an alarming
-degree affected. He cannot leave him; his violence becomes frightfully
-increased. Mr. Eugene saw how he was just now. If this continues, some
-measures must be taken. It is very dangerous to those about him."
-
-She paused.
-
-"Eh! Eugene, Eugene! This won't do, Eugene! What is to be done?"
-exclaimed the old man, in sudden panic, as he looked up. "He can't come
-here--can he? Dangerous! Why, he must not stay here then. I can't keep a
-madman in the house. Put him on a straight-waistcoat, and take him to
-the asylum till he is better. I won't have him here, I tell you," cried
-the tender father.
-
-"Hush, Sir, pray!--this is going too far," said Eugene, rising, and
-looking very grave and shocked. "I hope nothing so very extreme as this
-will be necessary, though indeed at present my brother is in a very
-fearful state. Panton has just sent for his assistant, as I should wish
-to keep the servants out of the way as much as possible; it would be
-making the dreadful affair too public."
-
-"Well, well, what does that matter? It must come out some time or
-another. Did I not always say he was mad?" and a horrid gleam of
-something like exultation passed over the old man's countenance; "did he
-not always from a boy play the madman?"
-
-Eugene listened with attentive consideration to his father's words, then
-looking up, met the significant glance of Marryott fixed upon him.
-
-He turned away, and stood thoughtfully gazing into the fire. A pause of
-some length succeeded. Mr. Trevor had sat for some time musing, or
-rather calculating also, whilst Marryott stood watching with cold
-interest and curiosity, the progress of a train of thought, of which
-her insinuations had kindled the first spark.
-
-At length Eugene felt his arm touched. His father had made his way close
-up to his side.
-
-"I say Eugene," and he whispered--but not so low that the third person
-should not overhear--some words in his ear.
-
-His unhappy listener shrank as if the serpent's breath had in reality
-fanned his cheek. But he only shrank--he did not flee; and those "evil
-thoughts" from whence stand ready to pour forth like a flood, that
-fearful category of crime the gospel enumerates--were working within his
-breast, waiting but that same breath to breathe them forth into life and
-action.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVIII.
-
-    A light broke in upon my brain;
-    It ceased, and then it came again;
-    And then by dull degrees came back
-    My senses to their wonted track.
-
-    BYRON.
-
-
-It created no little consternation amongst the establishment of
-Montrevor, when it was delicately set about, amongst them, that Mr.
-Eustace Trevor, that noble, fine, generous-hearted young gentleman was
-_mad_! Some, said, no wonder, coming home as he did, to find his mother,
-whom he loved so well, dead. Others told how, indeed, they had been near
-his room, and heard his ravings. One woman could testify of what she had
-seen of his strange grief exhibited in the chamber of death. Some few
-shook their heads mysteriously, but preserved discreet--though
-significant silence.
-
-Vague reports got abroad, of course to this same effect. Neighbours
-called to inquire. Mr. Trevor and his youngest son were not visible; but
-the cautious answers given at the door concerning the health of Eustace,
-served but to confirm the fearful suspicions now let loose.
-
-Some few of the suffering young man's particular friends, amongst them
-young de Burgh of Silverton, made efforts to visit him in person, but
-this was declared to be so perfectly impracticable, that every endeavour
-of the sort was obliged to be relinquished; and at length it became
-pretty generally known that Eustace Trevor was removed from Montrevor,
-though it was not exactly ascertained where, and under what
-circumstances.
-
-Eugene Trevor still kept himself shut up, inaccessible to every visitor,
-and even the servants were not a set disposed to be very communicative
-concerning the family affairs; indeed, immediately after Mrs. Trevor's
-death, although at no time had it been on a very extensive scale, a
-great reduction had been made in the establishment--it was compressed
-into the smallest possible compass for the exigencies of the large
-house.
-
-All the domestics perhaps knew on the subject was, that on a certain
-day, about a fortnight after Mrs. Eustace had been taken so very ill,
-Mr. Panton had brought, besides his assistant, another medical gentleman
-to the house. One of the Trevor carriages had been brought round, and
-Mr. Eustace was carried down stairs and conveyed away therein by the two
-doctors; his state of mind--as Mrs. Marryott reported--having arrived at
-a pitch which rendered it absolutely necessary that he should be placed
-under more close and immediate medical treatment.
-
-As for Mr. Eugene, it seemed that he took his brother's condition
-greatly to heart. They never saw a gentleman look so ill. He scarcely
-touched a morsel of food, nor left the house to breathe the fresh air,
-but sat shut up in the library with the old gentleman; which must, they
-all thought, be very bad for him, both in mind and body--worse even than
-going off to London and racketting there, as they heard was his wont,
-though he did manage to keep it so snug and make himself such a
-favourite with his father. They wondered indeed how he managed with the
-old gentleman. They well knew how poor Mr. Eustace had been treated,
-and should always think Mr. Trevor had helped to drive him mad; but it
-was only like the proverb which says that "one man may steal a horse out
-of the field, whilst another may not as much as look over the hedge."
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-There is a pretty looking country-house about five miles distant from
-Montrevor, of which travellers as they pass generally ask the name, and
-are astonished when they hear its nature and appropriation; so little,
-excepting perhaps the wall surrounding the premises, is there in its
-exterior, as seen from the road, calculated to give the beholder an idea
-of its belonging to any such class of institution as it really does. The
-interior too, on a stranger's first entrance, would not be likely to
-enlighten him. There are pretty drawing-rooms below, looking upon lawns
-and gardens, in which well-dressed people are seen to sit or walk; and
-who give one little idea, by their carriage, behaviour, or even
-sometimes by their conversation, what has brought them there, and under
-which dreadful malady they are supposed to be labouring.
-
-They seem to be treated in the kindest manner, and entertained and
-accommodated as in every way would be accordant with the immense sum
-which has gained for them the privilege of an entrance into this asylum
-of wealthy woe; for woe--yes, one of those worst of woes flesh is heir
-to--lies concealed beneath the glittering surface of appearances such as
-we are describing. And few would wish to pierce, even if allowed,
-farther into "the secrets of that prison-house," lest sounds or sights
-which freeze the blood and harrow the soul might be listened to and
-revealed.
-
-In a remote chamber of this mansion, between whose close grated windows
-the light of day but feebly straggled through blinds which debarred all
-outward view, Eustace Trevor had opened his eyes, and for the first time
-for many a day felt his brain cool, his mind clear, his vision
-disentangled from those false and disturbed images which hitherto had so
-tormented it, and reduced him an unconscious unresisting prey into the
-hand of the enemy. The crisis had passed--a deep but healthy sleep had
-succeeded. "The wild fever had swept away like an angry red cloud, and
-the refreshing summer rain began to fall upon the parched earth."
-
-But where and under what circumstances did this change find him?
-
-He had no assured remembrance of what had been. It only seemed to him at
-first that he had awoke out of a long, disturbed and painful slumber, of
-which confused dreams and horrid visions had composed the greater
-portion. He felt that he had been ill, and was feeble beyond
-description--too feeble at first to turn his eyes around--to raise his
-hands, upon which, clasped together on his breast, there seemed to lay,
-as upon his other limbs, some dead and oppressive weight.
-
-He closed his eyes--the light, faint as it was, pained his long
-unconscious sight--and yielded himself again to that passive state of
-immovability to which he seemed reduced.
-
-He lay for some time in this manner, memory and consciousness working
-their way by dull degrees within his soul. There was a profound
-stillness reigning round him, which induced the drowsiness of
-exhaustion, and he was relapsing into a half wakeful dose, when the
-rumbling of carriage-wheels broke faintly on the silence; and soon
-after, a confused movement in the house more effectually, but still
-vaguely aroused his attention. Then followed the hushed sound of human
-voices; and one, raised above all others, in a terrible, but, as it
-were, quickly stifled shriek, caused him fearfully to start up in a
-sitting posture upon the bed.
-
-He heard no other sound but that of a door being closed and fastened
-heavily, and, as it seemed, at no great distance from his own. Yet at
-the same moment, as by an instinctive sympathy with the ideas suggested
-in his mind, he tried to move his arms once more. Still they resisted
-every freedom of action. He struggled--he looked--he felt what a cold,
-leaden power it was, that thus constrained them, and strength seemed to
-return as fiercely. The unfortunate Eustace struggled to tear his wrists
-asunder. But no--more than the strength of a stronger man than he was
-needed to tear away those bonds; for it was under no mere physical
-weakness, but bonds of iron, against which he had to contend, and his
-efforts served but to gall and bruise the limbs they encircled.
-
-Eustace gazed around him. His eyes fixed upon the grated window, and a
-look of indescribable horror stole over that fine but emaciated
-countenance. He tried to put his feet to the ground, and found them too
-strongly bound together; but still he managed to move them from the bed
-upon the floor, and thus he sat, and again gazed round his prison walls.
-
-Suddenly a man appeared by his side. The captive--for such he might be
-called--met the firm, peculiar regard this person fixed upon him, with
-the full, clear glance of his powerful dark eyes; then looking down at
-the chains which bound him, said in a tone of earnest, but composed
-inquiry:
-
-"Good heavens! do you mean to say that all this has been necessary?
-Where am I? Where is Mr. Panton? Can I speak to him?"
-
-"Mr. Panton is not in attendance at present upon you; but there is
-another gentleman, who will visit you at the appointed time. He is now
-engaged."
-
-"Oh, very well; but at least be so good as to relieve me from these
-shackles. I am perfectly sane now, you see, at any rate; and weak
-enough, God knows! to be perfectly harmless," he added, as sinking back
-upon the pillows, he faintly offered his hands for the required release.
-
-"When Dr. Miller arrives, Sir," replied the man, "I have no doubt your
-wishes will be obeyed; but I cannot take upon myself to do anything of
-the kind without his authority. In less than an hour he will be here.
-Till then, Sir," with decision, turning the bed-clothes over the
-patient, "be so good as to lie as quiet as possible, and take this light
-nourishment I have brought you."
-
-"No, no, Sir! Till Dr. Miller arrives, I consent--because I have no
-power to do otherwise--to lie here chained like a maniac, but not a drop
-of nourishment do I take till I am at liberty to receive it in my own
-hands. To have it sent down my throat that way, I cannot allow; so
-attempt it on your peril. You see as well as possible that I am not
-_mad_ now, if I have ever been so, which I very much doubt. I have had a
-brain fever I imagine. I had one once before in my life; but this last
-may have been more violent in its effects, and at its height I suppose I
-was incarcerated as a lunatic here. You see, Sir, I have a pretty clear
-idea of the true state of the case, so take care what you do. And now be
-so good as to let this Dr. Miller be sent to me with as little delay as
-possible."
-
-The keeper, for such he was, did not attempt any further parley. He
-only said soothingly that he should be obeyed, watched his noble-looking
-charge turn and resettle himself as conveniently as he could, with an
-air of disdainful pride, upon his pallet-couch, and departed to report
-concerning him.
-
-In about an hour Dr. Miller arrived. Eustace fixed his eyes calmly and
-firmly upon him as he stood by his bedside, looking gravely and
-anxiously into his patient's face. But when the medical man proceeded in
-the same way to feel his pulse, Eustace said, yielding with a wan smile
-his fettered wrists:
-
-"I think, Doctor, you will be able to manage that better without these
-cuffs--ornaments which I can, if you please, dispense with at your
-leisure."
-
-But the doctor with silent deliberation performed his office; then
-relaxing his hold, and fixing his eyes again earnestly on his patient,
-said after another silent pause:
-
-"Yes, Sir, you are better--certainly better; and a week or two of quiet
-I hope may perfectly restore you. Jefferies, you are wanted."
-
-And in obedience to his sign, the assistant, who reappeared at the
-moment, proceeded to undo the fastenings of both legs and arms; and
-whilst so doing, the doctor and his factotum significantly looked at
-each other, as on removing the clumsy apparatus intended as handcuffs,
-the fearfully lacerated and wounded state of poor Eustace Trevor's
-wrists became visible.
-
-"These are, indeed, awkward customers," whispered the man.
-
-"Most unnecessary!" was the low-toned reply.
-
-The fact was, that the ignorant, time-serving village doctor--a
-particular ally of Marryott's,--had taken upon himself thus to torture
-the insensible man, knowing perfectly that the greater semblance of
-insanity he could substantiate in his patient, the more he should gain
-favour in the sight of Marryott and her employers.
-
-Eagerly the imprisoned one sat up, and watched the progress of this
-operation, as if like an enchained eagle awaiting his release to spread
-his wings and take its sunward flight. But at the same moment as the
-bonds relaxed their hold, a sudden faintness came over him, and sinking
-back again upon his pillow, he gasped an entreaty for water.
-
-It was given to him, with other restoratives. The doctor forbade him to
-speak, gave further orders to the assistant, and left the room. And that
-day, and the next, and throughout the week, Eustace was treated as any
-other man recovering from a dangerous fever might have been; and day
-after day, as gradually he felt his strength returning, was he the more
-content to submit calmly, and patiently, to the discipline to which he
-was subjected--the perfect quiet imposed upon him, feeling as he did,
-that thus the sooner would he be able to exact that explanation as to
-his present position, and his release therefrom, which he so earnestly
-desired.
-
-We will not attempt to imagine the thoughts and feelings which must have
-worked within the soul of the sick man, as he lay there, within that
-grated chamber.
-
-"Fearfulness and trembling have taken hold upon me, and a horrible dread
-has overwhelmed me."
-
-The very idea of finding himself in such a place, was enough of itself
-to affect the strongest mind with revolting feelings. But with that
-idea, the dark doubt, and uncertainty as to the circumstances attendant
-on his position--whether the cause had really justified the dreadful
-measures which had been employed; or if--equally revolting idea!--the
-unnatural persecution which had haunted him from his birth, had taken
-this last dark means of wreaking itself on its victim; if so, to what
-extent might it not be carried? And at the best, had not enough already
-been done to fix the brand of madness for ever on his name--
-
-    "Blighting his life in best of his career."
-
-We need not say, how agonizing thoughts of his late mother mingled with
-this sterner woe, how he seemed to float alone on a stormy sea of
-trouble, that star of light which once alone had illumined his darkness,
-now withdrawn to shine upon a higher, purer sphere, till in moments of
-despair he was tempted, poor, unfortunate young man! to implore of
-Heaven that those deep black waters might engulph him for ever in their
-depth--that he might die! for "what now was his life good unto him?"
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIX.
-
-    Feel I not wrath with those who placed me here,
-    Who have debased me in the minds of men,
-    Debarring me the usage of my own,
-    Blighting my life in best of its career,
-    Branding my thoughts as things to spurn and fear.
-
-    BYRON.
-
-
-A week passed thus, and at the close, Eustace was not only permitted to
-leave his bed, but was removed during the day to a lower room, opening
-upon an enclosed court, into which, though still feeble, he was
-permitted to stroll at his pleasure, undisturbed by the sight or
-presence of any of the wretched inmates of the establishment. Here his
-proud form at length one day confronted the doctor; and as he drew near,
-to inquire after his patient, Eustace thus accosted him:
-
-"Having so far recovered, Doctor, I suppose you will now be so good as
-to satisfy my mind by answering a few questions I am naturally anxious
-to put to you. First of all, how long may I have remained in that house
-before I became conscious of being chained up like a wild beast in his
-den?"
-
-"My dear Sir, it is our practice never to allow our patients to agitate
-or excite themselves by any discussion upon the subject of their late
-illnesses; but I may tell you so far, that you came under my charge here
-the night before the day from which I may date the period of your
-convalescence."
-
-"And in what state was I conveyed here? I now seem to have some slight
-recollection of feeling myself borne along in a carriage; but it is all
-confused like the rest."
-
-"No doubt, Sir; but your question I must beg to decline answering: it is
-one of those which are forbidden."
-
-"And by whose authority was I committed to this place, may I be
-permitted to inquire _that_?"
-
-The doctor hesitated, but looking on his patient, there was something in
-his countenance and demeanour which seemed to exert its due weight on
-one--the secret of whose profession was influence over others, and a
-thorough knowledge of the workings of the countenances of those with
-whom they have to deal.
-
-"By the proper authorities in such cases, Sir--the certificates of two
-medical practitioners and your near relation."
-
-"My father, I conclude?"
-
-"No, Sir; the party who stood forward on this occasion, was your
-brother."
-
-"My brother!"
-
-Those words were repeated as if with them a weight of lead had fallen on
-the listener's heart, and stunned it.
-
-Eustace Trevor stood transfixed for a moment, in silent thought; then
-turning from the doctor's inquisitive gaze, took two or three turns
-along the grass, with folded arms, and head sunk low upon his bosom.
-
-At last he paused, and stood once more before the doctor, who still
-remained steadfastly regarding him.
-
-"I suppose, at any rate, that now, Sir, there can be no reason for my
-remaining any longer under your charge?"
-
-"I hope, indeed, Mr. Trevor, that there may be but a very little time
-necessary."
-
-"_Necessary!_ No, I should think not. To-night, Sir, it is my wish to
-leave your establishment."
-
-The doctor smiled soothingly.
-
-"Come, my dear Sir, not quite so fast as all that--you are not
-quite--quite well yet."
-
-"Quite well, Sir, as far as concerns your branch of the profession; and
-when I tell you that, it is my firm conviction that I never ought to
-have been here, and that I shall take care to make this generally known,
-I think you will see the expediency of making no attempt to detain me,
-contrary to my inclination."
-
-The doctor again smiled compassionately. When were his unhappy patients
-ever known to remain, according to their own pleasure, within those
-walls?
-
-"Very well, Sir--very well; no threats are needed--I only wait your
-friends' consent."
-
-"_My friends!_" and there was a mournful intonation on these words.
-"Well, Sir," with a commanding air, "be so good as to gain that consent
-as soon as possible--my father's, my brother's, and of one called Mabel
-Marryott, I conclude. I might not be so inclined to await patiently
-their decision, were I not unwilling," glancing at the high wall
-surrounding him, and towards the spot where he knew a keeper, in the
-absence of the doctor, watched his movements unseen, "to employ that
-physical force, which I see is expected in this place."
-
-The doctor bowed complacently and withdrew, after stealing a significant
-look at his attendant minister. But the warning it intended to imply,
-was not needed. The spirit of Eugene Trevor was bowed down to the very
-dust with its load of bitterness.
-
-He returned into the house, and remained that evening plunged in a dark
-dejection, which he felt the necessity of shaking off, lest that
-horrible thing should indeed creep over his mind, of which he was
-accused.
-
-The following morning he again made application to Dr. Miller concerning
-his release, but received only an equivocal reply.
-
-His brother was from home, and the necessary answer was not to be
-obtained; his father--he was ill, and they feared to bring the subject
-before him. Eustace reasoned, then commanded as to the expediency of
-waiving all such forms, and his dismissal being given without further
-prevarication or delay. This was declined civilly, as to a reasonable
-being; but still the mind of the unfortunate prisoner was irritated and
-goaded, by perceiving that every precaution was taken for the security
-of his person. He was loth to having recourse to any violent attempt to
-perpetrate his escape; but when one day, after time had gone on, and he
-plainly saw that some other authority than the doctor's influenced his
-detention; a feeling almost of real distraction began to take possession
-of his mind, and he determined that those hated walls should hold him no
-longer--that like a very madman, if it must be so, he would break his
-bonds and make the very neighbourhood ring with the wrongs he had
-received.
-
-Though his noble spirit pined, his physical strength was returning. He
-often measured with his eye the form of the keeper, who so skilfully
-managed to dog his steps and movements, and thought how little it would
-take him, if it ever was needed, to fell that, comparatively speaking,
-puny form to the ground, or that of any one who attempted to oppose his
-lawful exit from that house. A providential accident came at length to
-his aid.
-
-One afternoon, when seated drearily, meditating over his fate, and
-endeavouring to invent expedients for his immediate emancipation, in the
-private sitting-room accorded to him, he heard a noise in the passage--a
-scraping of feet and sounds of horrid laughter. All this had become
-natural to his ear; but it just occurred to him to look out of the door
-into the anteroom, where his constant _attaché_ was generally in
-attendance. He was gone. Some peculiar exigency had demanded his
-immediate services towards the unfortunate, whose voice he had just
-heard.
-
-A few hasty strides and Eustace was in the outer corridor: it was empty.
-He stood one second irresolute, which way to turn; then offered up a
-silent prayer to Heaven and started forward, he knew not whither.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XX.
-
-    Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall,
-    Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall.
-
-    TENNYSON.
-
-
-The shades of evening were closing over Montrevor, and candles had just
-been lighted in the library, earlier than usual, as it seemed, for the
-completion of some urgent business with which its occupants were
-employed.
-
-There were three individuals seated round the writing-table: Mr. Trevor,
-his son Eugene, and a third person, who, with pen in hand, with
-parchment opened before him, looked what he really was--a lawyer. He
-wrote some time in silence, the old man rocking himself backwards and
-forwards in his chair, as if nervous and weary; and the other leaning
-over the table, watching the proceedings of the scribe with anxious
-interest plainly revealed in his dark, but handsome countenance. At
-length, finishing with a flourish, the man of business looked up, and
-asked for the witnesses.
-
-Eugene Trevor was about hastily to rise and ring the bell, when, as if
-by fortunate coincidence, Mabel Marryott entered the room.
-
-"Oh, exactly; here is one, at any rate," he said, resuming his seat; and
-the woman advancing, was directed by the lawyer to sign the papers on
-which he had been occupied.
-
-Marryott still held the pen in her hand, having accomplished the act,
-and was glancing at her master's son with something of a congratulatory
-leer upon her countenance, as he bent over eagerly towards the document,
-whilst Mr. Trevor's shrill voice, at the same moment, was raised in
-irritated inquiry, as to who was to be the other witness; exclaiming,
-that they had better make haste and call some one else, and let the
-business be at an end.
-
-"No need of that--_I_ am here as witness!" exclaimed a deep, low voice,
-whose thrilling tones burst upon the listeners' ears like thunder before
-the lightning flash.
-
-Three of the assembled party, at least--the father, the son and that
-guilty woman--shrank from the fire of that dark, full eye, which glanced
-accusingly down upon them; for Eustace Trevor stood suddenly in the
-midst, at the very table round which was collected the startled group.
-
-A faint shriek escaped the lips of Mr. Trevor, accompanied by the words:
-
-"Secure him--he is mad!"
-
-But no one stirred. There was something more powerful than the fear of
-madness in their hearts, which kept the others rooted to the spot
-whereon they sat or stood.
-
-The lawyer indeed, as was most natural considering the reported facts on
-which his late business had been founded, cast a timid glance towards
-the door, and, had he dared, would have risen to seek that aid which he
-concluded would be requisite.
-
-There was besides something in the appearance of the unhappy man before
-him, which accorded with Mr. A.'s preconceived idea of his circumstances
-and condition--his countenance wild and haggard from the recent
-excitement and exertion which had attended his escape, as well as from
-the uneffaced effects of grief and illness--his disordered and unusual
-appearance; and the lawyer turned a glance towards his brother, to
-ascertain what was to be done; but Eugene sat shrinking and ashy pale,
-endeavouring but in vain to meet with anything like composure, that
-steadfast glance the _madman_ fixed upon his face.
-
-A touch upon his arm, made Mr. A. look round. It was Mabel Marryott who
-thus sought to attract his attention; and in obedience to her
-significant glance, he was about to rise stealthily and leave the room,
-when a voice of stern command detained him.
-
-"Be so good, Sir, as to remain where you are for the present. I may be
-allowed perhaps to glance my eye over this document, in which I have my
-suspicions I am in no small degree concerned."
-
-There was no resisting the tone in which these words were uttered. No
-hand save one, and that a woman's, was raised to prevent the firm but
-quiet movement with which the speaker stretched forth his hand and
-lifted the parchment from the table--Mabel Marryott alone made a sharp
-but ineffectual movement, as if with all the power of her malignant will
-she would have secured the paper from the wronged one's grasp.
-
-Perfect silence reigned whilst Eustace Trevor stood and read the paper
-through from beginning to end--a deed which, under plea of his own
-insanity and consequent incompetency, signed over to his brother Eugene,
-as guardian and trustee, the whole management and power over the
-entailed estate of Montrevor and the property appertaining thereto, at
-such time as he, Eustace Trevor, as heir-at-law, should by the testator
-Henry Trevor's death, come into nominal possession.
-
-This, of course drawn out with legal amplitude and precision, Eustace
-attentively perused; then, when some probably were expecting its
-destruction, the document was calmly replaced upon the table.
-
-"And now, Sir," turning to the lawyer, "you will perhaps do me the
-favour to withdraw; and you, woman, I desire you to do the same."
-
-It was wonderful to see the power which the calm and lofty indignation,
-swelling in that wronged man's breast, seemed to exercise over the
-minds of those who so late had triumphantly trampled upon his very
-heart.
-
-As for the lawyer, he hesitated not to rise, and prepare to obey that
-implied command; for he saw that neither of his employers were inclined
-to interfere.
-
-The old man sat as one paralyzed, and the younger with compressed lips,
-and contracted downcast brow, seemed to await in sullen silence and
-discomfort the issue of the powerful scene; and Marryott even, though
-she paused for a moment, considered better of it, and swept from the
-apartment with the air of a Lady Macbeth. Those three were then left
-together alone. The injured face to face with the foes of his own
-household--his father and his brother!
-
-What should he say to these? or rather to him--his brother? To the
-other, he had long ceased to look but as on one who had forfeited all
-right to the name of father. "For what one amongst ye, who if his son
-ask a fish will he give him a serpent; or if he ask for bread will give
-him a stone," and by what better manner of speech figure forth all that
-old man had ever done by him, his luckless son? Nay, if this were
-all--if he could but have paused here, and forgotten how that father had
-played the part of husband to a sainted mother; but he looked not on
-_him_ now--he looked only to him, that mother's son; from whom, in spite
-of all he might have ever had to reprobate and forgive, it had not
-entered into his thoughts to conceive cruel perfidy such as that, of
-which since entering that room he had become but the more fully
-convinced he had been made the victim; and the bitterness of
-death--during that first instant that he thus stood reading in his
-brother Eugene's sullen, downcast brow, a too certain confirmation of
-his guilt--overwhelmed his soul.
-
-But it passed over, and was gone; and a just and righteous indignation
-re-asserted its dominion in its place.
-
-"Eugene," he said, "that paper," and he pointed to the legal document
-before him, "throws but too clear a light on the transactions of which I
-have been made the victim. Oh, how could you allow that demon,
-covetousness, to gain such empire over your heart? Cain, in the angry
-passion of the moment, slew his brother; but you, in cold-blooded
-calculation, could bend yourself to an act which time and
-circumstances, perhaps remote, could alone turn to your advantage."
-
-"Eustace!" stammered his brother; "I excuse this intemperate language on
-your part, for of course you cannot appreciate the circumstances of the
-case; but any one would be ready to justify the necessary, but painful,
-course of conduct to which we were reduced. In whatever state of mind
-you may be now, there are others to testify as to the fact--"
-
-"Pshaw! justify--who will justify one, who, during the temporary
-delirium of a brain fever, confined his own brother to a madhouse!
-affixed to his name that stamp and stigma which must cling to it for the
-remainder of his days; or, still more unwarrantable and cruel, the
-evident attempts to detain him in that madhouse, long after any
-reasonable possible excuse was afforded? But I can plainly read the
-motive which thus influenced you--too plainly, alas! Eugene, two months
-ago I had not conceived such conduct possible; but I know you _now_. I
-think I can pretty well divine what has been the course of conduct you
-have pursued; you have been to London, perhaps--"
-
-He paused. There was no denial.
-
-"You went to your clubs; and there very surely took means to establish
-the fact of your eldest brother's melancholy condition--his insanity,
-his confinement!"
-
-Eugene Trevor in a hoarse and angry voice would have attempted some
-reply, but Eustace's indignant voice overpowered him.
-
-"And then you brought that man down," he continued, "to fill up the
-measure of your iniquity, and one scratch of the pen alone was needed
-now to make it good. Let it be done. That paper of his, that base and
-villainous forgery, now lies before me at my mercy. But I scorn to touch
-it. I treat it as it is--a worthless, valueless nothing. If I but chose
-to follow your example--go, call my friends and neighbours about me,
-declare before them all the unnatural fraud which has been practised
-upon me; yes, show them this," and he bared his blackened, wounded
-wrists, "and ring in their astounded ears, what, and _for what_, it
-entered a brother's heart to conceive an act of such atrocity; then, do
-you think that I could not manage to make those who knew, and cared for
-me, credit my testimony before that of an abandoned woman and two
-ignorant time-serving country doctors? Ask Dr. Miller, would he even
-dare to say, my attack was anything but the temporary delirium of
-fever?"
-
-"Merciful heavens, Eugene!" murmured Mr. Trevor, trying in an under tone
-to gain his younger son's attention, without being heard by the other.
-"Is there no one at hand to stop him--to secure him?"
-
-But Eustace caught the muttered syllables, and turned sternly round.
-
-"No one, Sir; who will dare to do it? Think not that I entered _your_
-house without precaution against what I there had every reason to
-expect. These," drawing a brace of pistols from his pocket, "I found
-opportunity to obtain; and should one of these poor trembling menials by
-your orders, dare--"
-
-"Eugene! Eugene! are they loaded? for the love of Heaven save me; he
-will murder us all!" Mr. Trevor exclaimed in terror.
-
-"Eustace! this is indeed madness!" the brother would have said, but
-shame choked the words within his throat; "this violence is most
-uncalled for. What motive could there now be on our part for having
-recourse to such expedients as you seem to fear. I assure you, you are
-quite at liberty to remain, or depart at your pleasure; and as for what
-has been done, I am quite ready to answer for my conduct," he added
-doggedly, "if you choose to drag the matter forward so publicly."
-
-"Would you be so prepared, Eugene? Dare not repeat that falsehood,
-wretched man. Fear not, I will not drag you forward to such a test. I
-hate, I curse you not for what you have done, but the cause, the sin
-which brought you to commit it. I do abhor, nay, I am sickened unto
-death, of the very world in which I have suffered so much, and in which
-sin so despicable and revolting can exist; still more with the home (if
-it be not sacrilege to use that hallowed name in such a case) in which
-it asserts such hateful power. The very air I breathe beneath it seems
-to choke me; if all the gold which fills the coffers of its master were
-laid in heaps before my feet, that would not make it tolerable to my
-heart. Rejoice then, when I swear that never under this roof together
-with you two--my most unnatural relations, shall I again set my foot. I
-have borne and suffered too much within its walls. I willingly resign
-all sonship, brotherhood, with those who have trampled on every human
-tie. I leave you to carry out, as far as in you lies, your hearts'
-desires. I shake the very dust off my feet, and depart. I leave this
-place to-night, this country, perhaps, to-morrow, caring not that for
-the present the stigma you have cast upon my name must remain. You, Sir,
-should we never meet again on earth, may Heaven forgive! _You_, Eugene,
-farewell; _we_ may meet again in this world, but never again as
-brothers."
-
-He turned, and was gone. None saw him depart. He went out into the dark
-night; and many within that house who had heard of his startling
-arrival, concluded that he had been secretly restored to the asylum from
-which he had made his escape. Only a few days after, an old servant,
-much attached to Mrs. Trevor and her second son, who on his dismissal
-from Montrevor had served Eustace during his residence at Oxford,
-appeared at the hall, with authority from his master to gather and pack
-up all the effects belonging to him; and having done so without
-molestation, he silently conveyed them away.
-
-He threw no light upon the subject, or on his master's destination.
-Indeed, it was soon afterwards ascertained, by those chiefly interested
-in the matter, that he was equally ignorant on the point as themselves.
-
-Eugene Trevor remained for some time at Montrevor, then returned to the
-world, to find the general impression apparently continuing as it was
-before, concerning the derangement and consequent confinement of his
-brother. Then it was deemed advisable to report that the unhappy young
-man was so far recovered, that he had gone abroad under proper
-guardianship; and the world, too busy with its own affairs to keep up
-any long-sustained interest or inquiry into the fate and fortune of
-those removed out of their light, were contented to suppose this to be
-the case; and when some years had run their course, as we have seen, and
-nothing more had been seen or heard of the unhappy Eustace Trevor, many
-gave him up as lost for ever to society, and Eugene, gay, prosperous,
-and invested with all importance and privilege in his father's house,
-had soon assumed in the eyes of the world a certain--though it might be
-somewhat equivocal--position as heir, under some few restrictions, to
-the property and estates of Montrevor.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXI.
-
-    Fain would I fly the haunts of men;
-    I seek to shun, not hate mankind.
-    My breast requires the sullen glen,
-    Whose gloom may suit a darkened mind.
-    Oh that to me the wings were given
-    Which bear the turtle to her nest!
-    Then would I cleave the vault of Heaven,
-    To flee away, and be at rest.
-
-    BYRON.
-
-
-On the borders of a lake in one of the wildest and most remote parts of
-North Wales, stands a rude inn, the resort, during the proper season of
-the year, of those who for the sake of the fishing the lake affords, are
-content to put up with the homely fare and simple accommodation it
-affords. But when that time has passed away--when the calm, glittering
-lake is deformed by constant rains, and lashed into fury by the driving
-storms of winter--when those majestic mountains have exchanged their
-ever-varying glories for mists and blackness, have donned their wintry
-garb, and are in character with wintry skies--there cannot be imagined a
-more desolate and dreary scene than that spot presents; and the inn, of
-course, stands comparatively tenantless. Yet for three whole winter
-months, a gentleman of whom none of nobler appearance had ever perhaps
-honoured it with their presence, made that humble hostelry his abode.
-
-Alone he came, and alone he remained. He dispatched or received no
-communication from beyond those mist-covered mountains which surrounded
-him; but little did those simple, unsophisticated people care to wonder
-or inquire. Unimportuned by curiosity, the visitor pursued his solitary
-existence, climbing those bleak and trackless mountains, or tossing upon
-the stormy lake. No sound of human voice, but in the uncouth and unknown
-language of the country, scarcely every falling on his ear.
-
-He had some few books with him, but he scarcely read, save in one, the
-Bible. Plenty of money the stranger was provided with, for he paid his
-expenses handsomely, and gave often freely to those few poor who came
-in his way; but yet his very name remained a mystery, if that could be
-called mystery, which none cared to inquire or ascertain; and when the
-first warm beams of springtide sun melted the snow upon the
-mountain-tops, as suddenly as he came, so he departed, none knew or
-asked whither.
-
-But he did not, as it seems, go far. In a small Welsh town, not twenty
-miles distant, a few days after, and that stranger, who it seemed had,
-uninjured, so roughly exposed himself to the fatigues and inclemency of
-the wintry weather during his sojourn in his late retreat, lay
-dangerously ill in a comfortable little inn belonging to the place;
-unknown here also, but tended with all the disinterested care and
-kindness which seldom fails to cheer the stranger in that mountain land.
-Skilful medical attendance was happily provided; and the fever, against
-whose advances the sufferer, with a peculiarly nervous dread, seemed to
-battle--by proper means was subdued, and the sick man partially
-recovered.
-
-As he lay upon his bed one of the first mornings after his
-convalescence, a merry peal from the bells of the neighbouring church
-burst upon his ear. Merrier and merrier they continued to ring, and the
-invalid turned sadly and wearily round upon his pillow, as if he would
-fain have escaped from sounds of joy, harmonizing so little with his
-lonely heart.
-
-"Truly there is a joy with which the stranger intermeddleth not."
-
-But still those sounds, as if in very mockery and despite, continued to
-clash forth at intervals during the day, caring little for the sick
-hearts and wounded spirits upon which that merriment might chance to
-jar.
-
-"You are very gay," the stranger said with a melancholy smile to his
-landlady, when she came to attend him that day; and the remark was
-answered by the ready information, that the bells were this day ringing
-on occasion of a marriage which that morning had taken place in the
-neighbourhood, the bride being a young lady of a family of long standing
-in these parts. The gentleman, a widower and a Scotchman, &c. But all
-this her listener heeded not.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-    "Bells thou soundest merrily
-     When the bridal party
-     To the church doth hie;
-     Bells thou soundest solemnly,
-     When on Sabbath mornings,
-     Fields deserted lie."
-
-It was Sunday morning, and all the people of the place were flocking to
-the Welsh service of the church; but the English stranger mingled not
-with these. No--rather as he had turned wearily away from the mad music
-of the marriage-bell, did his languid footsteps turn aside, when now in
-more solemn cadence it sounded in his ear.
-
-Not as yet was his soul attuned to enter that house of God, and offer up
-prayers and praises with a thankful heart. To that lonely man, it would
-have been indeed requiring a song, a melody, in his heaviness--to "sing
-the Lord's song in a strange land."
-
-He left the quiet town--crossed the bridge above the swift-flowing
-river, and wandered far away, slowly, as his partially-renewed strength
-alone would admit, and resting often, but still as if he breathed more
-freely the farther and farther he felt himself proceeding from the
-haunts of men; whilst at every step he took, beauty and magnificence,
-decking that bright spring morning in their best array, met his
-enchanted view; and the sense of enjoyment seemed to return, and that of
-loneliness to be--removed.
-
-For the young man's mood was one of those most sensitively to realise
-the idea, that "high mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human
-cities torture."
-
-Thus he wandered on, till a hamlet, crowned by the woods of one or two
-gentlemen's seats, came in view; and he was forced by his weakness to
-stop, and crave a cup of milk at a quiet farm in its outskirts, its
-simple inmates also inviting him to sit down and rest; and then he found
-that time had passed much swifter than he thought, for it was long past
-noon.
-
-Whilst he was lingering still, the church bells here too began to ring;
-and Eustace Trevor (for he it was) felt that he could not escape from
-the voice which seemed to cry unto his soul: "Let us go up into the
-house of the Lord."
-
-The little church appeared to be almost empty, when he first entered;
-but an old lady and gentleman came in at the same time, and seeing the
-stranger, immediately offered him a seat in their large square pew; and
-he, though far from willingly, could not but accept the civility.
-
-Other members were added to the congregation, and then a clergyman of
-infirm appearance entered the reading-desk, awaiting but that the noise
-of the school-children's feet mounting to the little gallery should
-cease, to commence in a feeble voice the service.
-
-Inattentive the ear--insensible the heart of that man who, having
-suffered deeply, finds himself unaffected, when first, after some period
-of cessation, prayer after prayer, clause after clause of our beautiful
-Liturgy breathes upon his ear.
-
-Eustace Trevor was not that man; and fervent were the emotions inspired
-in a breast which long had yielded itself to a kind of morbid gloomy
-insensibility; and it was, perhaps, only the presence of strangers which
-rendered him able to restrain them from their more open demonstration.
-Not, however, was it until the wild voices of the mountain children,
-enriched by notes of less untamed beauty, were raised in songs of
-praise, that any outward object diverted the absorption of his rapt
-spirit.
-
-Then Eustace Trevor lifted up his eyes, and could not fail to remark
-three young ladies also in the gallery, who stood side by side, mingling
-their voices with the humble choir; and their appearance at once fixed
-his attention, not so much for any personal beauty they might possess,
-as for the goodness, innocence, and unaffected devotion shining so
-clearly on each upturned face. In proof of which it might have been
-observed, that after the first general glance over the group, it was not
-so much on the elder of the sisters, lovely in a most striking degree,
-neither upon the blooming Hebe of fifteen, as upon that pale, and
-gentle-looking girl, who stood between the two, on whom the stranger's
-eye more especially lingered--and loved her, even as he gazed.
-
-For there was something in the pensive sweetness of those eyes--the open
-purity of the brow--the meek and quiet, yet high-toned spirit, which
-shone from every feature of the young girl's face, that went directly to
-his heart. His excited fancy even travelled so far, as to behold in her
-a likeness to that being who had passed into the heavens; and once--only
-once, when her voice in sweet but timid accents swelled singly in the
-choir, he held his breath to catch each low, yet thrilling tone, "for it
-sounds to him like his mother's voice singing in Paradise."
-
-Eustace Trevor returned to the inn, but more than once during the
-following week did the stranger turn his pony's head towards the valley
-of Ll---- (we will spare our readers a name they perhaps would not be
-able to read aright); and on Sunday afternoon, he did not fail again to
-seek the village church, expecting that it would be for the last
-time--for he purposed departing on the morrow--it not suiting his
-intentions to remain in any one place so long as to draw down upon
-himself remark or inquiry.
-
-And perhaps a few weeks more, had he carried out his designs, might have
-found him a wanderer on a foreign shore. But who can tell what a day may
-bring forth?
-
-It was early when he arrived at the church, the bells even had not
-began; and on repairing to a retired part of the church-yard, where a
-lovely view was to be obtained, he suddenly came in contact with the
-clergyman who had officiated the previous Sunday.
-
-He bowed to Eustace--who returned the salutation--and passed on with
-feeble steps, having regarded the stranger somewhat curiously; but
-scarcely had the latter reached his destined resting-place, when he
-heard a footstep approaching, and looking round saw the clergyman had
-returned, and immediately accosted him.
-
-"Sir," speaking with evident difficulty, "I must beg you to excuse the
-liberty I am taking in thus addressing you; but may I ask--I scarcely
-dare to hope it to be the case--may I ask," glancing at Eustace's black
-garb, and the deep crape round his hat, "whether by any chance you are a
-clergyman?"
-
-Eustace was taken by surprise, but a melancholy smile crossed his
-features, as he looked and murmured an affirmative.
-
-The inquirer's countenance evidently brightened.
-
-"I conclude, Sir, that you are a stranger in these parts," he rejoined.
-"I think I saw you here last Sunday--I scarcely know whether you will
-not think me very bold, when I ask you whether you would be so very
-obliging as to assist me in the service this afternoon? A friend whom I
-expected has failed me at the last moment; and you will hear, by my
-voice, that if I am able to get through a ten minutes' sermon, it will
-be as much as I can manage."
-
-Eustace Trevor thought so indeed--but the sudden demand upon his
-services almost bewildered him, and for a moment he was silent. The
-clergyman looked a little surprised at the apparent hesitation, a
-perception of which recalled Eustace to recollection.
-
-What right had he to refuse--what excuse could he offer?
-
-He looked upon the evidently suffering man, and said he should be happy
-to lend him the assistance he required.
-
-The clergyman thanked him warmly, and they walked together to the
-vestry.
-
-Eustace Trevor, with strange feelings, found himself thus called to
-enter upon the duties of the profession, it had become almost like a
-dream to him ever to have embraced.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXII.
-
-                       This man
-    Is of no common order, as his front
-    And presence here denote.
-
-    BYRON.
-
-
-"Oh Lord correct me, but with judgment; not in thine anger, lest thou
-bring me to nothing."
-
-Not an eye perhaps amongst that little congregation that was not lifted
-up, when, in thrilling strains, like the rich deep notes of an organ,
-the stranger's voice swept through the low arches of the simple temple,
-in that opening sentence of the service.
-
-Not one amongst them, the most simple and illiterate, who did not hold
-their breath as he proceeded, lest they should lose one note of a voice
-
-    "Most musical, most melancholy,"
-
-which gave such new magic to each familiar word of prayer, or praise,
-or exhortation he offered up.
-
-"Who could that be? who read the prayers, Mary?" said Selina Seaham to
-her sister, when they left the church. "It is the same stranger who sat
-in our pew last Sunday."
-
-"What a beautiful voice!" was the answer.
-
-"Most beautiful; but more than that, Mary, I never saw a more striking
-looking person."
-
-"I did not look at him," was the quiet reply; "I only _felt_ that the
-prayers and lessons were read as _we_ seldom hear them."
-
-"Poor Mr. Wynne! it was painful to listen to him afterwards. It is
-really cruel that he cannot get a more regular assistant: Sir Hugh
-should really manage it for him. Mary, do use your influence over the
-worthy Baronet when he returns," the sister added slyly.
-
-Mary blushed, and shook her head. She had a short time ago yielded up
-all claims upon the influence she might so largely have possessed; but
-ere the following Sunday came round, the wishes of the young ladies, in
-this respect, had been satisfied beyond their most sanguine
-expectations.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Eustace Trevor had not been able to escape from the church, at the close
-of the service, without a renewal of the clergyman's thanks for the
-services he had so obligingly rendered him. Indeed, even then he did not
-seem at all inclined to part from his stranger friend; and after a
-little more conversation respecting the beauties of the neighbourhood,
-he offered--seeing that Eustace also had his horse in readiness--to
-conduct him a little _en détour_ from the route back to ----, in order
-to show him the view from his own house, most romantically situated
-amidst the woods on the high ground flanking the valley. Eustace could
-not well decline the offer, and they rode on together.
-
-His companion had soon shown himself to be a man of higher birth and
-education, than are usually found amongst ministers of such remote
-districts of the Principality. He had been settled for many years in
-this living, and was enthusiastic in his love and admiration of the
-country; so much so, that it seemed not even his failing health could
-induce him to relinquish his post; although, as it had been the case
-this afternoon, both himself and congregation often ran the risk of
-being put to great inconvenience and extremity: the asthmatic complaint
-under which he laboured being of a most uncertain and capricious
-character, and the English service being entirely dependant on his
-powers.
-
-All this the good man communicated to Eustace on the way. His frank and
-simple confidence on every subject connected with himself and his
-concerns, without the least demonstration of curiosity respecting his
-companion, winning gradually on Eustace's sensations of security and
-ease, he accepted the clergyman's invitation to enter his abode; the
-beauty and romantic seclusion of whose situation excited his deep
-admiration and envy.
-
-The original, but amiable and intelligent conversation of its possessor,
-won more and more on his favour and confidence; the other, on his part,
-evidently felt himself to be in the society of a being to whom some more
-than common degree of interest attached. His keen observant eye saw
-imprinted upon that striking countenance more than any mere bodily
-illness, from which the stranger reported himself to have but lately
-recovered. The snares of death might have encompassed him round about,
-and the pains of hell got hold of him; but they were those sorrows and
-pains such as the Psalmist himself had gained such deep experience of,
-rather than any physical affliction which had engraven those strong
-signs there.
-
-It was truly, as a great writer of the day has expressed himself, "the
-mournfulest face that ever was seen--an altogether tragic,
-heart-affecting face. There was in it, as foundation, the softness,
-tenderness, gentle affection, as of a child; but all this, as it were,
-congealed into sharp, isolated, hopeless pain; a silent pain--silent and
-scornful. The lip curled, as it were, in a kind of god-like disdain of
-the thing that is eating out his heart; as if he whom it had power to
-torture were greater than the cause."
-
-"The eye, too, that dark earnest eye, looking out as in a kind of
-surprise, a kind of inquiry, why the world was of that sort!"
-
-Mr. Wynne had many questions put to him concerning the remarkable
-looking stranger, from the ladies of Glan Pennant, when they met the
-next day. All he could tell them was, that the stranger was perfectly
-unknown to him, that he had no idea even of his name; that he now
-talked of leaving the neighbourhood early that week, but Mr. Wynne
-added, he was to call at the inn at ----, and hoped to find that he was
-able to persuade his new acquaintance to remain and explore a little
-longer the beauties of the vicinity, and at the same time, he slyly
-added, "give them a second benefit of his beautiful voice." The young
-ladies as slyly hoped their worthy friend might have his hopes crowned
-with success. And their desire was not ungratified. The following Sunday
-the beautiful voice once more made itself heard.
-
-A great deal had taken place to change the tenor of Eustace Trevor's
-views and purposes during that one short week. Only too readily had he
-yielded to the parting persuasions of Mr. Wynne, that he would at least
-extend his stay beyond the day he had mentioned as having been fixed for
-his departure. Nay, even as he turned his horse's head back towards
-----, had the yearning desire diffused itself through his heart, that
-instead of that hopeless, homeless, outcast fate to which he had devoted
-himself, it could have been his lot to find a little spot of earth like
-that in which this day he had first performed the duties of a
-profession he had once thought to commence under such different
-circumstances--a spot, from the spirit of beauty, innocence, purity and
-peace, seeming to breathe around, as contrasted with that world--that
-_home_, from which he had been driven, appeared to his imagination
-scarcely less than a little heaven upon earth, a different sphere to any
-in which he had yet existed.
-
-But this was but an imaginary suggestion--a dream-like fancy which
-vaguely flitted across his mind, ill accordant with his dark and bitter
-destiny. The very next day his new friend called. They rode out again
-together, and one or two such meetings only served to strengthen between
-these two men, of such different ages, characters and circumstances,
-that strange and sudden liking which is often found to spring up between
-two passing strangers of to-day, as necessarily as flowers expand from
-bud to blossom in the course of a few sunny and dewy hours of one vernal
-morning. As much then was elicited from Eustace, as revealed pretty
-clearly to the other the purposeless circumstances of his present
-position--
-
-    "A bark sent forth to sail alone,
-    At midnight on the moonlight sea."
-
-Why not then, like himself, be content to tarry in the little haven of
-peace where Providence had guided him? Why again return to drift at
-large upon that lonely ocean?
-
-Eustace Trevor shook his head with a melancholy smile, though at the
-same time his pale brow flushed at the suggestion.
-
-"That cannot be, my good Sir," he said, "unless at least you can
-guarantee for me such seclusion in this wild and lonely region of yours
-as accords with the peculiar circumstances of my case. You will be
-afraid of me when I say, that it is my wish to conceal my place of
-destination from every person in the world, beyond these mountains, to
-whom my name could possibly be known."
-
-Mr. Wynne paused at first, with a look of surprise; but after for a
-moment steadily fixing his eyes upon the noble countenance of Eustace,
-he exclaimed:
-
-"Not at all, not at all, my dear Sir. I am quite satisfied with
-believing that you have the best reasons for such a course of conduct;
-that misfortune, not any fault of your own, has reduced you to such an
-alternative. And I can assure you, you have come to the right place for
-getting rid of old friends or enemies, whichever they may be; for during
-the twenty years I have been settled here, not one of those of whom I
-formerly could boast has ever found his way unbidden over these
-impregnable barriers; so set your mind at rest on that score. Come and
-stay with me at my hermitage, till such time as you see fit; and then,
-if you tire of the company of an old fellow like myself, we can find you
-out another as secure."
-
-"My dear Sir, this kindness on your part is beyond the expression of
-mere common thanks. Alas! were it only possible that I could avail
-myself of it; but the facts connected with my present position are of
-such a peculiar nature, that unless you are made fully acquainted with
-them, it is impossible that you can rightly appreciate the extent of
-security I desire; and yet, though your confidence, thank God! is not
-misplaced, those facts are of such a sort as make it almost impossible
-for me to reveal them. At the same time, of your generous trust, which
-has not yet allowed you to seek enlightenment even as to my name,
-nothing would induce me to take further advantage. Either I leave this
-place to-morrow, or my _incognito_, as far as concerns yourself, must
-be removed."
-
-"And why not, if that is the only alternative which presents itself,
-tell your sad history to the old man; what then? In his breast it will
-lie as safely buried as if you committed the secret to yonder lichened
-rock. You are young, Sir; you have written in your countenance that
-which bespeaks you one of a higher order of intellect and capacity than
-befits this narrow sphere; but yet for a time, till this storm is blown
-over, tarry here."
-
-We need not pursue word for word, step by step, the relation, with the
-issue of which my readers are fully acquainted. We have only to say,
-that Eustace Trevor finally confided his whole history to Mr. Wynne,
-under the strictest promise of secrecy; and that the good man listened
-with the quiet, unwondering spirit which spoke his knowledge of that
-world lying in wickedness, or rather, the desperate wickedness of the
-human heart; and whilst clearly perceiving the morbid nature of the
-feelings which had prompted the victim of such wickedness to so
-extraordinary a course of proceeding, the interest of his own romantic
-mind was but the more excited; and keenly he entered into every plan
-which might facilitate the detention of Eustace, taking upon himself to
-have, accompanied with all secrecy and silence, every arrangement made
-necessary to his comfort and convenience. Even with regard to the
-assumed name the latter saw it expedient to embrace, and to which he did
-not see any objection, Mr. Wynne came to his aid.
-
-He had once, many years ago, a dear friend named Edward Temple, now no
-more--by such he should be known for the present, and under that
-appellation he should yield him any voluntary assistance in the duties
-of his profession as might accord with his taste and inclination. So
-then it was arranged, and under these circumstances the so-named Edward
-Temple became established at Ll----.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXIII.
-
-    I never thought a life could be
-    So flung upon one hope, as mine, dear love, on thee.
-
-    N. P. WILLIS.
-
-
-No sooner did old Mr. Majoribanks learn from the rector that he had
-prevailed upon Mr. Temple to fix his residence amongst them, than he was
-anxious to pay the stranger every possible attention and civility,
-calling upon him to invite him to dinner, or do anything that might
-contribute in any way to his comfort and happiness. But Mr. Wynne was
-obliged to subdue this impulse of hospitality, making the good old
-gentleman and his family to understand that Mr. Temple being driven, by
-some heavy private affliction, to the alleviation of his sorrows by
-solitude and seclusion, the kindest thing would be, for the present,
-till the poignancy of his feelings should be softened by time, to
-refrain as much as possible from crossing his wishes in this respect.
-The inmates of Glan Pennant, in the most delicate manner, respected and
-carried out these instructions; so that, by some gentle and gradual
-attraction, rather than by any outward effort on their part, did the
-recluse seem finally drawn towards them in more close and intimate
-communication; till finally, he became not only, as at first--the silent
-and secret minister to all those little schemes of charity and
-benevolence the young ladies had so much at heart--but also their
-personal assistant and supporter.
-
-Often during the time they were thus thrown intimately together, did Mr.
-Wynne, like others perhaps besides, think it could not be but that the
-lovely Selina Seaham, the flower of Glan Pennant, as the good clergyman
-was wont to call her, would charm away the sorrows of that noble heart;
-and as for the impression Edward Temple might make on that young lady,
-he thought it was a case decided. However it might have been on that
-latter point, we have seen that our hero's heart escaped the predicted
-spell--although in other ways he might esteem and admire the fair
-lady--and how another charm had secretly enthralled him.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-It had been in no slight degree startling to Eustace Trevor to discover
-the relationship existing between the Seahams and his friend de Burgh;
-and at first it had nearly determined him to leave the place, lest in
-any way this fact should tend to his betrayal. But Mr. Wynne soon made
-it his business to ascertain for his satisfaction that no such chance
-existed.
-
-Glan Pennant was not visited by any of the young ladies' relations, and
-never had been for many years. Even the wedding of the last married
-sister had been unattended by any of them, and indeed it was very rare
-that regular visitors of any sort came to the place. Sir Hugh Morgan
-occasionally had a friend or two in a bachelor way, whose society was
-not much in his line, or likely to consist of any of Eustace's former
-acquaintance, being generally natives of his own country.
-
-So far Eustace Trevor's mind was set at rest, though still the fact of
-the relationship haunted his fancy as a strange striking coincidence.
-Little did he divine all that this coincidence was destined farther to
-comprise. Little did he conceive when in his solitary rambles after his
-settlement at Ll---- he sometimes chanced to meet that young and gentle
-girl, who had so attracted his interest and attention that first Sunday
-in the gallery of the church; sometimes tracking with fond alacrity the
-footsteps of her brother to some lake or mountain stream--or seated in
-some shady dell, or on some heathy hill, with her sweet smile and dreamy
-eyes bent upon her book--or plunged in pensive reverie--little did he
-divine what dream, or rather the mere shadow of a dream, his appearance
-might chance to dissipate.
-
-It may appear unnatural, that during those few years of acquaintance
-with one so worthy to win the love and admiration of a mind like Mary
-Seaham's--under circumstances too, which, considering the nature of her
-disposition, might have seemed peculiarly favourable to produce that
-end--no corresponding sentiments had been awakened in her breast towards
-Eustace Trevor.
-
-Indeed, we scarcely think it likely this could have proved the case, had
-the feelings she inspired in his breast been earlier made apparent; but
-it must be remembered that Mary was very young when Eustace Trevor first
-came to Ll----, that he arrived too, arrayed in attributes exactly
-suited to banish from a mind like hers any ideas connected with that of
-love.
-
-The mighty sorrow of which Mr. Wynne had spoken, and which sat so
-plainly written on his beautiful countenance--every superior excellence
-of mind and character, more intimate acquaintance only served to
-heighten--had conspired to render him, in the estimation of the young
-girl's child-like, but high-toned mind, as one of that order of beings
-towards whom reverence and admiration were the only feelings to which,
-without presumption, one like her could ever dare to aspire.
-
-There was, besides, a distant melancholy reserve in his manner, she
-imagined, more apparent in his bearing towards herself than to her
-sisters, which still more effectually contributed to produce this
-effect; while her sisters, on their part, although equally enthusiastic
-in their admiration of their new friend, were much more inclined to look
-upon him in the light of a common mortal like themselves--one indeed for
-whom it would have been no such great stretch of presumption to
-entertain feelings of a less exalted character; though the careless
-youth of the one put all such considerations out of the question, and
-the good sense of the other stifled any rising inclination of her heart
-to bestow its affections--when it became too soon plainly evident how
-little chance existed of winning a corresponding return--from him who,
-two years after his arrival, calmly assisted in the ceremony which
-united her to the young officer, who had proved himself less
-invulnerable to the powers of attraction she possessed. Yet far was
-Eustace Trevor from being naturally prone to coldness and insensibility
-on a point like this; he was one
-
-    "To gaze on woman's beauty as a star,
-    Whose purity and distance make it fair."
-
-And fair indeed did it seem to him, when on his night of darkness it
-shone forth with so bright and clear a light as in the daughters of Glan
-Pennant. But that light to him must be indeed far distant, for the
-morbid sensibility with which he contemplated the dark features of his
-past history, cast its blasting influence even over this purest and most
-natural point of his heart's ambition; and mournfully he would silence
-any allusions his friend would venture to make upon the subject.
-
-His was not a fate he could solicit any being, blessing and blessed like
-those fair girls, to share; and sadly would he seek to quench the
-feeling which, day by day, year by year--as the gentle excellence, the
-sweet attractions of Mary Seaham were more and more developed--gathered
-strength within his heart.
-
-This it was which made her deem his manner cold and distant, in
-comparison with that he evinced towards her sisters. Little did she
-imagine how the spirit of that noble-minded man bowed down before her
-mild, unconscious might; how, if he turned away coldly from her soft
-words and timid glance, it was because he feared their power might draw
-forth a manifestation of that he had vowed to himself to conceal--
-
-    "I might not dim thy fortune bright,
-    With love so sad as mine."
-
-No--we see he kept his secret but too well--so well, that not only the
-object herself, but even his anxious and much-interested friend Mr.
-Wynne, never suspected a truth which would have given him such
-unfeigned delight.
-
-A year before the period at which our story opens, and soon after
-performing, to his no great satisfaction, the marriage ceremony for his
-lovely young friend Selina Seaham, the worthy man had left Ll----;
-yielding at length to the persuasions of his friends that he would,
-according to the advice of the medical men, try the effect of a year or
-two's sojourn on the continent in alleviating his troublesome and
-obstinate, if not mortal, complaint.
-
-An efficient substitute had been found to fill his place. Eustace Trevor
-also remained, as we have seen, continuing to render those services
-which, year by year, had only been the more valuable and
-distinguished--services never to be erased from the memories of that
-little flock, with whom, during his ministry amongst them, he had
-rendered himself equally honoured and beloved. But the following year,
-as we have seen, brought events of no small importance to the fates and
-fortunes of the principal personages of our history.
-
-The determination of the Majoribanks to leave Glan Pennant, the marriage
-of Agnes Seaham, the peculiar nature of Mary's circumstances; and how,
-consequent on those events, finally influenced by the last
-consideration, Eustace Trevor in that momentous interview on the heathy
-hill's side--casting his future hopes of happiness on one die--gave way
-to the long-checked, long-concealed impulses of his heart, and poured
-forth his tale of love upon her startled ear. Need we recapitulate the
-sequel, "How pale the startled lady stood" on the borders of that green
-and silent hill.
-
-It was too late to open before her eyes the treasure which had so long
-been within her reach. He had failed to touch that chord, by which alone
-the heart of woman can be moved--Mary's heart so pure, so good, was yet
-a woman's. What, that for months and years devotedly he had lingered by
-her side, loving her in secret with a love so fervent and so deep, she
-had remained insensible to that hidden spell; whilst one glance from the
-stranger's dark eyes--one low thrilling tone of his flattering voice had
-sufficed to pluck away her heart. But so it was, and so it oft-times is;
-and there is little need to tell again how Eustace Trevor, his last reed
-broken, his last ray of light extinguished, turned away to seek his sad
-and silent home--
-
-    "The shadow of a starless night,"
-
-thrown upon that world, in which henceforth he must move so desolate and
-alone.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXIV.
-
-    Thou too art gone--and so is my delight,
-    And therefore do I weep, and inly bleed,
-    With this last bruise upon a broken reed.
-    Thou too art ended--what is left me now?
-    For I have anguish yet to bear--and how?
-
-    BYRON.
-
-
-As may be supposed, the peaceful vale of Ll---- from this time forth
-became an altered place to Eustace Trevor. "There are places in the
-world we never wish to see again, however dear they be to us." Such to
-his disappointed heart was Mary Seaham's deserted home, and every spot
-in the vicinity haunted by associations connected with that loved being.
-Yet he lingered, pursuing his former avocations, partly from principle,
-partly from the painful pleasure thus afforded, partly from the anxious
-desire to remain upon the spot, where alone he could hope to receive
-tidings of his lost one.
-
-A strange restless foreboding had been excited in his mind from the
-first moment that he had heard of Mary's intended destination; and it
-was this, no doubt, which in a great measure urged him to take the
-decisive step which had proved so unavailing. Not of course had he in
-any way embodied the real nature of the misfortune his ominous fears
-presented; that event would indeed have seemed a coincidence too fearful
-to be conceived probable; but besides there being something most
-repellant to his feelings in the idea of that gentle object of his
-heart's unhappy affections wandering away into the sphere now so darkly
-associated in his mind--some presentiment of danger and sorrow to
-herself, quite unconnected with any selfish considerations, had darkly
-mingled. All through that summer then, whose brightness to him was gone;
-all that autumn too, till like his own fallen hopes, the yellow leaf lay
-thick around, "and the days were dark and dreary," he stayed;
-then--then--had reached his ears, at first by vague and dull report,
-tidings which froze into the very ice of winter the life-blood in his
-heart--Miss Mary Seaham was going to be married to a very rich and
-handsome gentleman of those parts; and his name--yes, that was it--he
-would have thanked Heaven on his knees, had it been any other name on
-earth--that name. It came with terrible exactness, that name was "Eugene
-Trevor." Then, indeed, a dreadful feeling of horror, of despair,
-assailed him. His cup of bitterness was full; could malignant fate do
-more to crush him?
-
-Mary Seaham, the wife of his brother! Of him who had dealt so
-treacherously by him, who without cause, had proved himself his deadly
-enemy. _His_ wife? nay his victim. Another angel victim, of
-covetousness, tyranny, and vice. It must not, nay, it _should_ not be;
-anything--everything must be done to avert the sacrifice. In a word,
-every other consideration was at an end. He left Ll---- and went to
-London; there he traced out that faithful servant to whom we have
-alluded, and through him took steps to gain a too sure confirmation of
-what he had heard, and besides that, many particulars concerning the
-mode of life of his brother, during the interval of their separation,
-which only served to invest with fresh horror, the idea of his union
-with Mary.
-
-His course was taken. He wrote to his brother the momentous letter,
-which turned the current of poor Mary's bliss.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-"When you and I parted, Eugene, nearly five years ago, it was with the
-sole determination on my part, never again to seek communication with a
-man who had acted as none other, than _a brother_, could have acted,
-without drawing upon himself the just retribution on my part, such
-conduct so justly deserved, I mean the public exposure of its villainy
-to society--to the world. But as it was--more in sorrow than in
-anger--sorrow which in the estimation of those less scrupulous and
-sensitive than myself, might have been deemed carried to a morbid and
-irrational extent--in sorrow of heart, the bitterness of death could
-hardly surpass, sorrow and amazement that such perfidy could exist in
-one I had loved as my own mother's son; the impulse of my grieved and
-wounded spirit prompted me to act in a manner exactly the reverse. My
-determination had been to repair to some distant foreign land. But mere
-accident, or I should say, hidden Providence, ordered it otherwise. I
-spent the winter in a wild unfrequented part of North Wales; and on
-leaving that, was taken ill at a small town, some miles distant. A few
-weeks more and circumstances caused me to fix my wandering steps in a
-secluded valley, where for the few succeeding years I assisted the
-clergyman of the place in the duties of his profession, and in
-conformity with the course of conduct I was pursuing, under the name of
-Edward Temple. Does this give you any clue to the motive of the present
-unwelcome communication? Have you ever heard that unfamiliar name pass
-the lips of her, whom report tells me you are to make your wife--the
-lips, I mean, of Mary Seaham? if so as it would have been but natural,
-she may have further spoken, and told you of the love she had inspired
-in that same Edward Temple's breast; and you smiled, no doubt, in pity
-at the disappointed ambition of the country curate. Eugene, now indeed,
-I own that you have honourably won that--to which, in comparison, all
-that by wrong and treachery you ever sought to rob me is as dross
-indeed, in my estimation--the love of as pure a heart, as angel-like a
-spirit as ever breathed in the form of woman. But this, Eugene, must
-suffice you; here your triumph must end; unless, indeed, you care to
-prove your affection by a stronger test than I imagine it would be able
-to stand; for at once I come to the point, and tell you Eugene, that I
-cannot suffer this concerted marriage of yours to take place, without a
-powerful effort on my part, to avert it--to save the pure and gentle
-being whom I shall ever love, from the fate that marriage, I feel, must
-ever entail upon her.
-
-"That it springs from no bitter feelings of disappointment or rivalry,
-on my part; but is as disinterested in its nature, as if I had never
-loved Mary Seaham but as a brother might have loved a sister, God truly
-knows; but it would be throwing words away, I fear, to attempt to
-convince one like you--in whose imagination the possibility of any such
-purity and disinterestedness of motive cannot exist. Well, interpret it
-as you may--only break off this engagement, which, from what I hear of
-the sentiments of some of her friends, will not be so very difficult.
-Break it off, and for what I care, the world may still think me mad; for
-what I care, you may still retain the position you now hold--so much as
-it appears, to your own satisfaction and contentment--in the eyes of
-society. Refuse to do this, and I come forward, and ask the world--ask
-her friends--ask Mary herself, whether a man who had acted as you have
-done, is worthy to be her husband; and then, I am much mistaken, if when
-that delusive veil, which now robes her idol, be thus withdrawn--she,
-yes, Mary, does not shrink with horror, from what is there revealed.
-
-"Spare yourself, Eugene--spare her--spare her pure eyes, her innocent
-spirit this exposure. You will say, the alternative is as cruel--that
-her affection is too great to bear the destruction of her hopes, without
-such pain and grief as none who really loved her, as _I_ profess to do,
-would willingly inflict.
-
-"This may be--her love may be true, and deep. The tears she may shed at
-its destruction be bitter--time may be required to heal the wound. But
-were these tears to swell the ocean's tide, or the wound to prove
-incurable, far better even this, than to live the life--to die the
-miserable death of your father's wife--of her husband's mother!
-
-"And what in your career, Eugene, even setting aside that one crime,
-with which I am personally concerned, is there, which can ensure her
-any better destiny?
-
-"No; your mode of life during the last five years, I have taken measures
-to ascertain. Can you deny that it has been one long course of sin, of
-profligacy?
-
-"One dark deed, followed by atonement and remorse, might have been less
-baneful to her happiness, than the systematic career of vice you now
-habitually pursue.
-
-"What more can I add; but that I shall expect your written answer. I
-feel assured you will, no less than myself, desire, if possible, to
-avoid all personal communication. Direct to the General Post Office,
-London, where, till I am assured that my object is properly secured, I
-shall remain; and now, Eugene, farewell! God knows, that everything in
-the terms and substance of this letter, which may appear dictated by a
-harsh or threatening spirit, springs rather from the wretched
-circumstances of the case, our most unnatural and unavoidable position,
-one towards another--not from the temper of my mind towards you. Heaven
-be my witness, that I would gladly give my heart's blood at this moment,
-to discover that the past was but a horrid dream, and that now, as in
-years gone by, I could without fear, that the very air would repeat the
-words in mocking echo, sign myself,
-
-    "Your affectionate brother,
-
-    "EUSTACE TREVOR."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XXV.
-
-    There is a tide in the affairs of men,
-    Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
-    Omitted, all the voyage of their life
-    Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
-    On such a full sea are we now afloat;
-    And we must take the current when it serves,
-    Or lose our ventures.
-
-    SHAKSPEARE.
-
-
-It is not necessary to describe with much detail the effect produced by
-this letter, on the mind of Eustace Trevor, or the mode of conduct he
-pursued in the emergency.
-
-We have already made the reader acquainted with the half measures he
-pursued--the crooked paths he attempted, in order to extricate himself
-from the threefold difficulty in which he found himself placed. His
-answer in the first instance, to his brother's first startling address,
-had been of that character which usually marks the tone of the
-offender, when the injured one dares to rise up and interfere with his
-ill-deserved security, and ill-earned joys; but though in language
-fierce and vindictive, he might appear to set fear and threatening at
-defiance, there was too much implied acquiescence, in the power these
-threats exercised over his mind--in the testy assurance which
-accompanied his reply (how far true we have seen) that his marriage was
-not in any such immediate question as Eustace seemed to imagine--that
-his father's state of health rendered it an affair of most uncertain
-termination--till finally, a second letter from his brother, brought
-him, at last, to declare in terms, the bitterness of which may be well
-imagined, that he had put off his marriage _sine die_, in further proof
-of which, he was to hold no further communication by person or letter
-with Mary Seaham;--he then hoped that Eustace might be satisfied, and
-that he would have left England.
-
-That he might prevail on Mary to consent to a private marriage, was now
-probably the object of Eugene's mind. For to relinquish, without a
-struggle, any acquisition on which he had set his heart, would have
-been contrary to his nature; and then there was the probability of his
-father's death, securing to him so large a provision, rendering him in a
-pecuniary point of view, independent of any threats his brother might
-please to put into execution; for as far as Mary was concerned, he
-relied too much on the power he had gained over her devoted, gentle
-affections, to fear that any accusation brought against him by his
-brother, would influence her against him. Eustace might then claim his
-own rights, and he would not dispute them. Nay, Mary once his own, he
-reckoned too much on that brother's, (in his heart, acknowledged
-generosity of spirit,) to fear that he would persevere in carrying out
-his threatened, and in that case, unavailing exposure. It was in this
-light, probably, that he viewed the case, when Eugene first came to
-London. Eustace, too, we find, had not left town. Either he had been led
-to doubt the truth of his brother's protestations, or was unable to
-resist the temptation of lingering where Mary was, when he could again,
-and for the last time, perhaps, hope to catch a passing glance of her
-sweet face,--pale, sad, and changed, since he had last seen it--but
-better thus to his mind, than bright and glowing with that dangerous
-infatuation by which she was to be allured to certain misery.
-
-We will not deny that Eustace Trevor's feelings and course of conduct on
-the occasion, may seem carried to a morbid, some may almost deem, an
-unwarrantable excess. But then it must be remembered, that all his
-lifetime through,
-
-    "From mighty wrong to petty perfidy;"
-
-he had suffered enough to bring any man of his sensitively high-pitched
-tone of mind to this extremity.
-
-There was one point especially, which had become the ruling power of his
-mind--that phantom which by night or day--haunted his imagination. The
-remembrance of his mother: her wrongs and misery.
-
-    "A potent spell, a mighty talisman,
-    The imperishable memory of the dead,
-    Sustained by love, and grief, and indignation,
-    So vivid were the forms within his brain,
-    His very eyes, when shut, made pictures of them."
-
-Could he then image forth another? She who had filled up that yearning
-vacuum in his bleeding heart, the death of his mother had occasioned;
-imagine her, such was the horrid fancy which had taken possession of his
-mind--picture Mary entering that same house--assuming that same
-position--the victim of the same evil influences to which she had been
-exposed. The thought would have been one almost to turn his brain, had
-he deemed it not to be averted. As it was, the suffering that its very
-idea had caused, was sufficient to produce that change in his
-appearance, on which Arthur Seaham had commented, when to gain more
-certain information concerning his sister, Eustace Trevor had visited
-him at the Temple; a change, which no former griefs and trials, dark and
-dreadful though they had been, had in so striking a manner been able to
-inflict. For man is Godlike in his strength--his spirit may sustain him
-under burdens it were otherwise difficult to bear--but touch only a
-chord--break only a tie which binds him to a woman's delicate love,
-
-    "And his strong spirit bendeth like a reed."
-
-On Eustace's return from the visit to the Temple, he had proof positive
-of his brother not having kept his pledge, in one most important
-respect; for he saw the lovers together, and the painful interview
-between the brothers was the consequence--the issue of which we need not
-recapitulate.
-
-Another day, and Eustace Trevor had turned his back upon the English
-shore, to track the footsteps of his friend Mr. Wynne in his travels on
-the continent, still retaining the assumed name of Temple; and Eugene in
-as short a space of time, was again breathing freely his accustomed
-atmosphere--a London world.
-
-We do not mean to say that his love for Mary Seaham was so soon
-forgotten--that love which for the last few months had exercised a purer
-and more softening influence upon his spirits, than any other feeling,
-perhaps, had ever before effected.
-
-It was still like some soft, sweet, dream of night, which often haunts
-and mingles in the thoughts and actions of the day; and his marriage
-with the gentle Mary, the settled purpose and intention of his heart.
-
-But the smooth course of that love had received a check--met with a
-disturbing force--his love had not quality or strength to overstep.
-
-This to a worldling is a dangerous test; for love to him is but "a thing
-apart." There are so many other resources wherefrom to drain, when that
-one silvery stream of life is checked or troubled.
-
-Why then not plunge into these broad abounding waters, which will bear
-him on, no matter how turbid be their depth beneath the glittering
-surface--no matter where, but on only--on too smooth, open, too
-unrestrained a course. As to the stability of his feelings with regard
-to Mary, Eugene felt little doubt his affections had been called forth
-to an unprecedented degree. For the first time in his life, he felt what
-it was to have his desires fixed on an object, in every way worthy of
-esteem.
-
-    "Pure, lovely, and of good report,"
-
-and a new and wonderful fascination had been the effect produced upon
-his mind. Whilst under its immediate influence, he had seemed to exist
-in another sphere, to breathe another atmosphere, to have become a new
-creature; and he had contemplated his marriage with a calm, tranquil
-delight, as the completion of a still more certain renovation and
-transformation of his existence.
-
-Its untoward interruption, therefore, had provoked and disappointed him
-beyond measure--beyond even the fear and inconvenience of those serious
-consequences into which the circumstances of the case had otherwise
-threatened him. Irritated and embarrassed by the trouble and perplexity
-in which the affair involved him, we will not say, however, but that in
-the end this one year's certain postponement of his marriage, as decided
-in his interview with Arthur Seaham, had not in a great degree relieved
-his mind in the emergency. In one year, as he had said, much might
-happen to change the aspect of affairs. At any rate breathing time was
-afforded, in which he might, without danger to himself, indulge in the
-consciousness of knowing that a tender heart was all his own. For the
-sequel time would provide.
-
-In the meantime what had he to do, but to pursue his former career, and
-hush the voice of conscience in the excitement of the crowd.
-
-    "To follow all that peace disdains to seek,
-    Where revel calls, and laughter vainly loud,
-    False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek,
-    And leave the flagging spirits still more weak."
-
-That the mind of man need indeed be more than human to withstand such
-counter-influences has been well tested.
-
-    "Amidst such scenes, love's flower too soon is blighted."
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-What different courses marked the existence of Mary Seaham and Eugene
-Trevor, during the lengthened interval which is to follow, may easily be
-imagined--different as the streamlet's course through the quiet valley,
-to the river's, rolling its darkened waters through the streets
-tumultuous of defiling cities!
-
-Let us then, now that our less pleasing task is accomplished, restrain
-our footsteps as much as possible to the streamlet's course; that is to
-say, in the ensuing pages, let us follow more closely Mary Seaham's
-career than that of her lover's.
-
-    "Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence,
-    But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley:
-    Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water
-    Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals only;
-    Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it,
-    Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur,
-    Happy at length if he find the spot when it reaches an outlet."
-
-
-END OF VOL. II.
-
-
-    LONDON:
-    Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
-
-
-[Transcriber's Note: Hyphen and spelling variations within each volume
-and between volumes left as printed.]
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mary Seaham, Volume 2 of 3, by 
-Elizabeth Caroline Grey
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