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diff --git a/40407-h/40407-h.htm b/40407-h/40407-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e6d237b --- /dev/null +++ b/40407-h/40407-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6990 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mary Seaham, Vol 3 of 3, by Mrs. Grey. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + .poem span.i12 {display: block; margin-left: 12em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i18 {display: block; margin-left: 18em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i14 {display: block; margin-left: 14em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i15 {display: block; margin-left: 15em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i20 {display: block; margin-left: 20em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i22 {display: block; margin-left: 22em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Mary Seaham, Volume 3 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 3 of 3 + A Novel + +Author: Elizabeth Caroline Grey + +Release Date: August 4, 2012 [EBook #40407] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY SEAHAM, VOLUME 3 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) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/tp3.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h1>MARY SEAHAM,</h1> + +<h3>A NOVEL.</h3> + +<h2>BY MRS. GREY,</h2> + +<h3>AUTHOR OF "THE GAMBLER'S WIFE," &c. &c.</h3> + + +<p class="center">IN THREE VOLUMES.<br /> +VOL. III.</p> + +<p class="center">LONDON:<br /> +COLBURN AND CO., PUBLISHERS,<br /> +GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.<br /> +1852.</p> + +<p class="center">Notice is hereby given that the Publishers of this work<br /> +reserve to themselves the right of publishing a Translation in France.</p> + +<p class="center">LONDON:<br /> +Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>MARY SEAHAM.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">Thou hast not rebuked, nor reproached me,<br /></span> +<span class="i14">But sadly and silently wept,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">And each wound that to try thee I sent thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Thou took'st to thy heart to be kept.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">C. CAMPBELL.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Six months from the point at which we left our story, a party of +gentlemen, who on their way to the Highland Moors, had stopped in +Edinburgh for the night, strolled together in the public gardens of the +place.</p> + +<p>They found little company there besides children and nurse-maids at that +time, so that a young lady of quiet, but distinguished appearance, who +came towards them and turned down one of the shady walks, with a group +of little companions followed by their attendant, more particularly +attracted the attention of the strangers.</p> + +<p>"What a remarkably pretty, lady-like looking girl, that is; how well she +walks," said one.</p> + +<p>"So Trevor seems to think," said another, for their friend had lingered +behind, and now stood apparently half irresolute, looking in the +direction where the young lady had disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Come on, don't let us be in his way," and then laughing, they pursued +their walk.</p> + +<p>Trevor seemed not disinclined to profit by their consideration—he +hesitated no longer, but disappeared at once within the shaded path.</p> + +<p>Need we say, whose footsteps he followed—or whose the startled +countenance, which turned towards him, when having reached the spot +where the object of his pursuit had arrived, he in a low tone pronounced +the name of "Mary," or how in an opposite direction to that taken by +the nurse and children, they were soon walking on slowly, side by side, +together.</p> + +<p>"But Eugene, is not this wrong?" Mary said, after the first tearful joy +of this most unexpected meeting had a little subsided, and her heart +rather sunk, to find by her lover's hasty explanation, that no new turn +of events, touching favourably on their mutual happiness, had brought +him to her side. "Is not this wrong after the agreement we had made?"</p> + +<p>"What Mary!" with tender reproach, "are you so little glad to see me as +thus to speak? However, as you are so much more scrupulous than +affectionate, I am not afraid to tell you that I had not counted upon +this pleasure, though I did not think myself bound quite to avoid the +place which contained you; but when, by mere accident, I saw you a few +yards distant, I think not the most punctilious of your friends, would +expect it to be in the nature of man, to look after you and turn coolly +the other way."</p> + +<p>Mary smiled upon him, as if she needed no other excuse.</p> + +<p>"How well you look, Mary!" Eugene continued, gazing on the countenance +of his companion, lit up, as it was, by the glow of animated pleasure, +"happier, better, than when I saw you last—too well, I am almost +tempted to think, and too happy, considering the circumstances of our +case. I—you must allow, look far less so."</p> + +<p>Mary gazed with tender anxiety into her lover's face. Was she then +really to suppose that the change she remarked upon his handsome +countenance, since the happy Silverton days, was caused by his love for +her?</p> + +<p>The haggard cheek—the restless, unhealthful fire which burnt in those +dark eyes! A thrill of womanly pleasure was mixed with the tender pain +the idea inspired.</p> + +<p>"You certainly do not look as well as when at Silverton," she answered +with a gentle sigh, as the many associations those words conjured up, +rose before her; "but your expedition to the Moors will do you so much +good. If you have been in London all this time, I do not wonder at your +feeling ill. As for my looks," she added, "no doubt at this moment they +are bright and happy—you must not judge of them in general from their +appearance now, not that I mean to say I am not happier, and perhaps +therefore looking better than when you saw me last—for then—all was +doubt, and dread, and uncertainty, and I was very miserable—but now +since all that was removed, I have been happy—yes, truly happy in +comparison; though at times I fear I am inclined to be sad and +impatient-hearted. I was spoilt at first by too much unalloyed +happiness, and it is hard to resign oneself to the long and unbroken +separation, I had thought ours must be, but there is the happy prospect +at the end—and this year, long and weary as it may seem—must pass away +like any other."</p> + +<p>"This year—yes!" murmured Eugene abstractedly, gazing on the sweet +earnest countenance of the good and gentle speaker—"yes, this year," he +repeated with an impatient flash suddenly lighting up his eyes; "but +you should have been my wife now, Mary," and lowering his voice, "you +<i>would</i> have been, if you had loved me, as I thought you did, and had +not cut so short what I proposed doing during that drive in London."</p> + +<p>Mary looked startled and surprised.</p> + +<p>"Eugene!" she said, "I know you do not mean what you say—you never, but +in the madness and misery of the moment, could have suggested such an +alternative."</p> + +<p>"Why not, dear Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Why?" with gentle reproach. "Why—for every reason, Eugene."</p> + +<p>"Every one is not so scrupulous as yourself, Mary. Olivia thought it a +great pity we did not avail ourselves of that expedient; she would have +assisted us in every way."</p> + +<p>"What, Eugene—you really went so far as to consult with a third person, +on such a subject."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Olivia and I, you know, are sworn allies; besides, I believe it was +she who suggested the idea. Ladies are always the first to originate +mischievous designs in our unlucky brains."</p> + +<p>Mary shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Olivia was very wrong," she said; "she must have known that <i>I</i> should +never have consented to such an alternative."</p> + +<p>"She only knew, or thought at least, that you loved me; and therefore, +as with all her faults, she has a warm heart; she could not probably +conceive such coldness in your love, Mary."</p> + +<p>The tears rose to Mary's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Coldness!" she repeated. "Oh, Eugene! how can you apply such a term to +my affection?—coldness in rejecting an expedient which I should think +the most extreme, and peculiar circumstances alone could justify."</p> + +<p>"To what kind of circumstances do you allude, Mary?" Eugene inquired +anxiously, and with recovered tenderness of tone, and manner.</p> + +<p>"Nothing fortunately, dear Eugene, which can in any manner apply to our +case; we who have only need of a little patience for our path to be +clear and plain before us. This year over, and if all goes right, you +will not, I think, accuse me any more of having acted coldly in this +respect."</p> + +<p>"No, Mary, as you say—<i>if</i> all goes right, it will be as well; but +supposing that at the end of this year—for, remember that time was +specified quite at random, and because I had no heart to name a longer +period—supposing that the existing obstacle was unremoved, and that +another, and another, and another year were to pass before it were +possible we could be openly united—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene!" interposed poor Mary, turning very pale; "and is this +really likely to be the case?"</p> + +<p>"I did not say it was likely—but it is possible—and suppose it so to +be?"</p> + +<p>He paused for her reply, and still she answered faintly:</p> + +<p>"Oh, then, Eugene, the trial would be great, yet we must still trust in +God, and abide patiently his good time and pleasure."</p> + +<p>"Mary," interrupted Eugene, almost passionately, "your patience indeed +exceeds all bounds," and he turned petulantly away.</p> + +<p>Poor Mary was cut to the heart by this first manifestation of anything, +but the most tender approval on Trevor's part; she exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Eugene! what would you have me to do?" and the tempter was +determined not to throw away the advantage he had thus far gained.</p> + +<p>His present object, as may be supposed, was not to have any immediate +recourse to the expedient he was advancing, but rather to smooth the +way, in case of further exigency. For again with Mary—once more looking +on her sweet face—listening to her gentle voice, and feeling the magic +charm her guileless excellency never failed to exercise over him, he was +as much in love as ever, and determined, whatever might happen, never to +be foiled in his endeavours to possess a treasure, whose price he felt, +would indeed be "far above rubies."</p> + +<p>Nay, he even began to think that he had perhaps been too easily turned +from his original design, and was almost ready to accuse himself of +weakness and cowardice; therefore to Mary's question, he replied still +somewhat coldly.</p> + +<p>"I would have you show that you really loved me, by consenting to a step +which might, under certain circumstances, be the only means of securing +our final happiness. <i>My</i> happiness—that is to say—and your's," he +added softly. "I had hoped, dearest Mary, you would also have considered +it."</p> + +<p>"My happiness, indeed, Eugene; but still deceit of any kind to me is so +very repugnant, even in idea, that I scarcely know how I should ever be +able to <i>enact</i> it—deceit too of such a grave and responsible +character—enacted against those dearest to me. What a return for their +affectionate and anxious regard for my welfare!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Eugene, somewhat hurriedly, "that tormenting point about +money matters, and a few more directly touching myself. But I am unwise, +perhaps, in so committing myself," he added again coldly. "Your love of +<i>truth</i>, which do not fancy I cannot thoroughly appreciate, may also +force you to communicate all that has now passed between us to your +friends and relations."</p> + +<p>"Eugene, you are unkind," poor Mary murmured, in accents of wounded +affection.</p> + +<p>He took her hand, pressing it to his lips in a manner which expressed +the tenderest, humblest sorrow—and the ready tearful smile told him he +was too easily forgiven.</p> + +<p>"What sort of a man is this brother-in-law of yours, Mary?" Eugene then +asked.</p> + +<p>"A very kind good man," Mary answered. "I am sure, <i>I</i> ought to say so."</p> + +<p>"And your sister?"</p> + +<p>"She is my sister, and therefore when I tell you that she is in my eyes +perfection, you will indeed think me partial."</p> + +<p>"And you are then altogether perfectly happy," with renewed pique.</p> + +<p>This time she only answered him with a glance, her heart too full for +words.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, dearest, if I am jealous," Eugene exclaimed, again +appeased, "of every one, even your own sister; but I shall be thankful +indeed to have no further excuse for the indulgence of that feeling. Oh! +Mary, I have often cruel misgivings respecting you."</p> + +<p>"Respecting <i>me</i>, Eugene?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, lest by any means you should during our separation be induced to +love, nay, even the idea that you should be <i>loved</i> by any one save +myself, is almost to me as repugnant."</p> + +<p>"What can you mean, Eugene?" turning her eyes upon him, with doubting +surprise; "<i>I</i> love any one, you cannot be in earnest—as to any one +loving me."</p> + +<p>"Well, do you think that so very much out of the question—Mr. Temple +for instance?"</p> + +<p>These last words were spoken in a faltering, agitated voice, the +speaker's countenance undergoing a strange, a most unpleasing change, +whilst an ashy paleness spread over it, his eyes, in which glared a +sinister expression, fixed upon the clear open countenance of Mary, who +that moment was pensively looking down, or indeed she might well have +been startled at the new light which shone from her lover's face.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Temple!" she repeated slowly, and sadly "ah, yes!" with a +thoughtful sigh, "but surely, Eugene, I satisfied you fully on that +point, when I told you I refused him."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," but in a quick suspicious tone, "why did you sigh when +you repeated that man's name?"</p> + +<p>"Did I sigh?"</p> + +<p>"To be sure, you did; Mary, pray do not let me imagine that you +repent—that for a moment you have ever regretted you refused that—man, +the idea would distract me."</p> + +<p>"Eugene, Eugene! you are very strange to-day," replied the astonished +girl, "how is it possible that I could have regretted it, when so soon +after I met you—and now—"</p> + +<p>Her soft glance finished the sentence, and seemed to express that now +such an idea would indeed be madness. Eugene pressed her arm grateful +for this soothing assurance, but still seemed not perfectly satisfied.</p> + +<p>"And supposing even that you had <i>not</i> met with me so soon after," he +persisted, "you never <i>would</i> have regretted this act of yours? Mary, +you do not answer. Is it possible," turning almost fiercely towards her, +"that on second thoughts, on mature consideration, you ever could have +consented to marry that man?"</p> + +<p>Mary's spirit, like that of many persons of her gentle disposition, +could be roused by any such unjust or unreasonable display of temper, +and she answered calmly:</p> + +<p>"Most people would have wondered how it were possible, I refrained from +loving that excellent, that delightful man, who for four long years I +had daily seen in the exercise of every good and beneficial work, and of +whose amiable and exalted character, I had such full opportunity of +judging. It must indeed have been one of the inscrutable ways of +Providence, which preserved my heart all whole and entire for you, +Eugene."</p> + +<p>But the affectionate glance she lifted up towards her lover, was met by +one so dark and sinister in its expression, that she started and shrank, +as at the same moment, with an impetuous, almost violent movement, her +arm was released by her companion.</p> + +<p>"This is too much," he muttered angrily, "if I am to stay here only to +have rang in my ear the praises of this Temple, as he calls himself, I +think it is time that I should be off."</p> + +<p>Poor Mary, after one moment's astounded silence, placed her gentle hand +tremulously on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Eugene!" she faltered, "do not I entreat you look or speak like that, +you distress, you terrify me, and really this anger on your part is so +unaccountable, so uncalled for, I cannot understand it."</p> + +<p>"Not understand it, Mary? Not understand why I should hate to hear you +eulogize and wonder at your not having been inclined to marry that +detested man? Why I shall next be hearing you wondering what ever made +you love me."</p> + +<p>Incautious suggestion—why indeed had she loved him? What if Mary, in +after hours, when thinking over this scene, should recall that question +for cooler discussion, and diving into the recesses of her reasonable +soul for its solution, bring forth no more definite response than the +reiteration of the question. Why indeed?</p> + +<p>Why are we ever inclined to choose the evil and reject the good? Why do +we ever love darkness better than light? Why are our eyes blinded, our +imagination diseased, our taste perverted, and our heart deceived?</p> + +<p>But not now did Mary meditate upon this mystery, she only meekly and +tearfully exclaimed against any such imputation.</p> + +<p>"Why I love you, Eugene? alas! I begin almost to think you never loved +me, or you would not surely distress me by such words and expressions. +Mr. Temple—"</p> + +<p>"Mary, do not speak that hated name again."</p> + +<p>"I will not; too gladly will I avoid a subject which makes you so unlike +yourself, but remember, Eugene, it was you who first began it, for it is +one I should never have resumed. Mr. Temple," she repeated more firmly, +"however I may honour his memory, is as one henceforth dead to me; he +has for some time left the country, and it is not probable that I shall +ever see him again in this world."</p> + +<p>"So be it!" again murmured Eugene through his closed teeth, but added, +perceiving probably as his heated spirit cooled, that his violence on +this subject was making too much impression on his companion.</p> + +<p>"I have indeed perhaps been exciting myself to an unreasonable extent, +but I do not know how it is, there was always something from the first, +that from what you told me of this Mr. Temple gave me a disagreeable +impression, something about him which seemed mysterious, underhand and +suspicious."</p> + +<p>Mary's voice was about to be raised in indignant refutation of a charge +so unfounded, but cautious prudence checked the ebullition which might +only have led to fresh irritation on Eugene's part, but, as bright as +noontide, open as the day, there flashed before her memory those clear +dark eyes, the glance, the countenance of that aspersed one, it must +have been a dangerous crisis, for him who had spoken the injurious idea, +with such sidelong glance and downcast averted countenance.</p> + +<p>Mary's forbearance seemed nevertheless to have restored her companion's +equanimity. He was in a moment all affectionate contrition, and Mary all +forgiving kindness—still more gratifying Eugene's <i>exigence</i> by +comparing the unbroken monotony of her present existence with his own +exciting career; and telling him how much more there was, therefore, on +her side to call forth misgivings on his account, yet how her perfect +trust, her entire faith sustained her.</p> + +<p>"I am as happy indeed," she continued calmly, "as I can be under present +circumstances. I might have preferred perhaps being with my dear +brother, but my friends thought that would not quite do at present."</p> + +<p>Eugene's brow darkened. He had no great fancy just now for that "dear +brother."</p> + +<p>"Yes—yes," he said somewhat hastily, "I quite agree with them, you are +certainly better where you are, just now; he is too young, and your +sister no doubt is, as you say, a delightful person."</p> + +<p>"She is indeed," Mary answered with alacrity, "I wish you could know her +Eugene. Is it not possible?" Then remembering the circumstances of their +meeting she hesitated, and paused dejectedly.</p> + +<p>"It seems so strange and unnatural to me," she added, "that none of +those I love so well should have ever seen or known you—none but +Arthur," she added in a low tone.</p> + +<p>There was nothing very agreeable associated in Eugene Trevor's mind at +this moment, with the later circumstances of that acquaintance, though +he hastened to express slightly his own corresponding regret; however +the truth was, as may be imagined, that he felt little inclination at +this juncture for an encounter with any of his betrothed's belongings, +more especially the dry Scotch lawyer—imagination pictured to him.</p> + +<p>If, indeed, it had not been for the nurse and children, he would +probably have suggested that Mary should keep silence on the subject of +their interview; but as it was, he could only resign the affair into her +hands, and rely upon her representation of the circumstance.</p> + +<p>He must now think of beating a retreat; but first of all he asked her +how long she was to remain in her present abode.</p> + +<p>She scarcely knew—probably all the winter.</p> + +<p>"And am I never to hear from you, or of you, all this time?" he +demanded.</p> + +<p>She shook her head sadly.</p> + +<p>"I do not know Eugene how—your agreement was you remember, that we +should not meet, or even write, to one another."</p> + +<p>"Do you and Olivia correspond?" Eugene then asked.</p> + +<p>"Seldom: Olivia lately has been a very bad correspondent."</p> + +<p>"No wonder; she has had other things to think of lately. She has been +going on at a fine rate this season in London, nearly driven Louis mad. +At last he took the children down to Silverton, and left her behind."</p> + +<p>"Poor dear Louis!" murmured Mary, with sorrowful concern.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mary, you and I would have been very different."</p> + +<p>At those words, into which were thrown a most thrilling amount of +tenderness, both of look and accent, Eugene paused.</p> + +<p>They had hitherto been pacing slowly up and down a certain part of the +retired grounds, but now pressing his companion's arm close to his +heart, he said in an agitated voice.</p> + +<p>"And now, Mary, how shall I ever make up my mind to leave you; and how +shall I exist without you?"</p> + +<p>Mary had just lifted up her pale face with a look of piteous sorrow, at +words which she felt at once were preliminaries to the bitter parting, +when their attention was attracted by the voices of her sister's +children, announcing them to have advanced in closer proximity than the +discreet tact of their attendant had previously permitted. But on +glancing in that direction, Eugene was not a little disconcerted to +behold slowly advancing amongst the young group, a lady whom it needed +not Mary's murmured explanation to denote to him at once as her sister.</p> + +<p>There was nothing to do but for them to advance and meet one another. +Mary's former pallor had been speedily chased by a deep blush, and with +nervous embarrassment she murmured an introduction.</p> + +<p>Eugene's manner too was consciously confused.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gillespie, whatever might have been the surprise and interest she +felt on finding her sister so accompanied, was all calm and quiet +civility, such as that with which she might have received any strange +acquaintance of Mary's.</p> + +<p>And Eugene—ominous as this cool reception might appear of the feeling +generally entertained by the family of Mary towards him—could not but +hail it as a relief to the embarrassment of his present situation, and +consider the course of conduct she thus pursued, that of a lady-like and +sensible person such, as he could at once perceive in their short +interview, his sister-in-law elect to be.</p> + +<p>So they walked down the shady walk together: Mary anxious and silent, +Mrs. Gillespie and Eugene exchanging common place observations +respecting Edinburgh, and his intended expedition to the Moors.</p> + +<p>Then the lady paused, as if intending to show that she purposed +proceeding in a different direction to that of her new companion. And, +understanding the hint, Eugene Trevor turned, and taking Mary's hand +pressed it as fondly, and gazed into her pale face as significantly as +he dared, murmured a few incoherent syllables of parting, then bowed to +the sister, and departed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">Tell us, maiden, hast thou found him<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Thus delicious, thus divine?<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Doth such witchery breathe around him?<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Is his spirit so benign?<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Doth he shed o'er heart and brain<br /></span> +<span class="i12">More of pleasure or of pain?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">MOULTRIE.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Mary suffered Mrs. Gillespie to draw her arm affectionately within her +own, and the sisters then walked on a little way, in silence, which +Alice was the first to break.</p> + +<p>"And that then was Eugene Trevor, Mary?" she said half interrogatively, +half in soliloquy.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that was Eugene," was the answer, accompanied by a deep-drawn +sigh.</p> + +<p>But there had been something in Mrs. Gillespie's tone which caused her +at the same moment to turn her eyes anxiously upon her face, as if to +discover what impression the "Eugene Trevor," thus significantly +emphasized, had made upon the speaker.</p> + +<p>"Is he like what you expected?" she then timidly inquired.</p> + +<p>"Yes—no—that is to say, not exactly," was the sister's rather +hesitating reply.</p> + +<p>"He is looking ill now," Mary continued; "and you did not see him to +advantage. It was of course rather an embarrassing meeting for him, +under existing circumstances, he not knowing exactly how you might be +inclined to approve of our interview, just at present; but I should +think from it having been so perfectly accidental, no one could blame +him, or object to its having occurred."</p> + +<p>"Not in the least, dear Mary, I am sure—if it was a meeting calculated +to raise and strengthen your spirits. And it <i>has</i> made you happier, I +hope," looking rather doubtfully into Mary's pale and anxious +countenance, on which too the traces of tears were plainly visible.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Alice!" Mary faintly replied. "Seeing Eugene was, indeed, a +pleasure most welcome and unexpected; but then you know the parting +again for so long a time—and—and—" turning her head away with a sigh, +"altogether it might be called rather a painful pleasure."</p> + +<p>"But then, Mary, six months will so soon pass away."</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly," hesitated Mary; but there was no very cheerful +security in her tone.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gillespie did not press her sister further on the subject just +then, for she plainly perceived that altogether it was one in which +truly as much of pain as pleasure was commingled. Of course she informed +her husband of the occurrence; and Mary too spoke of it as openly as was +possible, though the reserve she was forced in a great measure to +maintain respecting the substance of the interview, the more confirmed +her relations in their suspicions, as to its having been one of no very +satisfactory nature.</p> + +<p>"And what, as far as you were able to judge, in so short a time, did +you think of your intended brother-in-law, my dear Alice?" the husband +inquired of his wife the evening after the meeting; "for I know you +consider yourself a first rate physiognomist."</p> + +<p>"What do I think of him Robert?"—with a sigh—"poor Mary."</p> + +<p>"Why, poor Mary, do you not like his appearance?"</p> + +<p>"I should not much <i>like</i> to trust my happiness, or that of any one I +loved, to his keeping."</p> + +<p>"Indeed! he is very good-looking at any rate."</p> + +<p>"Yes, handsome certainly—eyes, such as you perhaps have seldom, if ever +seen, and which, if they would only look you full in the face, are +certainly calculated to do a great deal of execution. But he did not +look so into mine; and there was something about his countenance +altogether which I cannot explain—something which, though I can fancy +it well calculated to make an impression—of some sort or another, over +one's mind—I confess on mine—to have been one, which is far from +<i>canny</i>. His looks too bespeak him, I am afraid, to be suffering rather +from the jading effects of London dissipation, than the gentler pains +and anxieties attendant on his situation, as a lover separated from the +object of his affection."</p> + +<p>Mr. Gillespie looked concerned at this report, feeling a great interest +in his amiable young sister-in-law. And though he generally expressed +mistrust, with respect to his wife's too hasty reliance on her first +impressions, still he was often in the end forced to acknowledge their +frequent accuracy.</p> + +<p>Yet at the same time, as the countenance of the lover did not in any way +alter the case with regard to Mary's position or circumstances, there +was nothing to be said or done by her friends whilst awaiting the issue +of affairs, but to observe with regret that though with the same meek +"patience, abnegation of self, and devotion to others," their sister +pursued the even tenor of her way, the cheerful serenity which before +had continued to shine forth in her countenance, and characterize her +bearing, had departed. Her mind had been evidently unsettled by the +<i>rencontre</i> with Eugene Trevor—her heart's calm rest disturbed.</p> + +<p>How was it indeed with Mary? Had the hints conveyed by Eugene during +their interview depressed her hopes, and re-awakened her misgivings as +to the happy issue of the year's probation? Or more bitter still—had +anything in that same interview occurred to give that first +disenchanting touch, which by degrees detracts from the perfect charm +which has hitherto robed our idol, and we see the image of goodness and +beauty, whose idol shape we worshipped, melting from our sight, and +though still it binds the fatal spell, and still it draws us on, the +spirit of our love is changed—a shadow has fallen upon it. We feel it +to be "of the earth earthy."</p> + +<p>Had Mary received any startling impression, her feelings any +<i>boulversement</i>, by beholding Eugene Trevor for the first time so unlike +the Eugene she had hitherto loved—under the irritating disturbing +influences of opposition and reverse.</p> + +<p>But from whatever cause they might proceed, certainly "the gloom and the +shadow" spread broader and deeper on her brow; and when on his return +from the Moors, Eugene Trevor, probably for the chance of another +interview, revisited the Scotch metropolis, he learnt, by particular +inquiry of a maid-servant he found standing by the door of Mr. +Gillespie's closed house, that the family had left Edinburgh, and gone +to the sea-side.</p> + +<p>"Were they all well?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"All well, only the young lady, Mrs. Gillespie's sister, a little pale, +and pining for country air. So the young Maister Arthur had come, and +persuaded them to put up their gear, and take the bairns and all to the +sea; but the maister was expected home the morrow, if the gentleman +liked to step up and see him."</p> + +<p>We may imagine that Trevor had no inclination to tarry for this purpose, +and that same day left Scotland <i>en route</i> for Montrevor.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">He glowed with a spirit pure and high,<br /></span> +<span class="i14">They called the feeling madness,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">And he wept for woe with a melting eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i14">'Twas weak and moody sadness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">PERCIVAL.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>It was Epsom week. London was all astir with the influx of company +returning from the races.</p> + +<p>A pale girl sat alone in one of the apartments of an hotel in Brook +Street, listening long and anxiously to the coming sounds of the +carriage-wheels, as they whirled along in that direction.</p> + +<p>At length a carriage stopped before the door, and in a few moments a +lady entered the room, whose showy costume and flushed excited +countenance, (forming so strong a contrast to the appearance of the +other, whom she warmly greeted,) plainly evinced her to have but just +returned from that gay resort, the Stand at Epsom.</p> + +<p>"You are come then, dear Mary. I hope you have not been very long +waiting."</p> + +<p>"No, not so very long," and the eyes of the speaker wandered anxiously +towards the door, as if she seemed to expect the appearance of a second +person.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh understood that glance too well—she shook her head +compassionately.</p> + +<p>"Alas!—no, dear Mary; you must not expect to see him just now; he has +been unfortunately prevented—that was the reason which made me so late; +but I will tell you all about it presently, only let me have a glass of +wine first, for I am nearly exhausted."</p> + +<p>And during the interval of suspense, whilst Mrs. de Burgh refreshed +herself after the fatiguing pleasures of the day, let us remind our +readers, that the momentous year had some little time ago drawn to a +close. Its expiration had not, however, brought with it, any immediate +results.</p> + +<p>Nothing had been seen or heard of Eugene Trevor by any of the family for +the first month or two. He had been in London only at intervals, and he +had not opened any communication with his <i>fiancée</i>, till she—on coming +to London at the urgent solicitation of her sister Lady Morgan, who was +not well—had a few days after her arrival, been surprised by a note +from Mrs. de Burgh, whom she was not aware was even in town, begging her +to come to her—naming a particular day—at the hotel where she was +staying—as Eugene Trevor wished particularly to see her. She added that +he would be obliged by her not mentioning the object of this visit to +her relations, lest by any chance they might interfere with the +interview, and it was very necessary that it should occur, before any +more general communication took place.</p> + +<p>"Still mystery and concealment!" was poor Mary's disappointed soliloquy. +"Why not come here openly and see and speak to me? But I will go this +once, as Eugene wishes it, and I cannot refuse perhaps without +occasioning trouble and confusion."</p> + +<p>And so she went; for still alas! the attractive chain too powerfully +bound her, and her heart could not but spring forward with yearning hope +to this meeting once again, with her intended. It may be imagined, +therefore, how her heart had sunk within her, at Mrs. de Burgh's +disappointing communication.</p> + +<p>"Prevented coming," after having had her hopes and expectations strained +to such a pitch—and she awaited with painful solicitude the promised +explanation.</p> + +<p>She had not seen her cousin since her last unhappy time in London, and +though, even then, to a certain degree, a kind of estrangement had risen +up between them; and all that she had since heard by report of the gay +wife's conduct and proceedings, had not greatly raised the beautiful +Olivia in her esteem, yet Mary could not but retain a grateful +remembrance of the warm-hearted kindness she had received whilst under +her roof—and a still more pleasing and vivid impression of the too +tenderly cherished associations, with which she was so intimately +connected.</p> + +<p>But at this moment, the dearest friend on earth would have only been +appreciated by Mary, as the being on whose lips she hung for information +on the subject, and which she alone at this moment had the power to +communicate; and "why had not Eugene come?" was all that spoke in her +anxious countenance, or in the faltering tone in which she attempted, +with some show of cousinly interest, to make a few inquiries after Louis +and the children.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh came at last to her relief—if relief it could be +called—for the first thing she heard was, that Eugene instead of coming +to see her, intended setting off for Montrevor that very evening.</p> + +<p>"And why?" Mary with quivering lips interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Having lost a large sum of money on the Derby, he was obliged to have +immediate recourse to his father for the necessary cash to cover this +unfortunate transaction. He has therefore commissioned me to break to +you this intelligence. I cannot tell you, my dear Mary, the state of +mind poor Eugene was in when we parted—not only on account of the +immediate disappointment this occasioned him; but because this enormous +loss must again retard the possibility of his marriage taking place at +present. My dear Mary, you are doomed to the trial of hope deferred—the +strength and constancy of your attachment has indeed been sorely taxed."</p> + +<p>Mary did not immediately reply. She sat very pale, her eyes fixed upon +the ground, something more than common disappointment expressed in her +thoughtful countenance.</p> + +<p>At length she looked up, and said in a grave and anxious tone:</p> + +<p>"Does Eugene always lose like this at races?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, dear! fortunately," laughed Mrs. de Burgh, "not often; he is +very lucky in general," but checking herself, as she saw Mary's shocked +countenance, "I mean," and she hesitated, "that after all he has not so +very decided a taste for this sort of thing," and Mrs. de Burgh laughed +again, saying: "but, my dear girl, do not look so very serious upon the +subject, what is there so very shocking in it after all."</p> + +<p>Mary thought it was a subject, to her at least, of most serious +importance and concern. A new and uncomfortable misgiving began to arise +in her mind.</p> + +<p>Was it in any way relating to this propensity in Eugene Trevor, against +which Louis de Burgh originally warned her—and did it in reality—more +than the reason which Eugene had brought forth to her brother, tend to +interfere in any way with her happiness? So strongly did this idea +suddenly possess her, that she could not refrain from asking Mrs. de +Burgh whether she thought this was the case. Her cousin's evasive answer +did not tend much to the removal of her suspicions.</p> + +<p>Eugene certainly did play—did bet a little on the turf. She thought +Mary had always been aware of that—men must have some pursuit, some +excitement. If it were not one thing it was another—equally—perhaps +one might call it—"not quite right;" however, all the best men in +London were on the turf. Eugene was only like the rest, but with married +men, it was quite different.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, Mary," the fair lady continued, "Eugene always assures me, he +means to give up everything of the sort when he marries, and I am quite +sure he will do so. I only wish you were married, dear."</p> + +<p>Mary only sighed.</p> + +<p>"You are not getting weary of your engagement, Mary?" Mrs. de Burgh +inquired.</p> + +<p>"Weary!—oh, no, Olivia. I was sighing for Eugene's sake."</p> + +<p>"You may well do so, for he is, I assure you, very unhappy at all this +delay."</p> + +<p>Mary shook her head, and her lip curled a little disdainfully. The +gesture seemed to say, "Whose fault is it now?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh seemed to understand it as such, for she said—</p> + +<p>"It is all that miserly old father's fault. He could set everything +right at once, if he chose."</p> + +<p>"But," said Mary, in a low tone, "I see no end of all this."</p> + +<p>"No," hesitated Mrs. de Burgh, "not I suppose till the brother turns up; +unless, indeed—" she murmured.</p> + +<p>"What?" inquired Mary, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"You had better come and stay with me at Silverton," was Mrs. de Burgh's +indirect reply.</p> + +<p>Mary smiled dejectedly.</p> + +<p>"That would never do," she replied, "they would not consent to my doing +so, under present circumstances."</p> + +<p>"They—who are they? I am sure, Mary, I should not allow any brother or +sister to interfere with my proceedings. You are of age, and quite at +liberty, I should imagine, to act as you please on any subject."</p> + +<p>Mary shook her head. She did not feel quite so independent-spirited as +all that—and besides, she did not herself see that such a step would be +quite expedient at present.</p> + +<p>She did not, however, say this aloud, and Mrs. de Burgh attributed her +silence to yielding consent.</p> + +<p>"Eugene wishes it very much I can assure you."</p> + +<p>Mary looked up as if the tempter himself had murmured the insinuating +observation in her ear, for there was something significant in the way +Mrs. de Burgh had spoken, which she could not but understand, and still +more in the words which followed.</p> + +<p>"If you were only married to Eugene, Mary, you might rely on his giving +up all objectionable and hurtful things."</p> + +<p>"But as that cannot be," sighed Mary, despondingly.</p> + +<p>"It could," hesitated Mrs. de Burgh; "it is only your friends' +opposition which would stand in the way, until Eugene is able to settle +something satisfactory as to his future prospects. Were I you, Mary, if +it were only for Eugene's sake, I should not be so scrupulous about +securing each other's happiness and his welfare, as he tells me you +are."</p> + +<p>But Mary turned away almost indignantly. If the proposal had even +revolted her spirit when coming from Eugene's own lips, much more so, +did it grate upon her feelings, when thus insinuated by those of +another.</p> + +<p>But whatever might here have ensued, was interrupted by the entrance of +Mr. de Burgh. It seemed that he had only arrived in London that day, +unexpectedly to Mrs. de Burgh, who otherwise would not have planned the +meeting of Mary and Eugene.</p> + +<p>He came evidently in one of his London humours, as his wife called it; +and though he greeted Mary kindly, she fancied there was a certain +alteration in his manner towards her, which she instinctively felt to +originate in his disapprovement of the present circumstances of her +engagement; she remembered that he never was friendly to the affair, +though the direct subject was now avoided by each of the party.</p> + +<p>He sat and made captious and cutting allusions to the races, and every +one concerned therein, which, whether really intended at Eugene, Mary +interpreted as such—and they touched the poor girl to the quick.</p> + +<p>Probably she was not far wrong in her supposition as to the pointedness +of his remarks, for suddenly glancing on his listener's downcast anxious +countenance he exclaimed, addressing his wife:</p> + +<p>"Bye the bye, Olivia, I mean to be off abroad in a day or two."</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens, Louis! what new fancy is this?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I have heard something to-day which has really put me quite into a +fever."</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it? Some nonsense, I dare say."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> at least do not think it so. Dawson, who I saw to-day, declares +that Trevor, Eustace Trevor I mean, was seen by some one not long ago in +Switzerland. Yes," he continued, encouraged by Mary's glance of intense +and startled interest, "he was seen with another person—the <i>keeper</i> I +suppose they talk about—somewhere on the Alps."</p> + +<p>"The Alps!—poor fellow! gone there to cool his brain, I suppose," said +Mrs. de Burgh, whose countenance nevertheless had bespoke her not a +little moved by this communication.</p> + +<p>"Cool his brain!—nonsense! cool enough by this time, depend upon it."</p> + +<p>"But does Eugene know of this?" faltered Mary.</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," replied Mr. de Burgh, coldly.</p> + +<p>"Impossible, Louis!" Mary exclaimed with eagerness.</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps so. I don't know at all," Mr. de Burgh continued. "I +shouldn't be so much surprised if he did; there are a great many things +which surprise me more than that, Mary; for instance you yourself—yes, +you, Mary," as she lifted up her eyes to her cousin's handsome face, +with quiet surprise, "that you should see things in a light so different +to what I should have expected from you."</p> + +<p>"Ridiculous!" interposed Mrs. de Burgh—"that is to say that you should +have expected her to have seen everything with your own jaundiced, +prejudiced perception; but about Eustace Trevor."</p> + +<p>"Yes, about Eustace Trevor; he is a subject certainly worth a little of +your interest and inquiry. Mary, you should have known <i>him</i>," exclaimed +Mr. de Burgh, with rising enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"You were very much attached to him then?" demanded Mary, with deep +interest.</p> + +<p>"Attached to him!—yes, indeed I was; that <i>was</i> a man whom one might +well glory in calling friend; or," he murmured to himself, "a woman +might be proud to worship as a lover."</p> + +<p>"Yes," interposed Mrs. de Burgh, "I suppose he was a very superior, +delightful person; but I own he always appeared to me, even as a boy, a +little <i>tête monté</i>, so that it did not surprise me so very much when I +heard of the calamity which had befallen him. He was just the sort of +person upon whose mind any strong excitement, or sudden shock would have +had the like effect."</p> + +<p>"Olivia, you are talking nonsense," Mr. de Burgh petulantly exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"It was his mother's death, I think, I heard which brought on this +dreadful crisis?" Mary inquired.</p> + +<p>"Exactly so," answered Mrs. de Burgh.</p> + +<p>"How <i>do</i> you know?" exclaimed her husband. "What does any one know +about the matter?"</p> + +<p>"We can only judge from what one has heard from the best authority," +again persisted his wife.</p> + +<p>"Best authority! well, I can only say that far from being of your +opinion, I should have said that Eustace Trevor had been as far from +madness as earth from heaven."</p> + +<p>"Really, Louis!" exclaimed Mrs. de Burgh, perceiving Mary's look of +anxious interest and surprise, "one would fancy from the way you talk +that you suspected him never really to have been mad."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'And this the world called frenzy; but the wise<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Have a far deeper madness, and the glance<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Of melancholy is a fearful gift.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> What is it but the telescope of truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Which brings life near in utter nakedness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Making the cold reality more cold,'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>quoted Mr. de Burgh for all reply.</p> + +<p>"What <i>is</i> all this to do with the point in question?" said Mrs. de +Burgh impatiently. "Really, Louis, Mary will think <i>you</i> also decidedly +have gone mad."</p> + +<p>"Mary likes poetry," he answered quietly; "she will not think it is +madness what I have uttered."</p> + +<p>"But, Louis, what do you really mean about Eugene's brother?—tell me +something about him. I have heard so very little," demanded Mary, +earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Why do you not make Eugene tell you himself? I can only say:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'He was a man, take him for all in all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall not look upon his like again!'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"He was very handsome—very clever," said Mrs. de Burgh, taking up the +theme more prosaically, "and very amiable I believe, though rather +impetuous and hot-tempered; always at daggers drawn with his father, +because he spent the old man's money a little faster than he liked, it +is said."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, Olivia!" burst forth Mr. de Burgh, passionately, "how can +you sit there, and distort the truth in that shameful manner? you know +as well as I do the true version of this part of the story. Mary," +turning to his cousin with flashing eyes, "Eustace Trevor had a mother; +an excellent charming creature, whose existence, through the combined +influence of her husband and a most baneful, pernicious wretch of a +woman, that Marryott, of whom no doubt you have heard, was rendered one +long tissue of wretchedness and wrong, the extent of which I believe is +hardly known. Eustace, who adored his mother, keenly felt and manfully +espoused her cause; therefore, you may see at once this was the reason +of his father's hatred of him, and the old man's treatment of this son, +was one shameful system of injustice and tyranny—enough, I confess, to +drive any man into a state of mental irritation, possessed of Eustace's +sensitive temperament."</p> + +<p>Mary's wandering, startled gaze turned inquiringly on Mrs. de Burgh, as +if to ask whether this new and melancholy representation of the case +could be really true. Mrs. de Burgh looked a little disconcerted, but +replied carelessly:</p> + +<p>"Yes, poor Aunt Trevor! she had certainly a sad time of it; but then it +was partly her own fault. She was a weak-spirited creature. What other +woman would have endured what she did in that tame and passive manner?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, these poor weak-spirited creatures have often, however, strength +to bear a great deal for the sake of others," replied Mr. de Burgh, +sarcastically. "It would have been more high and noble-spirited, I dare +say, to have blazed abroad her domestic grievances; but she had no doubt +a little consideration for her children, and the honour and +respectability of their house and name."</p> + +<p>"Oh, nonsense! that was all very well when they were children to +consider them; but when they were men, it signified very little," said +Mrs. de Burgh.</p> + +<p>"But <i>then</i>," suggested Mary, with trembling earnestness, "then she must +have had great comfort in their affection and support."</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Mr. de Burgh, "in Eustace she had, I know, unfailing +comfort and support."</p> + +<p>"And Eugene?" anxiously demanded Mary. "Surely he too—"</p> + +<p>"Of course," Mrs. de Burgh hastened to exclaim, "no one could be fonder +or kinder to his mother though, because"—looking angrily at her +husband—"he had the sense and the discretion not to quarrel with his +father, and strength of mind not to <i>go mad</i>—Louis, I suppose, wishes +to make you believe that Eugene was not kind to his mother."</p> + +<p>"Nothing would make me believe that Eugene was not kind to his mother," +added Mary with an earnest energy, which showed with what indignation +she would repel this distracting idea.</p> + +<p>And Mr. de Burgh replied with great moderation:</p> + +<p>"Nor did I say anything of the sort. <i>I</i> am not at all in the custom of +asserting grave charges against a person, without certain proof. I only +saw as much into 'the secrets of the prison-house' at Montrevor as would +make me very sorry to have had anything further to do with its +interior."</p> + +<p>Poor Mary! She asked no more questions, she had heard quite enough to +give new and dark impressions to her mind. She saw everything in a +still more bewildering and uncertain light—yet felt a vague, indefinite +dread of further revelation.</p> + +<p>Her sister's carriage being speedily announced, she bade adieu to her +cousins, who were leaving London the next day, and</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Went like one that hath been stunned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> And is of sense forlorn,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>bearing in her secret soul restless doubts and blind misgivings, she +shrank even from confiding to her most beloved Arthur.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">I knew that in thy bosom dwelt<br /></span> +<span class="i12">A silent grief, a hidden fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">A sting which could be only felt<br /></span> +<span class="i12">By spirits to their God most dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Which yet thou felt'st from year to year,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Unsoftened, nay, embitter'd still;<br /></span> +<span class="i12">And many a secret sigh and tear<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Heaved thy sad heart, thine eyes did fill,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">And anxious thoughts thou hadst presaging direst ill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">MOULTRIE.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>The sequel only brought forth for our heroine further disturbance and +discomfort.</p> + +<p>The newly-risen impediment to the marriage was of necessity the subject +of correspondence. He again threw the blame upon his father, urging his +increasing infirmities of mind and body as the excuse.</p> + +<p>But the plea appeared to Mary's friends evasive and ambiguous, and +greatly indeed was the strength and stability of her affection tried by +the urgent solicitations of those so dear to her, that she would consent +to break off entirely this ill-starred—and as they the more and more +considered it—objectionable engagement.</p> + +<p>But no, there was yet one still more dear to her; and to him, through +good and evil report, her spirit yet must cling—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And stand as stands a lonely tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That still unbroke, though gently bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Still waves with fond fidelity<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its boughs above a monument."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>By letter too—for there was one crisis of affairs during which the +lovers corresponded on the anxious subject, Eugene failed not to urge +the maintenance of an engagement which on his part he declared he would +never consent to be the first to relinquish.</p> + +<p>Then, how could Mary cast aside an attachment, a hope which had become +so linked with the happiness of her existence, that to contemplate its +extinction, was to see before her extended</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Dreary and vast and silent the desert of life."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>No, rather was she content in doubt, darkness and uncertainty to wait +and wander, her hope still fixed upon the distant light in the hazy +future.</p> + +<p>A position, such as that in which Mary found herself placed—an +ill-defined and ambiguous matrimonial engagement—is to a young woman +ever, more or less, a misfortune and a trial: something there is in her +life</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Incomplete, imperfect, and unfinished,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>comprising also as it must do, much of uncertainty and restless doubt.</p> + +<p>The circumstances of Mary's case, rendered hers more peculiarly a +subject for such influences. Removed from the sphere in which her lover +moved, even their correspondence, after the time just mentioned, +entirely ceased; and she heard of him only at intervals—by chance and +vague report.</p> + +<p>She had longed to have those doubts and repellant ideas, Mr. de Burgh's +conversation had insinuated into her mind, cleared away, as she believed +they might, by Eugene's own word of mouth. But this had been denied her. +She had indeed alluded to the report respecting his brother, which Mr. +de Burgh had heard; but Eugene had merely said in reply, that he was +taking every measure to ascertain its accuracy; and she heard nothing +further on that point.</p> + +<p>From Mrs. de Burgh she also ascertained that her cousin Louis had never +carried out his proposed expedition, in search of the friend for whom he +had professed such warm admiration and interest.</p> + +<p>Mary was not so much surprised at this, it being only accordant with her +cousin's ineffectual character—warm and affectionate in heart and +feeling, but unstable in action and resolve; without self-devotedness or +energy in any duty or pursuit, which turned not on the immediate fancy +or interest of the moment—something else had probably put the +intention out of his head. It did seem to Mary strange and unnatural, +that the disappearance of a man such as Eustace Trevor had been +represented to her lively and susceptible fancy, should have been so +tamely endured by his friends in general, to say nothing of his own +brother; but to think on that point was now to raise such a dark and +bewildering cloud of ill-defined misgivings, that Mary put it from her +mind as much as possible.</p> + +<p>There was another point too, on which she indirectly sought +enlightenment and assurance. Eugene's mother. Alas! there indeed she had +heard enough to make her shudder at the idea connected with much within +that house, which she had visited with such pleasure in her unconscious +innocence—but more especially with that sinful old man, who, in the +garb of venerable old age, had been by her so ignorantly revered; yes, +she shuddered to think how appearances may deceive, and shrunk at the +thoughts of ever entering again the scene of such wickedness, as long at +least as Eugene's father continued there to exist.</p> + +<p>That Eugene had in the remotest degree even countenanced that +wickedness, was another point she would not allow herself to +question—or rather, she put it away, like every other deteriorating +rumour, hearsay, or inarticulate whisper, which in the course of time +come with its airy hand to point out her lover as unworthy of the +devotedness of a heart and affections such as hers; put it away in the +utmost recesses of her heart, as we do those things we fear to see or +hear substantiated—when even a breath, a word would suffice to destroy +the illusion now become so closely interwoven with the happiness of +one's existence.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, Mary lived chiefly with the Gillespies though her +heart's true home was with that dear brother, upon whose progress and +success in his profession the chief interest of her life, independent of +her one great hope, was centred; and who, on his part, unselfishly +devoted every interval between the course of study he so energetically +pursued, to her society, endeavouring in every way to promote her +happiness or amusement; and chafing inwardly as he did, over the +position in which she stood; for her sake preserved outward patience and +equanimity, on a point which nevertheless touched him to the quick. Much +he heard, too, which made him devoutly wish the engagement with Eugene +Trevor to be broken off, without his having courage to take the bandage +from his sister's eyes. Much of the private history of these, Eugene +Trevor's days—we call them—of probation—nay, the profligate course +his love for Mary could not even restrain within bounds. Episodes in his +daily walk, with which it is not our intention to sully our pages, but +calculated to make the brother's blood boil with indignation at the idea +of his pure, spotless sister, becoming the wife of such a man.</p> + +<p>But how difficult the task to force on her unsuspecting mind convictions +which might go nigh to break her trembling innocent heart—or at least +blight the happiness of her life. He must patiently allow fate to work +out its course, fervently praying that all might end well.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>About a year and a half went by—another six months and Arthur Seaham's +term of law study would have terminated; and he declared that to prepare +himself for his last important term, it was necessary that he should +have some more than ordinary relaxation of mind. He had a fancy to go to +Italy, and that Mary should accompany him. She smiled at first +incredulously, thinking he was in jest. She thought the idea too +delightful to be realised.</p> + +<p>He was in earnest, he declared.</p> + +<p>But the journey would be so long; and the expense—could they manage it?</p> + +<p>What were such considerations to the affectionate brother, when he +remarked the glow which had mantled his sister's pale cheeks, or the +animation which lit up her languid eye, as in imagination the warm +breezes of Italy already fanned her brow—her feet trode lightly on its +classic grounds. Their friends had a few prudent objections to the +plan—Italy was so far; Germany—the Rhine, were suggested. But no; +Arthur saw that Mary's countenance fell when the mark fell short of +Italy, therefore he stood firm.</p> + +<p>And thither then the brother and sister went, with an old attached +maid-servant of the family, who still followed the fortunes of the +unmarried daughter; and by the Rhine and Switzerland they proceeded into +Italy.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">We came to Italy. I felt<br /></span> +<span class="i14">A yearning for its sunny sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i12">My very spirit seem'd to melt<br /></span> +<span class="i14">As swept its first warm breezes by.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">WILLIS.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>An early morning in Italy! Who that from experience has not enjoyed—can +realise the conception, much less describe, the luxurious delight of the +first hours of a summer morning in that radiant climate.</p> + +<p>"It was the morn of such a day, as must have risen on Eden first," that +Mary Seaham went forth from the little inn near Tivoli, to join her +brother who had preceded her some little time to make arrangements +respecting their intended excursion of the day.</p> + +<p>She waited—but when he did not come, could no longer resist the +tempting aspect of the scenery without, to stroll onwards from the house +towards the merry waters which danced on their musical way not far +distant from the spot; and as she proceeded through the fragrant +air—beneath the transparent sky, the sigh she heaved could have been +caused but by the burden of enjoyment now weighing upon her senses; for +all human care—all sadness, all unrest, all passionate yearnings or +pensive remembrances—in short, all unconnected with "the mere and +breathing charm of life," seemed in that thrilling hour, annihilated and +forgotten.</p> + +<p>But something glittering on the ground, near a flower she had stooped to +pick, suddenly attracted her attention. She took it up and examined it +more closely. It was a massive signet ring. What was Mary's astonishment +to see engraved upon the seal, the initials "E. T." with the Trevor coat +of arms.</p> + +<p>Her first thought was of Eugene—could it be that he by some strange +coincidence was near? or that he had purposely followed her to Italy? +and her heart beat fast, and her cheek glowed at the suggestion. Yet she +had never remembered observing such a ring on Eugene's finger, and +then—another indefinite recollection of having somewhere before seen +that same impression on some letter, certainly not <i>from</i> her lover, +occurred to her.</p> + +<p>Yes—and suddenly the breakfast-table at Silverton, and that letter—the +letter to Eugene which she had ever since suspected must have been the +turning-point of her previous perfect felicity, but which she had always +supposed must have been from Eugene's father. That large red seal the +little Louisa had displayed before her eyes. All was now before her. But +how then came it lying here upon this foreign soil?</p> + +<p>Was it forbidden her to lose, even for a moment, the thrilling +consciousness of the fate which bound her, that there should be now +thrown across her very path, this startling reminder?</p> + +<p>Standing fixed to the spot—turning the signet over and over in her +hand, an uncertain, half-bewildered expression on her sweet face—a +sudden idea which crimsoned it to the very temples, then leaving it +paler than before—suddenly lit up her countenance.</p> + +<p>How, indeed, came it lying there? "E. T." Surely from the old man's +finger it had not dropped; and if not from Eugene's, might it, could it +have been from that of the lost, unhappy, wandering brother, Eustace's?</p> + +<p>With what object, what intent, she scarcely knew herself—but impulse +moved her, with beating heart and trembling step, to pursue the path +which she had taken, only remembering the while, that last night, after +she was in bed, there had been an arrival at the inn. Two gentlemen from +Rome, the <i>cameriera</i> who called her in the morning told her, had roused +the house up at a very late hour; and that one of these belated +travellers had nevertheless already pressed the dewy turf before +her—that it might be him who was the loser, was perhaps, the paramount +idea which now possessed her as she hurried on over this fair Italian +ground as light in limb—alas! less light at heart as when bounding +over the breezy wilds of her native land.</p> + +<p>She had not been wrong in her conjecture. A sudden turn in the lovely +vale she had entered presented to her view, at no great distance from +the spot she had attained, a broken fountain, the silvery sound of whose +ringing waters faintly reached her ear; and near this, half concealed by +the branches of a leaning tree, she discerned the figure of a man, +standing watching its light and sparkling play.</p> + +<p>A few half irresolute steps brought her nearer and nearer still—a few +more, and she stood attracted as if by an irresistible spell almost +close behind the object of her search. His face had been turned away, +but the light rustling of her garments when she drew so near, attracted +his attention.</p> + +<p>He looked round, and there stood Mary with parted lips and crimsoned +brow—that look of strange, deep, and eager scrutiny directed towards +him.</p> + +<p>Never did the face of mortal man undergo such immediate change, as did +the calm, noble countenance which at the same time revealed itself to +the intruder; never were two simple words uttered with such thrilling +fervency of tone, as was the ejaculation which broke from the stranger's +lips.</p> + +<p>"Miss Seaham," he exclaimed; and in accents scarce less earnest in its +emotion, Mary's trembling lips faltered Mr. Temple's name.</p> + +<p>Yes, it was indeed Edward Temple, upon whom she gazed with ill-defined +ideas—and feelings of bewilderment and perplexity—her high-wrought +expectations unable all at once to sink themselves to the level of +natural composure—pale, agitated, and trembling, without further +greeting or explanation,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"She showed the ring."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"I found it," she said with almost hysterical incoherency, "and thought +perhaps—but your's it cannot be—and yet it is strange—the initials +are the same—but—can it really be, that your crest—your arms also are +similar?"</p> + +<p>For all reply he gently took the ring from her outstretched hand, and in +silence seemed to examine it. Then without looking up, and in a low, +calm voice he said:</p> + +<p>"You expected I conclude, to find the owner had been Eugene Trevor?"</p> + +<p>"No, not Eugene," Mary quietly replied, restored to greater +self-possession, "but perhaps, I thought—it was a random idea—that +perhaps it might have been his brother Eustace."</p> + +<p>The ring dropped suddenly from her listener's fingers, as she uttered +these last words.</p> + +<p>"And what," he murmured, having stooped to raise it from the ground, +"and what interest can Miss Seaham take in that ill-starred, that +unhappy man; that outcast, alien brother, that her mistake should cause +disappointment, such as I so plainly perceive it to have occasioned +her?"</p> + +<p>Mary probably attributed to wounded feeling the trembling pathos of the +speaker's voice, for with all the simple earnestness of her kindly +nature, she hastened in gentle soothing accents to reply:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Temple—if disappointment was the first impulse of my +feelings—believe me, when I say, there is scarcely any one else," with +a weary sigh, the tears gathering in her eyes, "with whom a meeting so +unexpected, could just now have afforded me such unmixed pleasure."</p> + +<p>For one short moment her hand was retained by the so-called Mr. Temple +in a trembling pressure, which appeared to speak all his heart's +grateful acknowledgement, whilst those dark eyes fixed themselves upon +her face with mournful earnestness of expression.</p> + +<p>But the next moment, with a low-breathed sigh, which might have seemed +the echo of her own, he released her hand, and turned away his head.</p> + +<p>"You are kind to say this," he murmured, "for myself, I can only declare +this meeting to be a happiness such as I had hardly expected ever to +taste again in this world. But," he anxiously inquired, "will you again +permit me to inquire the reason of the more than common—nay even, +taking into consideration his relationship—more than natural interest, +it would appear you feel in the unfortunate Eustace Trevor."</p> + +<p>The earnest melancholy of his tone thrilled on Mary's heart.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Temple," she said eagerly, "you speak with feeling on this subject, +can it, oh! can it be possible that you have ever seen, ever known +Eugene Trevor's brother? Oh, tell me if this is really the case, for you +say true—in more than common degree—quite independently of selfish +motives, connected with my own happiness—has my interest been excited +in his discovery. It has been most strongly awakened in the fate, and +history of one who has lately been brought before me in a light so +charming yet so sad. Oh! Mr. Temple, you do not deny the fact. Then, +tell me, only tell me where he can be found?"</p> + +<p>Eustace Trevor had turned upon her the full light of his radiant +countenance, radiant with a new and strange delight, the nature of which +she could not comprehend; but as, with clasped hands and beseeching +countenance, she uttered this latter inquiry, it was answered by a +gesture, seeming to imply by her listener ignorance in the required +information.</p> + +<p>"You, then, did not know him?" she resumed, with renewed disappointment +in her tone.</p> + +<p>"I did know him—ah, too well!" was the murmured reply, his eyes, with a +strange and mysterious expression, fixed upon the ground.</p> + +<p>Very pale suddenly grew Mary's cheek as she looked upon him thus. Her +lips parted, and her heart beat fast as from the shock of a strange and +sudden idea, which flashed across her senses. But she put by the +suggestion as the wild improbable coinage of her own high wrought +imagination. She remembered too what had struck her often vaguely +before, and also her brother's remark on a former occasion, with +reference to the same resemblance. But when she looked again, the +glowing illusion had faded, her companion was again calmly regarding +her, again asking—in what she esteemed a cold and careless tone of +voice—from whom it was, she had received the impression respecting +Eustace Trevor, to which she had just alluded.</p> + +<p>"It was his friend, and my cousin—Louis de Burgh, who first spoke of +him to me in such warm and glowing terms; but he chiefly raised my +interest by the beautiful but melancholy picture he drew of his devoted +affection for his mother—that mother," she added in a low, sad tone, +"with whose unhappy history, I then for the first time was made +acquainted—indeed it caused his very affliction to become almost holy +in my eyes—by showing it to have been but the crisis of his high and +sacred grief. Mr. Temple," she continued with enthusiasm; "there seems +to me something, if I may so speak, almost God-like in the pure and +devoted love of a strong proud-hearted man towards his mother; and it +<i>is</i> God-like, for was not the last earthly thought—the last earthly +care of Him who hung upon the cross, even in his mortal agony—for his +mother!"</p> + +<p>The speaker's glistening eyes were raised above or she might have seen +tears indeed,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Such as would not stain an angel's cheek,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>also irradiating the eyes of that "strong proud-hearted man," as she so +expressed herself—who was standing by her side.</p> + +<p>But she could not have heard—for it was not breathed for mortal ear, +the deep and fervent cry: "My Mother!" which her innocent words, like +thrilling music by the winds, struck from the secret chords of that +manly tender heart.</p> + +<p>But this was a theme Eustace Trevor's melting soul could not trust +itself to pursue; not indeed, without it were first allowed him to cast +away all subterfuge and disguise, and at the feet of that good, kind, +and gentle girl, open his whole bruised and desolate heart, to receive +that Heavenly balsam of pity and consolation, she had ready stored +within her breast for the faithful son of that wronged and sainted +mother!</p> + +<p>And could this be done? Had he not for the sake of this same gentle +being, in some sort pledged himself to such an extent, that yielding to +the impulse would be baseness and dishonour.</p> + +<p>Alas! as in all divergement from the direct and natural paths of human +action, in whatsoever spirit they may have been entered upon, the time +must come—circumstances must arise—when the line of duty becomes +bewilderingly shadowy and indistinct, even to the most conscientious and +true-hearted.</p> + +<p>How few can steer their way unwavering through the straightened pathway +of a false position. It is not there, that like a stately ship he can +vigorously part the waves of circumstance or temptation,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And bear his course aright.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Nor ought for tempest doth from it depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Nor ought for fairer weather's false delight."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Therefore, with an effort over his feelings which might have made him +appear unaffected by the sentiments his companion had so touchingly +expressed, he was forced merely to reply: "Yes, Louis de Burgh was his +friend; and it would be very gratifying to Eustace Trevor to know that +one friend at least in that world he has abandoned, retains him in such +affectionate remembrance. And his brother"—he added, with more +hesitating restraint in his tone, "did you never receive anything of the +same impression from him?"</p> + +<p>"Eugene," Mary answered with some slight embarrassment, "rarely ever +enlarged upon a theme which of course had become connected in his mind +with painful feelings."</p> + +<p>"<i>Painful indeed!</i>" was the other's significant rejoinder.</p> + +<p>"Never but once," Mary continued, "did I venture to question him upon +the subject with any minuteness, and then he manifested such strong and +painful emotion that I never afterwards approached it willingly. But at +that time," she added with a sigh, "I had certainly heard very little of +his brother, but the dark and terrible malady with which he was +afflicted. Mr. Temple," she continued anxiously, "is not his complete +disappearance most mysterious and inexplicable? and does it not appear +to you almost impossible, that all the means which have been taken for +his recovery could have been so completely unattended by success, +supposing he were still alive?"</p> + +<p>"But have any such means been taken?" her companion asked with some +marked curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes!" she hastened to reply "on Eugene's part at least."</p> + +<p>A peculiar smile played on her companion's lips. It did not fail to +strike Mary, and the incredulity it seemed to imply caused her feelings +now so peculiarly sensitive upon that point, to be immediately up in +arms.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Temple, can you for a moment doubt this fact, he is Eugene's own +brother, and—" she added in a low voice, the crimson blood at the same +time mantling her cheeks, as the remembrance that she was addressing a +rejected lover, pressed more consciously upon her, "he had interests of +a different nature, closely connected with the assurance of his lost +brother's fate?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Temple started with sudden excitement.</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" he exclaimed, then averting his head, he added, as if the +utterance of each syllable was a separate pang. "Do you mean to say that +there is still a question of this marriage?"</p> + +<p>"There is," she replied; "though of a very remote and undefined nature, +our engagement still subsists."</p> + +<p>Having said this with no little embarrassment of manner, the same +feeling probably caused her to raise her arm from the fountain, over +which she had been unconsciously leaning, and by tacit consent they +turned away from the spot, silently beginning to retrace their steps. +They had not proceeded thus many yards, when Arthur Seaham appeared in +sight, accompanied by a second person, who Mary, with an exclamation of +delighted surprise, recognized as Mr. Wynne, concerning whom in the +absorbing interest of the last hour she had no time to seek information.</p> + +<p>The good clergyman on his part, who had fallen in with her brother at +the hotel, was charmed beyond expression by this fortunate and +unexpected meeting with his own dear children, (so he called Mary and +Arthur;) and peculiar was the glance of interest which beamed from his +kindly eyes, as having gazed anxiously into Mary's face, he turned then +towards her companion, who nevertheless with his fine countenance only a +little paler than usual, was exchanging kind and cordial greetings with +young Seaham.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Mary, Mary!" the good clergyman whispered, as he drew his fair +friend's arm within his own and walked on, the others following together +behind, "I have heard sad stories of you, little quiet one, since I saw +you last;—trampling noble flowers under your feet, and grasping at +thorns, which something in that sweet face of your's tells me have not +failed to do their wounding work. This comes of reading all that dreamy +poetry I used to warn you against. A good and pleasant thing it is in +its degree, but too much of it dazzles and deludes the senses, till at +length they come to be unable to discern darkness from light, good from +evil. Well! well!" he added, as Mary pretty well accustomed by this time +to indirect attacks of this nature, attempted no defence, but with a +faint melancholy smile, only drooped her head in silence and +resignation. "Ah! well, even now who knows! The Almighty never will +permit his little ones to walk on long in darkness, but in the end ever +leads them by secret ways into safe and quiet pastures."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">The stern<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Have deeper thoughts than your dull eyes discern,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">And when they love, your smilers guess not how<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Beats the strong heart, though less their lips avow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">BYRON.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i18">The victory is most sure<br /></span> +<span class="i12">For him, who, seeking faith by virtue, strives<br /></span> +<span class="i12">To yield entire submission to the law<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Of conscience.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">WORDSWORTH.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Arthur, this can scarcely be possible," Mary exclaimed with almost +trembling solicitude, when alone with her brother, he informed her of +the proposal Mr. Wynne had made—and he had unhesitatingly +accepted—that he and his friend Mr. Temple should join their party +during the succeeding week's tour.</p> + +<p>"Not if it is disagreeable to you, Mary, certainly," was the brother's +reply; "otherwise I must say I can see no objection to the plan; nor +does Mr. Wynne either it seems, as he made the proposal, being of course +aware by this time of the past circumstances respecting you and Temple. +All that of course is an affair over and forgotten, particularly when +made aware how matters stand with regard to your engagement with Trevor; +so on your part, you will have nothing to fear. It only rests with him, +I should think, to determine whether he is equal to the ordeal of your +society, though to judge by his countenance just now, firm and calm as a +statue, after a meeting which must have put his feelings rather to the +test, I should say there was not much doubt upon the matter.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Nay, if she loves me not, I care not for her.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Or sigh because she smiles—or sighs for others.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>No—no, Miss Mary, that is not our way, however it may be with you +ladies in cases of the kind.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Great or good, or kind, or fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> I will ne'er the more despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> If she love me, this believe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> I will die e'er she shall grieve,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Be she with that goodness blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Which may merit name of best.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> If she be not such to me—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> What care I how good she be.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Thus the brother playfully sung and quoted, though whether the +philosophical doctrine the old poet implied in his song had the effect +of easing his listener's mind upon the point in question, her faint and +absent smile was not exactly calculated to declare; though perhaps could +he have read aright the secret history of that anxious countenance, he +might have seen how far less any such considerations were agitating his +sister's mind than the remembrance of Eugene's strange and angry +excitement in the Edinburgh gardens, on the subject of this same Edward +Temple; and the question now chiefly agitating her breast to be, whether +she could without treason to her lover, place herself in the position +and circumstances now under discussion—yet what was she to do? She knew +that Arthur could not enter into her feelings on this point; besides, +was there not some unconfessed leaning in her secret heart in favour of +the arrangement. For that interview of the morning, and the +circumstances from which it took its rise; had it not aroused ideas of +perplexity, interest, and anxiety in her mind? was there not still much +left unaccounted for and unexplained?</p> + +<p>She mentioned the ring to her brother. He was surprised, and thought it +a strange coincidence, though certainly it did often happen that +families of different names, bore the same crests, sometimes the same +arms.</p> + +<p>Mary's recognition of the impression showed at least there to be, some +connection between Eugene Trevor and Mr. Temple. Arthur could easily +gain explanation from Mr. Wynne on the subject. He also was often +puzzled to know to what family of Temple his friend belonged.</p> + +<p>But, before time or explanation was given for any such inquiry, the +little party yielding themselves passively as it were to the +irresistible force of circumstances which had so singularly united them, +were pursuing their way over the enchanted ground Arthur had previously +marked out for their excursion, most of which the two more experienced +travellers had already explored, but gladly retrode for the benefit of +their young companions.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"By sweet Val d'Arno's tinted hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> In Vallambrosa's convent gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Mid Terni's vale of singing rills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> By deathless lairs in solemn Rome.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> * * * * *<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Ruin, and fane, and waterfall."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>They wandered delightedly, and never did Mr. Wynne and Arthur cease to +congratulate themselves and one another; the latter, on the valuable +acquisition he and his sister had gained in such able cicerones as +himself and his companion; whilst Mary and Mr. Temple, by their silence +only, gave testimony to the same effect.</p> + +<p>Yes, it were well for the good Mr. Wynne and the young and +hopeful-hearted Arthur</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Cheerful old age, and youth serene,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>to yield themselves to the charm of sunny skies and classic ground, and +to feel almost as if earth wanted no more to make it Heaven.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A calm and lovely paradise<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Is Italy for hearts at ease."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But for the other two, as may be supposed, there wanted something more, +or rather something less, to render their enjoyment as full and +unalloyed.</p> + +<p>For in spite of all Arthur had urged to the contrary, it was too plainly +evident that something there was—a restraint—a consciousness, +influencing their secret feelings, and imparting themselves to their +outward demeanour, in common intercourse one with another; which no +exciting or absorbing diversities of scene or circumstance could +entirely dissipate or dispel.</p> + +<p>Sometimes indeed, Mary, carried away by the delight of the moment, would +forget whose eye had fixed itself for a brief moment, with such earnest +interest, on her countenance; or even meet unshrinkingly the glance, the +smile of sympathy, which her murmurings of enraptured admiration at +times drew forth.</p> + +<p>Sometimes unconsciously, as if it had been only as a portion of the +magic spell which hung on all around her, she found herself listening to +that voice, whose few, calm, graphic words had power to throw desired +light on some old haunt or story—or touch with a bright glow the scene +before them, or oftener turn away with a startled look of anxious +thought as if some sudden association or remembrance recalled her to +consciousness, and broke the spell.</p> + +<p>"Too happy to be your guide and guardian, through scenes and beauty +which even your lively imagination is incompetent to conceive!"</p> + +<p>Did the words, which had once proceeded from those same lips, thrill +upon her recollection? or was it only the jealous disapproval of her +lover Eugene which would start up to trouble her on such occasions?</p> + +<p>Whilst Eustace—it would be vain to tell what caused the quick +transition of that glance or smile into the cold and rigidly averted +brow, or caused to die away upon his lips words whose inspiration sprang +from a source which could not be worthily encouraged.</p> + +<p>Thus, day after day went on, and brought but diminished opportunity of +touching on those points of interest so near her heart, and concerning +which she more and more became possessed with the vague and restless +fancy, that Mr. Temple possessed more power than any one imagined of +enlightenment; for she avoided, as much as possible, finding herself +alone with him, and if at times, as inevitably it occurred, they were +thrown together apart from the other two, Mary's haunting vision of +Eugene's jealous disapproval of her intimacy with Mr. Temple would cast +a restraint over her feelings, and made her shrink from availing herself +of the favourable opportunity thus afforded.</p> + +<p>Of course Mr. Wynne—and through him Eustace Trevor had soon learnt from +Arthur every particular relating to his sister's situation with regard +to Eugene, and the effect produced upon the latter by the circumstances +which transpired, was evidenced only by the calm, rigid expression which +settled on his interesting countenance—only subdued into soft and +gentle melancholy, when at times, unobserved by herself, his eyes could +fix themselves on Mary; and as for meeting her half-way, in any renewal +of the subject, so particularly discussed near the fountain that first +morning of their meeting, he, with almost equal pointedness, might have +seemed to avoid any occasion which could tend to its revival.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, from Mr. Wynne the more unconscious and unsuspecting +Arthur could gain little satisfactorily information on the topic on +which he had promised to make inquiries. He always fought off any cross +questioning on any particular subject connected with his friend Temple.</p> + +<p>Indeed this was easy enough to do; for heart and soul absorbed in the +exciting enjoyment of scenes and circumstances in which he entered with +such enthusiastic delight, Arthur was not very capable of pressing hard +just now upon any serious point, not immediately connected with the +interest of the day or the hour.</p> + +<p>But when Mary, with whom the old man had hitherto as skilfully warded +off any timid attempts on her part to draw him forth on the subject on +which he was vowed to secresy—when she, one sultry afternoon, had been +conversing for some time so delightfully with her dear old friend, +concerning days gone by, in the cool marble <i>sala</i> of an old <i>palazzo</i> +near Genoa, where they had found temporary accommodation—without any +preparation, fixed her earnest eyes upon her companion's face, and said +beseechingly:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wynne, will you answer me one question? you are acquainted I know, +with everything concerning Mr. Temple; but I only wish to ascertain one +point; was he ever acquainted with Eugene Trevor?"</p> + +<p>The good man was taken by surprise, and displayed by his countenance +considerable signs of embarrassment, succeeded, however, by equal +symptoms of relief, when looking up he beheld Mr. Temple, who had joined +them unobserved, and must inevitably have overheard Mary's words, and +witnessed the perplexity they had occasioned her friend.</p> + +<p>Mary's cheek also flushed deeply; yet when the next moment Mr. Wynne, +with some careless excuse for leaving them, had walked away, and she +found herself alone with him who best could answer to the question which +had scarcely died upon her lips, she took courage, and with her +eyelashes sweeping her varying cheek, in a low, yet steady voice, said:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Temple, I was asking Mr. Wynne a question, to which for some reason +he did not seem able or willing to reply; will you tell me whether you +ever knew Eugene Trevor?"</p> + +<p>An instant's pause—then, in a tone in which, though calm, there was +something unnatural and strange in the sound, there came the laconic +reply—"<i>I did</i>."</p> + +<p>And then there was a solemn pause. For what could Eustace Trevor +add—how reply to the mute but eager questioning of those eyes, now +fixed intently upon him, as if in the verdict of his lips there lay more +power to ease the heart of its blind fears and nameless misgivings—more +in one calm word of his</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Than all the world's defied rebuke."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Therefore, though Mary held her breath, hoping, longing that he should +proceed, yet shrinking from more direct inquiry, there he stood, with +lips compressed and stern averted eyes; no marble statue could have +remained more mute; till to break the ominous and oppressive silence, +Mary pronounced the name of "Eustace Trevor."</p> + +<p>Then, indeed, her listener's eyes relaxed their fixed expression—a +sudden glow lit up his countenance.</p> + +<p>In a low, deep tone, and with a soft, melancholy smile, he demanded:</p> + +<p>"And what, Miss Seaham, of Eustace Trevor?"</p> + +<p>"What of him? Oh! Mr. Temple, all—everything that you may know—may +have reason to suspect or conceive concerning him!"</p> + +<p>Another pause; and then the voice of Mr. Temple, with renewed sadness +replied:</p> + +<p>"What could I tell you concerning him, but that he is a wanderer upon +the face of the earth, as you—as everybody are aware."</p> + +<p>"But why—but wherefore should this be; why forsake his country, his +home, his kindred? Now, when Louis de Burgh gave me reason to suppose +all further necessity was removed, his temporary affliction entirely +subsided, why not return?"</p> + +<p>"Return!" interrupted the other—"return with that brand—that +stigma—which once attached to his name, must mark him in the eyes of +men—a thing of suspicion, nay, of fear for ever; return, when that +return must be to hear that curse in every blast—to be cut off from +every hope, every tie which makes life beautiful to other men, +or—" he paused; for he was on the point of saying, "or—bitter +alternative—brand a still worse stigma on another; on one who however +unworthy of such consideration, I must still remember as my brother." +Thus he probably would have spoken, had not he been recalled to +recollection by the strange and anxious expression depicted on Mary's +countenance, and then he added, with an effort at self-command:</p> + +<p>"The imputation of madness is a fearful thing, Miss Seaham, to be +attached to a man's name; and Eustace Trevor, unfortunate man! is +possessed of feelings most sensitive—morbidly sensitive, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"It is—it is," Mary faltered, "a fearful thing if suffered to rest +there; but surely his is not the course to accomplish the removal of the +idea. Let Eustace Trevor but return—let him at least try and experience +what a brother's kindness—what a sister's love can do, to wipe from his +remembrance the morbid memory of his past affliction; and show to the +world (if he fears its altered smiles) that the shock his noble mind +sustained was but for a moment; that he is—"</p> + +<p>But it was enough—those words, a brother's kindness—still more, a +sister's love, had thrilled acutely upon the listener's heart.</p> + +<p>And Mary paused, startled to behold the expression in the eyes bent so +earnestly upon her.</p> + +<p>"A sister's love!" what was such love to him!</p> + +<p>However, with another strong effort he said in a voice scarce audible +from emotion, "For such a sister's love, he might indeed brave and defy +the scorn—the ignominy of the universe; but," he faltered, "it cannot +be."</p> + +<p>A silence of some minutes ensued. It was broken by Mary, who said in an +anxious trembling voice,</p> + +<p>"Mr. Temple, I have a favour to ask of you: I know you are acquainted +with much of the private history of the Trevors—I am <i>sure</i> you are—I +therefore entreat you will speak candidly upon the subject, and tell me +your own opinion of Eugene Trevor. To you I can speak as I feel I can to +no one else. My mind of late has been disturbed by doubts and fears upon +the subject of Eugene. I know you <i>can</i>, you <i>will</i> speak the truth; so +conceal not your real opinion from me."</p> + +<p>"Miss Seaham, excuse me," Mr. Temple replied gravely, and with a degree +of proud coldness. "I must decline to speak in any way of Eugene Trevor. +It is a long time now since we have met."</p> + +<p>"Oh, why—why," faltered Mary, with clasped hands and streaming eyes, +"would you too, like the rest, by your looks, even by your silence, make +me suspect the worth, the rectitude of Eugene, and give me the miserable +idea that the affection and heart's devotion now of years have been +wasted and bestowed in vain?"</p> + +<p>It was a difficult moment for that generous, noble soul. The peculiar +situation in which he was placed almost bewildered his sense of +discernment between what was right and wrong in his position, and +darkened the way before him. How act—how speak—how meet this critical +emergency?</p> + +<p>The struggle must have been indeed intense, which enabled him at length +to rise a conqueror over the conflicting powers which beset his soul, to +subdue all selfish promptings of inferior nature—all selfish impulses +and considerations; and speak and act as one might have spoken and acted +who had never been Mary Seaham's lover, or Eugene Trevor's injured +brother.</p> + +<p>As a brother to a well-beloved sister—or as one of his high and holy +calling might have seized that favourable opportunity for endeavouring +to turn a perplexed and trembling suppliant on his counsel and +assistance from some dangerous path or fatal delusion, he took up the +strain, and implored her not to seek from him any further information +on a subject—concerning which he must tell her at once, that for many +reasons it was impossible for him to enter—he could not speak of Eugene +Trevor. But he implored her to think well of those warnings so strongly +pressed upon her consideration by her anxious friends—above all, by the +internal evidence of her own pure soul—against a course of action in +which the peace and happiness of her future life might be so fatally +involved.</p> + +<p>"Talk not of wasted affection," he touchingly exclaimed; "affection +disinterested and blameless as yours, was never wasted—never bestowed +in vain—for some good purpose, the All Wise so willed that you should +for a time bestow it, and if He ordains that its waters should turn +back, like the rain to their springs, He wills also that they should +fill them with refreshment. Miss Seaham, it is not for me to advise you +to break off your engagement with Eugene Trevor. I am the last person in +the world—situated towards you as I have been"—he added in a low sad +voice, "who ought to presume so to do; but let me speak to you, as you +may remember I once before addressed you—before it had ever entered my +heart to conceive you would stand in the position you now are in towards +this Eugene Trevor. Did I not then warn you of the world into which you +were hastening so unwarily—of its sins, its sorrows, and its snares; +but still more, of its friendships, its smiles, its Judas kisses, +awaiting not alone the eagle but the dove—the holy, harmless, and +undefiled? And <i>now</i> do not my gloomy words find an echo in your heart? +does not that look of care, that heavy sigh, confess that it had been +better never to have tasted of the feverish joy, the unsatisfying +delight, in exchange for the peace and tranquillity you had hitherto +enjoyed? Is not your confidence disturbed—your trust shaken in the +object on whom your affections have been set? do you not fear to lean +more heavily on that reed lest it pierce you—to grasp it firmer, lest +you crush, and prove its hollowness? Oh, Miss Seaham! is not this in +some degree the case with you? if so, do not seek to dive further into +the why or the wherefore. Let God's providence have its way, when, it +seeks to turn you from a course it is not good for you to follow. Let +faith and patience have their perfect work; seek peace and happiness +from a higher, surer source than the dubious object on which your +affections have been placed."</p> + +<p>Mr. Temple paused, but he had no reason to suppose his earnest appeal +had been as water spilt upon the ground; for something in Mary's +face—that something, which had become of late its ruling and habitual +expression, which might have seemed to breathe forth the Psalmist's +weary longing for "the wings of a dove to fly away and be at rest"—at +rest, from the ever receding hopes—the sickening doubts and +apprehensions—the wearying mysteries attendant on her position, which +pressed so heavily on a nature formed rather for the peace and calm of +gentle emotions, of peaceful joys, than for its strife of passions, its +storm of woes; an expression which had appeared to Eustace Trevor to +deepen as he spoke, for not for a moment did he dare to interpret it +otherwise. Never did he surmise—never <i>dare</i> even to desire—that words +uttered with such disinterested and single-minded intention, and in +accents tremulous with such unselfish emotions, could in any other way +affect his listener's heart. That in that hour of languid yearning for +strength she felt that she did not possess; for rest and peace founded +on some surer basis than that "reed shaken by the wind," such as her +inauspicious love had gradually assumed the semblance, she should be +most ready to lean her weary head on the noble breast, cling to the +sheltering arm of him who thus had counselled her, and placing her +destiny in his hands, ask him to guide her future course through the +deceitful bewildering mazes of this life.</p> + +<p>But no word, no look betrayed the secret impulse of her heart; and in +the same anxious strain Eustace Trevor proceeded:</p> + +<p>"Darkly, ambiguously, I have been compelled to speak; the subject having +been, as you can bear witness, forced in a manner upon me; yet one step +further I will take, and leave the rest in the hands of God. This ring," +drawing the signet from his finger, where for the first time since the +adventure in which it had formed a part, Mary had again seen it; "keep +it," he continued, in a voice tremulous with emotion as Mary +mechanically received it in her hands, looking wonderingly and +enquiringly in his face; "keep it till you see <i>him</i>, Eugene Trevor +again; then show it to him from <i>me</i>—from Edward Temple. Tell him the +circumstances under which you received it, and ask him to clear up the +mystery concerning it. If he refuses, then for his own sake as well as +your own, I conjure you to bid him farewell for ever. If on the +contrary, casting off all falsehood and deceit, he lays all before you, +then—then—may Heaven direct the rest!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>An hour or two after Mary had been left alone within the marble <i>sala</i>, +almost as in a dream, gazing upon that mysterious and momentous ring, +the little party were proceeding northwards in the cool of the evening, +in one of the hired conveyances of the country. Mary, her brother, and +Mr. Wynne occupying the interior; Mary being only at a later stage of +the journey, confirmed in her supposition of Mr. Temple having proceeded +thus far on the outside, for since he had parted abruptly from her he +had not again appeared.</p> + +<p>Then, however, when, to change horses, they stopped before a road-side +inn, her brother suddenly touched her arm, and directed her attention +towards the spot, where in the shadow of the door, his features only +partly distinguished in the declining evening light, stood the tall and +stately figure of Temple, apparently conversing with Mr. Wynne who had +just alighted, though his eyes were fixed earnestly in their direction.</p> + +<p>"Look, Mary, does it not strike you now?"</p> + +<p>"What, Arthur?"</p> + +<p>"That likeness; there just as he stands in that uncertain light?"</p> + +<p>Mary for all reply shuddered slightly, and turned away her head. The +next moment Mr. Wynne had rejoined them, and they started again.</p> + +<p>But by the inn-door there still stood that dark figure.</p> + +<p>Arthur, with an exclamation of surprise, put forth his head, and +inquired why they had left Mr. Temple behind.</p> + +<p>"Because—because," Mr. Wynne replied in a peculiar tone of voice, "he +has taken it into his head not to travel any further with us just now. I +shall rejoin him when I have seen you safe at Genoa, for I cannot make +up my mind to part so suddenly with my two dear children. Temple desired +me to bid you good bye, Arthur, for he has no great fancy for +leave-takings, at any time; and I was to say farewell for him to you +too, Miss Mary."</p> + +<p>This he said in a more serious manner, taking Mary's hand as he spoke, +and gazing earnestly into her face. The hand he held was very cold, and +on the pale face there was a strange and anxious expression; but whilst +Arthur was loud in his professions of surprise and regret at this +unexpected deprivation, Mary uttered no word of astonishment or regret.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i20">Bear up,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Yet still bear up. No bark did e'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">By stooping to the storm of fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Escape the tempest's wrath.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">BEAUMONT.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i12">He doth tell me where to borrow<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Comfort in the midst of sorrow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">WITHERS.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>It was the eve of the opening assize day, and even in the quiet little +town of —— might be observed that aspect of bustle and excitement +generally prevailing on such occasions.</p> + +<p>In a private apartment of the hotel honoured by the presence of the +judge himself, sat a young man bending with the intensest interest and +attention over the books and papers which lay upon the table before him.</p> + +<p>It was Arthur Seaham, whose brave and strenuous exertions had been +crowned with honourable success. He had been called to the bar, and was +about to start forward with hopeful confidence on his new career, it +being his first case with which we find him so zealously engaged.</p> + +<p>Happy young man! Many might have envied you at that moment. Young in +heart, sanguine and resolute in spirit, with every good and honourable +motive to urge you on to exertion—a life of action and reality is +before you.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Life that shall send a challenge to the end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> And when it comes, say—Welcome, friend!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"<i>L'action avec un but</i>"—the auspicious banner under which you launch +forth upon your new career.</p> + +<p>For some hours the young barrister continued unremitting at his task, +and would perhaps have remained so many more, had not another voice than +that which had probably during this time been sounding in his +ears—suddenly broke the spell, and flushed his cheek—kindled his eye +with a very different inspiration to that which had previously illumined +it.</p> + +<p>A clear musical laugh which, to Arthur's ear, sounded more like the +ringing waters of Tivoli than anything he had ever since heard.</p> + +<p>Then the door opening, admitted what might have appeared (to pursue the +same strain of analogy) a wandering sunbeam from the skies of golden +Italy, in the person of Carrie Elliott, the judge's lovely daughter.</p> + +<p>"I am disturbing you, I know, Mr. Seaham," she exclaimed blushingly, +advancing; "but it is your sister's fault. She says it is quite time +that you should be disturbed; did you not, Miss Seaham?" turning to her +companion.</p> + +<p>Mary, who, with a faint and gentle smile, very different in its +character to that which played so brightly on the features of the other, +acquiesced in the truth of the assertion. But Arthur did not look very +angry at the interruption, and was soon standing by the window entering +with a very unbusiness-like spirit into conversation with his lively +visitor, who, this being her father's first circuit in a judicial +capacity, had been, much to her amusement and delight, suffered to +accompany him on this occasion.</p> + +<p>To this circumstance had Mary also been indebted for the opportunity +thus afforded her of witnessing her brother's first start in his +profession; for having been of late thrown somewhat intimately into the +society of the judge's family, it had finally been arranged that the two +young ladies should have the benefit of each other's society, on an +occasion of such especial interest to them both.</p> + +<p>"But do tell me something about your case, Mr. Seaham. Is it not a very +interesting story? a poor young woman accused of forgery?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Seaham replied, glancing at his sister; "at least an attempt to +exchange bank-notes, which on discovery were found to be forged. It is, +indeed, an interesting case; and having full internal evidence that she +is innocent, I am doubly concerned in her acquittal. That fact at least +is in my favour, for I am afraid I shall be never able to plead <i>con +amore</i> under contrary circumstances. The fact is, this poor woman has +been for years toiling hard to amass a sufficient sum to carry her to +America to her betrothed husband. When still far from the desired point, +sickness and other causes having often interrupted her exertions and +retarded her success, she finds her lover, impatient at the delay, +beginning to entertain injurious ideas of her constancy and truth. In +this distressing emergency, it happened (this is her own statement of +the case) that some friend came forward, and made up in those same +forged notes the requisite amount; that she received them in perfect +ignorance of their real character; but refusing absolutely to give up +the name of the guilty donor, she was imprisoned, and now stands +arraigned for at least connivance in the delinquency."</p> + +<p>"Poor creature!" murmured Mary, "is this then the end of all her +deferred hope—and wearing, wasting anxiety of mind and body! Oh! +Arthur, in such a cause you must surely be successful; how much you will +have to say to soften the hearts of her judges, and lead them to look +upon the case with lenity and pity!"</p> + +<p>"Really, Mary!" exclaimed her brother, smiling with affectionate +interest at the sudden energy with which the subject of discussion had +animated his sister; the thrilling pathos of her tone—the brilliancy +which lighted up her languid eye—the earnest spirit shining with almost +sublimity from her anxious countenance, all which he had but a moment +ago observed as affording so sad a contrast to the beaming brightness of +her fair companion; "I really believe you would do more for my client in +the way of eloquence than I should, if by eloquence the cause is to be +gained. Do you not think so, Miss Elliott?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Elliott has not yet tested your powers in that way," Mary rejoined +with a smile, whilst Carrie only laughed and blushed.</p> + +<p>"As for my eloquence," she added with a sigh, "it could only spring from +the sympathetic feeling which one woman must have for the sufferings and +the trials of another; at least"—in a low tone she added, "she must be +very young or very happy," glancing at Miss Elliott, "if she be found +wanting in that most powerful of inspirations."</p> + +<p>"Poor woman!" interposed Miss Elliott, who perhaps began to fear she +might be considered too uninspired in the eyes of the young barrister, +"she seems deemed throughout to suspicion. How dreadful to be suspected +wrongfully! But, as for that lover, I am sure he cannot deserve all the +trouble she has suffered on his account. I dare say, the faithlessness +was all on his side, for no person could suspect or doubt any one they +really loved. Do you not think so, Miss Seaham?" turning away her face +from Arthur to look at his sister with a pretty blush.</p> + +<p>An expression of intense pain shot across Mary's countenance.</p> + +<p>"I thought so once," was the almost gasping utterance which trembled on +her lips; but she paused, merely saying in a low tone, her eyes bent +mournfully on the ground, "at any rate, the one who doubts and suspects +is the greatest sufferer of the two. Yet there are circumstances, I +hope, in which, without faithlessness, our perfect trust and confidence +in another may—must indeed be shaken."</p> + +<p>"Of course; otherwise the virtue becomes indeed a very weakness," +rejoined Arthur with some moody significance of tone and manner.</p> + +<p>"Now, I must go, for I suppose it is nearly time to dress for dinner," +exclaimed Miss Elliott, who, though only partially acquainted with the +particulars of Mary's love affair, probably perceived that she had +inadvertantly struck upon some tender string; "I suppose, you will soon +be doing the same."</p> + +<p>And away the gay-hearted creature glided, singing as she went.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mary," Arthur cried, his eyes and ears disenchanted; "wait for me +just one minute." And down he sat for the space of several moments, and +his pen flew swift as thought over the parchment. Mary also sat +patiently, her eyes fixed with a look of affectionate interest on the +intelligent countenance of the writer.</p> + +<p>At length, his task completed, the pen was thrown, with a gesture of +triumph and satisfaction upon the table, and "Now, Mary, it is +finished," was the exulting expression of his lips.</p> + +<p>There was something in the congratulating smile which met his own, that +seemed to change the spirit of the young man's dream; for more +thoughtfully he gathered up his papers, whilst "love, fame, ambition," +might have seemed at once annihilated from his thoughts, by the tone of +voice in which—glancing at Mary, who drew near to assist him—he +abruptly murmured:</p> + +<p>"Mary, you are not looking well."</p> + +<p>"Am I not?" with forced cheerfulness; "ah! I dare say you think so +to-day—by comparison."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" knitting his brows; "I am <i>not</i> speaking comparatively, but +quite positively. You have been looking less well every day for some +time. I am becoming impatient. I want to see you looking better, or I +should say, <i>happier</i>."</p> + +<p>"As happy and bright I suppose as—" began Mary, attempting playfully to +divert the dreaded theme.</p> + +<p>"Pshaw! as bright as no one. I am thinking only of you, Mary."</p> + +<p>"But you should think of some one else, now Arthur, that you are a +steady, professional man."</p> + +<p>"And now that I am this steady, professional man," taking the words out +of her mouth, "I feel that I am justified and competent to offer my +sister the settled home she once faithfully promised to share with me. +<i>She</i> may have altered her wishes on the subject; mine remain unchanged. +Still, Mary, (whatever you may have taken into your silly little head,) +till your happiness is more definitely secure, you will remain the +paramount object of my interest and affection. My dear Mary," as his +sister putting her hand in his, and smiling gratefully in his face, +still shook her head, as if desiring and expecting for that dear +brother, less unselfish aims, and more smiling hopes to cheer him on his +promising career.</p> + +<p>"God knows," he anxiously continued, "I speak from my heart when I say, +that should you give me any hope that I could in any degree succeed in +the promotion of your happiness, I should require no greater impetus to +any exertion I may be called upon to make, than your affectionate +interest in my success. Nay, do you not remember, even when we were +children, your encouragement was the greatest incentive to my boyish +ambition—how every mark of affection from you was more valuable to me +than any bestowed by my other sisters, although I loved them all so +well. In short, I declare to you, that the power of making me quite +happy lies in your own hands—far more than in any careless-hearted +beauty whom I might in a foolish moment take it into my head to ask to +be my wife—and find, after all, that she did not care a straw for me. +Therefore, dear Mary, only be persuaded to give up this, as I am sure +you must begin to feel it, most equivocal and inauspicious engagement, +and let us try if we cannot be happy together, in time perhaps—as happy +as if no such cloud had ever arisen—and who knows what more propitious +fate may not still be in store for you?</p> + +<p>"Mary," he continued, as his sister shook her head despondingly, "only +consent to let final measures be taken, and I shall go forth to-morrow +with double energy and hope. After all! the pain is more in the idea +than in the reality, for the matter is becoming really a mere affair of +the imagination; for a year and a half you have not seen or heard of +him. But do not think I would make light of the sacrifice. The +destruction of a great hope, must be, under any circumstances, a trial +hard to be endured. But cheer up, dear Mary, there may be a brighter sun +yet to shine upon you. Will you think this over?"</p> + +<p>"I will Arthur," she murmured faintly, "I promise you that your mind +shall very soon be set at rest on this subject."</p> + +<p>She could promise this with a presentiment that the words were not +spoken without foundation—with a certain vague, unaccountable +presentiment, that some crisis was at hand in which her future fate +would surely be accomplished. But she was little prepared for the +communication which her brother now gently broke to her—that the +opportunity was indeed, very soon to be afforded her, for that in the +forthcoming case for which he had just been preparing his brief, Eugene +Trevor would have to appear to give his evidence.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">Un Dieu descend toujours pour dénouer le drame,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Toujours la Providence y veille et nous proclame<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Cette justice occulte et ce divin ressort,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Qui fait jouer le temps et gouverne le sort.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">LAMARTINE.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>The court was crowded early the following morning, for it was not often +that cases of such interest as the principal one to be brought forward +on this occasion were provided by the inhabitants of ——, a town of the +principality, in which it is well known, crime, comparatively speaking, +is more rare than in other portions of the United Kingdom.</p> + +<p>The prisoner had also been long known in the vicinity for her blameless +career, and the patient industry with which, under disadvantages and +discouragements (for she had been at an early age separated from both +her parents, and thrown upon her own resources), she had pursued her +laborious course for ten long years, her heart set on an ever receding +hope, which she had in the end been doomed to see engulphed by the dark +cloud which now overshadowed her fame.</p> + +<p>The court, therefore, was crowded as we said before, when a few minor +cases having been disposed of, the prisoner for the forgery case was +summoned to the bar.</p> + +<p>There was nothing in the appearance of the accused which could at first +sight strike the vulgar gaze. Neither youth nor beauty to excite the +feeling in her behalf; for though to adopt the loving language of the +poet:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Fair she was, and young, when in hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> She began the long journey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Faded she was, and old, when in disappointment it ended;"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>the age of care and trouble, rather than of years, for she was not more +than one or two and thirty. Streaks of grey had already spread over her +forehead, "and the furrows on her cheek spoke the course of bitter +tears." Yet few there were amongst the intelligent and feeling part of +her beholders who did not soon begin to have their interest strongly +rivetted. And one amongst them, who felt her soul moved to its very +depths by pity and womanly compassion the instant her eyes fell upon the +pale meek face which bore such deep traces of sorrow—and patience as +great as her sorrow.</p> + +<p>And yet it was a passive sorrow it expressed, a subdued and passive +suffering, which the careless might have attributed to dulness or +insensibility, so little did the prisoner appear moved to wonder or self +pity, by the sharp sense of unmerited misfortunes.</p> + +<p>No—rather as one whose mind is all made up of submission and +resignation; who, accustomed to the constant anguish of disappointment, +considered as no strange thing this last great grief which had befallen +her.</p> + +<p>And yet, the indictment being read, the prisoner in a low quiet tone +pleaded "Not guilty."</p> + +<p>The facts, as commented upon by the counsel for the crown, were +undeniably against her. Her case was pitiable, it was true. It seemed +that at the very last—besides the sickness which had so often retarded +her endeavours—a robbery committed in the little shop, in which she +carried on a small precarious trade, had despoiled her of the +hardly-earned treasure of years; but this circumstance alone made it +more likely that one in her situation should grasp at any means, +promising to put such an effectual end to her long course of +difficulties and disappointments. She pleaded ignorance as to the nature +of the aid administered to her. Had she then only consented to give up +the name of the guilty donor, the charge would have been withdrawn; and +her pertinacious refusal to do so was enlarged upon by the learned +counsel as evidence of her being accessory to the fraud.</p> + +<p>From the depositions of the witnesses, it then appeared that Mabel +Marryott's father had originally been a farmer in the county of +----shire; that soon after his daughter's birth he had emigrated to +Australia; that her mother had not followed her husband's fortunes; had +remained in England in the service of a family of consideration and +distinction in that above-mentioned county, where she still remained. It +appeared that the mother had little intercourse with her daughter. At an +early age, the latter had been apprenticed to the business in which she +afterwards became a partner; and then, as the phrase goes, this little +affectionate parent "washed her hands" of her concerns, and left her to +strive for herself. About ten years before, the prisoner became +acquainted, and finally engaged herself in marriage, with a young +artisan on the point of emigrating to America, a contract which proved +indeed one of those "long engagements" so often doomed to misfortune and +disappointment. They were not to be united till, by their joint +exertions, they had accumulated a sufficient sum to pay the expenses of +the voyage, and supply a capital whereupon to begin with comfort their +married life. Now, by an accident which had in a great measure disabled +the lover from pursuing his customary avocations, much of this labour of +love had been cast upon his betrothed, who, in spite of many +discouragements and disadvantages on her side, had, with never-failing +courage, persevered in her exertions, up to the time of her last +misfortune—that of having all her little possessions stolen—when she +seemed, by all accounts, at length to have been well nigh driven to +despair, for to add to this distress, her lover's unkindness—"unkindest +cut of all," began (as under the curse of absence, the most confiding +lovers are too prone to do) to doubt the alleged causes of her +protracted separation, and to write bitter upbraiding letters to that +effect.</p> + +<p>"We then hear," the learned gentleman proceeded, "that the prisoner +began to sink and sicken with despair; but suddenly she receives a +letter—she does not tell from whom—but saying something about an +appointment with some friend, she leaves her home, and returns in a few +days, all exulting happiness. She had received a supply of money +sufficient for her need, but is confused and mysterious when questioned +as to by whom this bounty has been bestowed. Then without further delay +she had paid off her debts, procured for herself such necessaries as +time admitted, took leave of her friends, and proceeded to Liverpool, +and was to have sailed the following morning for America. But in the +meantime the notes she had circulated had been discovered to be forged, +and a warrant dispatched for her detention; and the examination before +the magistrates eliciting nothing from her but her declaration of +innocence, and refusal to throw any light upon the facts connected with +their receival, she had been committed for trial. The notes were then +produced. They were all dated ten years back, and from the appearance of +the paper bore every mark of time and long-keeping; and one circumstance +was brought to bear most particularly against the prisoner, which was, +that the names assigned upon the bill were those of the firm of Maynard +and Co.; and the very house in which the prisoner's mother had resided +for so many years as confidential servant, was that of Mr. Trevor, of +Montrevor, who was at that time one of the partners in that extensive +concern."</p> + +<p>The Judge then demanded whether the prisoner's mother was not +forthcoming. His lordship was then informed that she was not, as it had +been ascertained that she was at that moment lying dangerously ill of a +mortal disease. Evidence had however been obtained, that she had not for +the last twelve years held any intercourse with her daughter.</p> + +<p>The Judge, though considering this point unsatisfactory, forbore further +comment, until he had heard the other side of the question, and Mr. +Seaham, counsel for the prisoner, accordingly rose up to speak.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>No little sensation was created by the able defence of the young +barrister. The touching, though simple outline he first drew of the +previous history of the accused—her character and conduct, so +inconsistent with such grave delinquency as that of which she stood +suspected—which he produced many witnesses to testify; all was brought +admirably to bear upon the point. Even round the impenetrable cloud in +which her silence wrapped the affair, he cast a silvery halo, by the +manner in which he treated her conduct in this respect. The moral beauty +in which he clothed the idea—the matchless constancy of that poor +woman's mind, which few who had heard the details of her history, of her +life, could forbear to acknowledge. Who then could feel surprised if now +she stood there preferring shame, ignominy, and suspicion to the +betrayal of the being who, were it friend or relation—even stranger or +acquaintance—had come forward to assist her in her extremity, and +though but for a moment, had stood forth in the guise of benefactor, +turning her mourning into joy—throwing sunshine upon her weary path! +Who could sound the depths of gratitude when once strongly called forth +in the human heart—to what even morbid extent, as he owned it might be +deemed in the present case, might it not be carried? That the quality of +self-preservation—self-defence was greater—many in that assembly might +sneeringly assert; but for his own part—he was thankful to say such +cynical lessons had not been taught him—he did think that +gratitude—disinterested, heroic gratitude, was still a flower not yet +quite extinct in the soil of humanity; that in the words of the poet he +could assert:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I've heard of hearts unkind—of hearts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Kind deeds with ill returning;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Alas! the gratitude of men<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Has often left me mourning."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But might there not be a bond stronger even than gratitude which binds +the prisoner's tongue in a matter touching so closely her personal +welfare? It was his business that day to clear his client, therefore he +must add, that very insufficient light had been obtained from a quarter +in which much more particular evidence was naturally to have been +expected. The prisoner had a mother, which circumstance had before been +mentioned, and the truth of which, (even during the brief space of time +the matter had been placed in his hands,) he made it his business to +ascertain, now lying on her death-bed. Yet how could it be clearly +ascertained that this mother has not assisted her daughter in her +distress? indeed it seems strangely unnatural that she should not have +done so throughout the long probation she had endured, and still more so +in this last emergency. Was there no question as to whether the powers +of natural affection might not restrain the selfish instinct of +self-defence? Was there any proof, though there might be no direct +knowledge, that the prisoner had not held intercourse or correspondence +with the parent?</p> + +<p>It had been stated, that the prisoner had never set foot in the house +where the mother had been established so many years—that she never had +received pecuniary aid from the family with whom her mother resided; yet +the notes had been proved to be exact fac-similes of those delivered by +the bank of Messrs. Maynard and Co., that firm to which the head of the +family—whom the mother served at the time of the date of these +notes—then belonged.</p> + +<p>Arthur Seaham, as he proceeded, could not but experience the happy +consciousness of success, could not doubt from the air of satisfied +approving attention pervading the large assembly in the midst of which +he stood, that whatever might be the verdict of the jury as regarded his +client, he was at any rate doing well for himself—that he had not +overrated his own powers and abilities; at all events he possessed one +great gift of genius, the key to the hearts of men, that he had only to +push bravely forward to win himself rank amongst an Eldon or an Erskine. +The sun shone full upon a glaring court, upon many approving, admiring, +nay, upon many tearful faces; for there were many in court who had known +young Seaham from a boy, and whose countenance held an affectionate +place in their hearts and memories; and yet, perhaps, there were but +three among them all, who made any distinct and individual impression on +his senses during the time, and these three inspiring feelings quite +distinct from any self-pride, from any ambition in his heart.</p> + +<p>One was the prisoner herself—that pale, patient face turned on him with +such a meek and quiet confidence, as if on him she had reposed all she +felt of trust in human power; her eyes fixed on him, her human +counsellor—but her heart resting upon another alone able to +defend—even on Him who had said:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I will never leave you, nor forsake you,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and in whom, though he were to slay her, she would still surely trust.</p> + +<p>The other two we may easily imagine were the faces so striking in their +contrast—those two fair members of the court, who occupied convenient +places behind the judge's chair, their eyes fixed upon him; the one all +bright and beautiful in her excitement—the other becoming paler and +paler from the intense and painful interest in which something in the +case itself seemed more and more to enthral her.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>At this juncture then, Arthur Seaham had arrived; he had but just said +that he had hoped for the appearance of one witness whose evidence might +have thrown some important light upon the subject, and to whom he had +made too late application, when a bustle was heard outside the court, +and murmurs arose that this very witness had just that moment arrived.</p> + +<p>Another instant, and Eugene Trevor made his way into the court, pale, +eager, agitated; bearing every mark of a long and hasty journey. He +approached the bench and spoke with Arthur Seaham apart, as he might +have done with any other member of the bar, professionally, as if he had +never spoken to him on such different matters, and in such a different +character as in their interview at the London Hotel.</p> + +<p>The young barrister returned to his seat with altered countenance, and +addressing the judge, announced that the gentleman just arrived in +court, had not come in the character of a witness; but to declare facts, +which at once cleared his client from all further imputations. Mr. +Trevor then sworn in, declared as follows:</p> + +<p>He had come at the dying request of the mother of the accused, to state +her confession as to having delivered the forged notes to her daughter, +that daughter she declared—having solemnly taken her oath of secresy +upon the Bible, being in entire ignorance of the real nature of the +relief bestowed upon her, or the reason for the secresy imposed. He then +produced certificates from the medical attendants as to the dying +condition of the real offender.</p> + +<p>To what further transpired, few, beyond those especially concerned in +the <i>éclaircissement</i>, paid any very particular attention; the general +interest being now attracted towards the ex-prisoner, who, whilst +listening with signs of strong emotion to the declaration of her +innocence, had suddenly fainted, and was carried out of the court; and +in a few minutes the hall was almost cleared.</p> + +<p>It was nearly an hour before Eugene Trevor was released from the +examination to which he was subjected. On leaving the court, he stopped +to make inquiries for Mabel Marryott.</p> + +<p>The official to whom he applied, informed him that the poor woman had +been taken into a private room, where she had soon recovered; and then, +seeming to look upon the inquirer as a privileged person, offered to +conduct him to her presence.</p> + +<p>Eugene did not decline the proposal, but followed the man, who soon +arrived at the apartment, the door of which he opened, looked within, +directing Eugene to enter.</p> + +<p>The doctor had just left his patient, and she was seated in an upright +position against a chair, still faint and pale, though restored to +consciousness, and receiving in her trembling hands the cordials +administered by an attendant, whilst Mary Seaham and Carrie Elliott, +like two ministering angels, Faith and Hope personified, hung with kind +and gentle solicitude over the poor woman's chair, encouraging her +fainting spirit with soothing and congratulatory words.</p> + +<p>Well might Eugene Trevor pause at the threshold, ere he dared to +introduce himself upon such a scene—into such a company. Perhaps, +indeed, he might have made his escape, had not the opening of the door +directed the looks of those within, ere he had time to depart unseen.</p> + +<p>He advanced accordingly, and at once approaching his foster-sister +without raising his eyes to her attendants, stooped down, and kindly, +though in a confused and embarrassed manner, inquired how she felt.</p> + +<p>The poor woman was much agitated by her foster-brother's appearance. She +tried to answer, but in the attempt burst into tears, which the woman +who attended her nevertheless pronounced would do her good. Then seeing +that the young ladies had already retired, Mabel Marryott signed to the +woman also to withdraw; and raising her straining eyes to Eugene's face, +gasped forth:</p> + +<p>"My unfortunate mother!"</p> + +<p>At the same time hiding her face with her hands, as if bowed down with +conscious shame and humiliation at the mention of that mother's name +before one who, she naturally supposed, regarded that mother with the +scorn and abhorrence she too well merited.</p> + +<p>But Eugene Trevor seemed to view her emotion in another light, and +replied to her ejaculation by confirming with as much consideration for +her feelings as the extreme case admitted, his previous information as +to her mother's dangerous condition—the crisis indeed of a very painful +malady under which she had been for some time labouring—speaking +finally of her release from suffering as an event which could only by +her friends be desired.</p> + +<p>"Release from suffering!" murmured the shuddering daughter in a low and +horrified tone. "God grant it; God grant that it may be so, Mr. Trevor; +but alas! my unhappy mother! has she seen a clergyman with a view to +her spiritual relief? does she show signs of repentance? can we +entertain hopes that her sins may be forgiven?"</p> + +<p>Then, to her companion's somewhat vague and unsatisfactory answers on +this point, she with renewed earnestness begged that she might at least +be allowed to set out immediately for Montrevor; and perhaps, by the +mercy of God, see her mother before it was too late.</p> + +<p>But this proposition Eugene did not encourage; he assured her that it +would be too late, that he was sorry to say there had been little chance +of Mrs. Marryott's surviving his departure many hours, that she might +rest assured that everything had been done for her mother that was right +and proper. He then advised Mabel Marryott rather to set about immediate +arrangements for her voyage to America, for which she should have every +facility. Then pressing some bank notes into her graspless hand, and +desiring her to apply to him for anything more which might be required, +he turned away as if to escape from any thanks his generosity might call +forth from those blanched and powerless lips; but rather, we imagine, +impatient to cut short so painful and disagreeable an interview; and in +another moment he stood by the side of Mary Seaham who, as we have said, +had at his entrance withdrawn with Miss Elliott to the further end of +the room.</p> + +<p>"Mary!" he murmured in a low voice, whilst Miss Elliott, on perceiving +his approach, flew back to Mabel Marryott.</p> + +<p>"Mary, will you not speak to me?"</p> + +<p>Mary turned towards him, and held out her hand.</p> + +<p>"Eugene!" she said in a low agitated voice, then paused, and fixing her +eyes on him with an earnest, wistful and distressful look; whilst on +Eugene's side might have appeared in his countenance more of +embarrassment than pleasure.</p> + +<p>The door opened, and voices made themselves heard without. Both looked +uneasily and uncomfortably towards it.</p> + +<p>"Can I not see you, and speak to you, Mary, more privately before I +leave this place? I cannot stay longer than to-day, for I am wanted at +Montrevor."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Eugene," Mary replied in the same low, hurried voice, yet with +more earnest anxiety of manner. "I should like very much to see you. If +you will come this evening very late, I shall be probably alone, and we +can speak together without interruption."</p> + +<p>He pressed her hand in sign of agreement, and hastily left the room, +exchanging a slight and hurried greeting with Arthur Seaham who passed +upon his way.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">Let after reckonings trouble fearful fools;<br /></span> +<span class="i12">I'll stand the trial of these trivial crimes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">DRYDEN.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i12">The time shall come, nor long remote, when thou<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Shall feel far more than thou inflictest now;<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Feel for thy vile self-loving self in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">And turn thee howling in unpitied pain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">BYRON.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>To explain the chief incidents of the last chapter, it is our necessary, +though repellent task to retrograde some six months past, and enter the +gloomy mansion of Montrevor, where all that time its infirm master lay, +like a chained enchanter on his bed of sickness.</p> + +<p>His son had late that day left for London, amply supplied with those +funds to supply his exigencies, which he had little difficulty now in +drawing from the resources of the now powerless old dotard.</p> + +<p>A few hours later, when darkness had closed in, and the house was hushed +and still, a woman's form was seen issuing from the old man's chamber.</p> + +<p>It was Mabel Marryott. She was changed from the day we last saw her, +sailing along the passages of Montrevor. She came forward with a slow, +uncertain step, holding a shawl wrapped loosely over her breast; and the +lamp she carried in the other hand showed her countenance to bear a sick +and ghastly expression, betokening the painful disease through which she +finally perished, to have already laid its sharp fangs on her system.</p> + +<p>But though bodily strength might be subdued, no mental debilitation +seemed the consequence. She went straight forward to the door of her +master's library; entering without a pause of fear, or conscious +stricken awe, that gloomy haunt of many sinful and accusing memories, +she shut the door behind her, placed the lamp upon a table and sat down +to rest, her eyes wandering deliberately round the room fearing little +to encounter the spiritual shades of the past—the meek upbraiding of +one wronged being's saintly eyes—the noble scorn—the scathing +indignation of another's. She feared not yet either angel or spirit, her +day of fear was yet to come. She looked round with a keen scrutinizing +glance of survey, and then she rose and went composedly to work; she had +the field to herself, and one master-key which the old man had managed +to keep concealed even from his son, she had contrived by strict +vigilance to discover the hiding-place, and get into her possession.</p> + +<p>"Thou fool!" might have seemed the utterance of her heart, as with a +look of fiendish mockery she flung open the depository into which she +thus found entrance, and viewed the glittering treasures it contained. +"Thou fool! thou hast indeed many goods laid up for many years, and this +night—perhaps this night, this very night, thy dotard soul may be +required of thee."</p> + +<p>"Thou fool! how long hast <i>thou</i> to live," the spirit of air might have +echoed in <i>her</i> ear, as the woman proceeded on her work of iniquity.</p> + +<p>But strange the insane delusion by which each man would seem to deem +all men mortal but themselves. Even with that fatal malady gnawing on +her very vitals. Mabel Marryott trusting in an arm of flesh, confidant +in human skill, was laying in store for herself many years of +anticipatory pleasure, ease, and competence.</p> + +<p>With a well-filled purse of gold, she then had for the present turned +away content—gold which the old man she thought would never rise from +his bed to demand, and of which his heirs could guess only the +existence; and thus she would have departed, had not her quick eye +suddenly discovered a secret recess, which from the difficulty she had +in opening it, more keenly excited her curiosity and interest.</p> + +<p>By dint of much trouble and exertion the aperture finally yielded, and a +heap of papers, which had to all appearance been carelessly thrust in +together, was the issue of her research. They were bank-notes. One after +another, she read the tempting numbers—hesitated—replaced them, and +finally divided and pocketed the half.</p> + +<p>Two hours after this deed had been perpetrated, some one came knocking +gently at the door of Mr. Trevor's chamber, to which Mrs. Marryott had +returned to inform her that a young woman had arrived, desiring to +speak with her. Mrs. Marryott kept the person waiting some little time +for she was giving Mr. Trevor his arrow-root; but at length went down to +her sitting-room, where she found a woman of decent appearance though +poorly attired, seated patiently awaiting her coming; a dark cloak +wrapped around her, and a large bonnet and veil nearly concealing her +face.</p> + +<p>On perceiving Marryott she rose, and to the inquiry: "What was her +business?" the stranger put back her veil, and showing her pale and +anxious countenance, in tremulous accents murmured: "Mother!"</p> + +<p>Surprise was at first strongly depicted on Marryott's countenance; but +the next instant the hard impenetrable expression of her face returned, +in a cold measured tone she demanded what it might be that brought her +there?</p> + +<p>"Mother; have you no words of kindness to give your daughter?" faltered +the poor woman.</p> + +<p>"Words of kindness—pshaw! is that all you have come this long way for," +the other answered impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Alas! no mother," was the sorrowful reply, drooping her head +despairingly; "but if you have not even those to give me, how can I ask +for more."</p> + +<p>"More! ah, I thought so—I thought that pride would have a fall at last: +that you would put your virtue into your pocket, and be coming one day +crawling on your knees to beg a morsel of bread, or a hole in this +house, from the mother who was not <i>good</i> enough for you some years ago. +So I suppose your lover won't have you now that you are old and +ugly—bah! don't think that I will take you in here; if this house was +not good enough for you <i>then</i>, it's none the better <i>now</i>. At any rate +there's no place in it for you, so you must go back from whence you +came."</p> + +<p>"Mother, mother—do not speak so cruelly—do not blame me, if knowing +what was good and what was evil, I could not come to live here, hearing +of you what I did. But alas! my spirit indeed waxeth faint, and my +strength faileth me. I am worn out with useless labour, and I come to +ask a little help from the mother who bore me, trusting that God will +forgive both her and me, for we have all sinned—all stand in need of +forgiveness. * * Yes, I come to ask for a little help to take me to +America—to Henry Wilson, who still waits for and expects me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's it,"—with a scornful laugh—"it's money you want; those +'wages of iniquity,' which you scorned at so finely long ago."</p> + +<p>"Mother—those were strong words perhaps for a daughter so young to use +towards a mother, but my heart was grieved for you; it was in sorrowful +affection, not undutiful scorn, that I thus spoke."</p> + +<p>Mabel Marryott sat down—she had hitherto remained coldly standing—and +signed to her daughter to do the same. The submissive manner Jane had +assumed, probably in a degree mollifying her hardened spirit; or rather +perhaps it was a sort of triumph, to see her virtuous child thus brought +low before her. She had quite lived down any womanly or maternal +feeling; and would probably, without the slightest compunction, have +turned her from the door penniless as she came: yet something—perhaps +the idea that it would be disagreeable and degrading to her high +pretensions, to have that poor, shabby creature coming begging at the +house as her daughter—made her calculate that it might be a better plan +to get rid of her at once—easily as it was in her power now to +accomplish it. Those notes still in her pocket, she had begun already to +repent not having left them in their hiding place—bank notes were +terrible things to meddle with, but at any rate no harm could come of +their being put in use by one under Jane Marryott's circumstances.</p> + +<p>In short, it ended as we all know by those twice guilty papers being +transferred into the hands of the innocent; and Jane Marryott—bound by +the promise of strict secrecy, which she so resolutely maintained +inviolate—left the house without any member of the household having +been made aware of her identity, with the unblessed cause of fresh +misfortune in her possession. With the unhappy sequel we are acquainted.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Six months had passed, and Mabel Marryott lay groaning on a bed of +agony. The pains of hell truly had got hold of her, and +conscience—faint foretaste of the never dying worm, rose up to torment +her "before her time," with the dark catalogue of remembered sin—sin +unrepented, and therefore unforgiven. She would not turn to the one +sure fountain, open for sin and for uncleaness. She even repulsed all +offers of spiritual ministration from those members of the household who +had thought and feeling, to see the awful nature of the dying woman's +position.</p> + +<p>"No, she wanted no clergymen, they could avail her nothing—could not +undo one of the sins she had committed." But at length one day, she sent +to desire Eugene Trevor would come himself and speak to her in private. +He came, and lifting herself up with difficulty in her bed, she turned +her ghastly countenance towards her foster-son as he stood by her side, +and fixing her sunken eyes upon him, addressed him thus:</p> + +<p>"Eugene Trevor, my daughter is to be tried this week at —— for +forgery."</p> + +<p>"So I was sorry to hear, Mabel; but there seems, I think, every chance +of her being acquitted."</p> + +<p>"Chance—yes; but I am not going to leave it to chance, and die with +this too on my conscience. I have been a bad mother from the first, I +forsook the child at my breast for the hire of a stranger, and cast her +on the world to shift for herself in toil and trouble; and last of all, +by my stolen charity have brought this curse upon her. Yes, Eugene +Trevor," she added, emphatically, "I stole those notes from your +father's chest, and gave them to the girl—but who <i>forged</i> them?"</p> + +<p>Eugene Trevor started as if an adder had stung him; and turning ashy +pale, sunk down upon a chair that stood near.</p> + +<p>"What—what in the name of Heaven do you mean, Marryott?" he stammered +forth.</p> + +<p>"Eugene Trevor, do not try to deceive a dying woman. I have confessed my +part of the business, do not deny yours. There was not much which passed +between you and your father that night ten years ago, that I did not +overhear, and which now put together, would be enough to commit +<i>you</i>—but do not fear, I am not going to betray you, only do my +bidding; go to —— and get that girl free—it matters little to me, who +shall be dead perhaps, before the morning, what I'm thought of; go and +tell them that <i>I</i> gave the notes, and that <i>she</i> was ignorant of this +falsity—go, get her off, and come back and tell me she is free, and I +die silent; if not, as sure as I lie here a dying woman, I send for a +magistrate and tell him all."</p> + +<p>Eugene Trevor's discomfiture and perturbation at this disclosure may be +imagined. He had been surprised at the time of her apprehension, to see +the account of Jane Marryott's examination in the papers, but Mabel had +professed such perfect ignorance on the subject—such careless +indifference concerning the trouble of her daughter, that though the +coincidence of the notes might strike him as singular, it scarcely +occurred to him as possible that those half-forgotten instruments of his +youthful crime, which he had not for a moment doubted his father +immediately destroyed, could possibly have fallen into the prisoner's +hands.</p> + +<p>There was nothing to be done but to obey his accuser's wishes, knowing +well the determined spirit of that fearful woman, so that there would be +no other way of preventing her, even with her dying lips, declaring the +part he had in the dark transaction in question. He therefore took all +necessary precautions and started on his critical commission with as +little delay as possible, receiving before his departure, the formal +summons from Arthur Seaham to attend as witness on the trial.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">Ah, Zelica! there was a time, when bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Shone o'er thy heart from every look of his;<br /></span> +<span class="i12">When but to see him, hear him breathe the air<br /></span> +<span class="i12">In which he dwelt was thy soul's fondest prayer;<br /></span> +<span class="i12">When round him hung such a perpetual spell,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Whate'er he did, none ever did so well.<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Too happy days! when, if he touch'd a flower<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Or gem of thine, 'twas sacred from that hour.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">LALLA ROOKH.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Mary Seaham sat alone that same evening by the hotel room fire, +expecting Eugene Trevor.</p> + +<p>She had told him to come late, because by that time, she knew that her +brother, with Judge Elliott's party, would have gone to the county ball +held that night in the town; and that the important interview with him, +who still deemed himself her lover, might take place without +interruption.</p> + +<p>Mary had not told her brother of the appointment she had made; so +fearful was she that any obstacle should occur to impede or prevent the +anxious purpose she had formed. Yet now that the carriage containing +Arthur, the radiant Carrie, and their chaperon had driven from the door, +and she knew that Eugene at any moment, might be announced, her heart +began to fail her, and she almost repented of what she had undertaken. +What was she going to do or say—what part pursue?</p> + +<p>A dark and bewildered maze seemed to lie before her, and she sat there, +pale and trembling at every sound, something grasped convulsively in her +hand, her eyes fixed with a dark and anxious gaze upon the flickering +fire-flame.</p> + +<p>Times indeed were changed, since in serene and quiet happiness, Mary had +so often waited at Silverton for her lover's approach. No one could have +imaged forth an intended love-tryste from her aspect now. Yet the +critical moment came. Eugene entered—the door closed behind him, and +once more they were alone together. Mary having resumed her seat, with +blanched lips and beating heart—he standing on the hearth-rug looking +down upon her like as he had done on that memorable occasion of the +first declaration of his love—that beginning of so much happiness—but +greater misery to Mary. Alas! was this to be its end?</p> + +<p>He began to speak hurriedly of the length of time since they had met, of +the strange circumstances of their <i>rencontre</i> that day; Mary listening +as to a voice speaking in a dream, and assenting mechanically, till +finally, as he alluded more particularly to the circumstances of the +case, mentioning the name of Mabel Marryott and the astounding facts +which had transpired concerning that old—he had almost said <i>faithful</i> +but he substituted long-established servant of the family. Then the pure +blood mounted for a moment to Mary's brow, leaving something like a +stern and calm resolution on her countenance; whilst to Eugene Trevor's +somewhat complacent communication, as to what he had done for the +daughter, the measures he had taken to secure her from further trouble +and delay in the accomplishment of her emigration, she listened grave +and unmoved, as if she deemed his proceedings in this respect had been +but what was strictly due to the innocent sufferer of so much iniquity.</p> + +<p>Yes, darker and darker seemed to grow the picture before Mary's eyes +that house and home presented, of which she had once contemplated with +such innocent satisfaction and happy anticipation becoming the mistress. +Sin after sin, more or less strange and terrible to her startled spirit, +rose up to scare and to repel her; so much so, that to think that one to +whom she had been devoted, should have amalgamated himself even in a +passive character with the influence of such a foul and infected +atmosphere, was horrible to her feelings, and most 'blessed' indeed in +comparison—'when men shall revile you and cast you out of their +company'—appeared to her the persecuted in such a case.</p> + +<p>Was it that some outward manifestation of these inward impressions +revealed themselves upon her countenance, that Eugene regarded her with +that keen and scrutinizing expression, as for a moment her eyes were, +with a careworn abstracted look, cast downwards upon the ground.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mary, let me hear something of yourself," he suddenly exclaimed, +breaking off his former topic of discourse; "what have you been doing +since I saw you last?"</p> + +<p>Mary did not return the question; she did not ask "What have <i>you</i> been +doing?" but as she looked up into her lover's face, what was it that +made it impossible to return the smile, the glance, with which he +awaited the reply? What was it that made her turn away her eyes with a +pang—almost a shudder at her heart? Alas! what new impression did she +receive from looking on that face, which had been to her the beloved +dream, the haunting vision of her youth.</p> + +<p>Was it come to this. Had absence changed her heart? Had it become +strange, untrue, towards her early love? Did she turn her eyes away from +her lover's face because his cheek was haggard, his brow sunken, and his +eye lost the brightness of those days when</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The sunshine of her life was in those eyes."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Ah, no! she felt that this was not the case. Had she but read signs of +grief, of sickness, written there, and her heart would have gone forth +to soothe and sympathize with all the truth and fervour of the past.</p> + +<p>But no, it was none of these which had laid their signet there. Alas for +her enlightened eyes! she felt it was not sorrow—not sickness—but +sin; that no cloud had settled on his brow which she could have dared +the fond attempt to pierce; and agony to think that it should have come +to this; that she should be seated at his side, and feel it were not +possible that she could lay her weary head upon that lover's arm, place +her hand in his, with the love and confidence with which she had even +yearned towards another.</p> + +<p>But this had been the vague and passing reflection of a second. With +scarcely perceptible pause she had softly replied:</p> + +<p>"I have done little, Eugene, which would count for much in your varied +and busy existence. The most important feature in my own consideration +has been an excursion to Italy, which I took last summer with my +brother."</p> + +<p>Mary's voice trembled nervously as she uttered these last words, for she +felt that now had come an opportunity she must not neglect, for leading +on to the critical subject on which she had to speak: and, as if to +support her desperate purpose, unclasped the little trinket-case she had +all this time still held concealed in the palm of her delicate hand.</p> + +<p>"To Italy! oh, indeed;" was Eugene's reply. "I was very nearly going +there at the same time; it was just a chance that I did not. My father's +illness, a constant tie upon my movements, prevented me at the last +moment; how delightful it would have been if we had met."</p> + +<p>Mary made no reply, but looked down still with that peculiar expression +which could not but strike Eugene as ominous of something of an +important and peculiar nature.</p> + +<p>"And you were charmed, I suppose;" he proceeded, perusing her +countenance with increasing interest and attention; "so much so that I +fear you would scarcely have considered my society as an addition to +your enjoyment; you have learnt to live too well without me, I am +afraid, Mary."</p> + +<p>That low and flattering tone of other days thrilled Mary's heart, and +flushed her cheek with emotions as of old; but gently removing the hand +which for an instant she passively yielded to his pressure, she did not +raise her eyes as once she would have done, in tender rebuke at the +unjust assumption—she did not say how wearisome and dark had life +become without him—how void, wasted and incomplete!—but hurriedly, as +if she feared the working of the olden spell, and the consequent melting +away of her sterner resolution, she started forward upon the anxious +theme weighing on her heart.</p> + +<p>"I met with a strange adventure at Tivoli, Eugene; it was about that I +wished most particularly to speak to you. One morning, as I was walking +out early, I found this ring upon the ground;" and as she spoke she +produced the signet from the case, and held it towards him. "You may +imagine how surprised I was to see your initials, and your crest; I +scarcely knew indeed what to think, till walking on a little further I +overtook—Mr. Temple!"</p> + +<p>Her listener, who had at first taken the ring wonderingly from her hand; +as she proceeded, raised it to the light, and then abruptly, as if for +the purpose of closer examination, he started up and approached the +candle.</p> + +<p>He uttered not a word, but had his face not been turned away, it might +have been seen to have changed to an ashy hue.</p> + +<p>"I was surprised," Mary proceeded, "for though the initials were thus +accounted for, the crest being yours seemed too unlikely a coincidence; +indeed I had previously cherished a vague but wild idea that it might +possibly belong to your brother, and that his long-wished for recovery +was at hand."</p> + +<p>She paused, but no comment on her words, no reply, but an almost +fiercely impatient interrogative: "Well?" as he turned his countenance, +but not his eyes, round upon her, proceeded from his lips.</p> + +<p>"Well, you see I was disappointed," her mild voice resumed more firmly, +now that she had launched upon the critical theme beyond recall. "At +least," she added, with a wistful earnest glance, "I found, as I said +before, that it had been dropped by Mr. Temple. Oh, Eugene! how came it +in his possession—that ring, that impression which I remember to have +seen upon a letter—that fatal letter which seemed to have been the +beginning of so much sorrow and annoyance. Oh! what is this mysterious +connection subsisting between you and Mr. Temple? tell me—tell me +truly—faithfully—what is it that makes this signet with your arms, +your crest, his also?"</p> + +<p>Eugene Trevor burst into a forced and insulting laugh.</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens, Mary! why not ask that question of Temple himself? how in +the world am I to tell whether it might have been begged, borrowed, or +stolen by the clerical impostor? Stolen most likely—as I can pretty +plainly perceive," fixing on her face a keen and cynical look of +scrutiny; "he has managed to steal something else besides. Yes," he +continued, "I begin to understand now the secret of the cold looks and +measured words with which, after so long a separation, I am received by +you, Mary. I see what this excursion to Italy has done for me. It is <i>I</i> +who ought to ask questions, I think. You saw a great deal of Temple, I +conclude, after the first adventure?"</p> + +<p>Though Eugene endeavoured to assume a tone of irritated suspicion +natural to a man whose jealousy was not unreasonably awakened, there was +a look of dark and eager anxiety in his countenance which could not be +concealed.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Mary continued in a tolerably firm voice, though she had turned a +little pale at her lover's implied accusation, "circumstances certainly +did throw us together—circumstances neither of his seeking or my own."</p> + +<p>A fierce fiery expression shot from Eugene's eye.</p> + +<p>"Oh, they did!" he exclaimed, taking refuge in the passionate burst of +rage in which his feelings found vent. "I thought so; and this is his +most honourable, most virtuous mode of proceeding, insinuating himself +into your society, inveigling your affections by his heroic sanctity, +and poisoning your ear by base and interested insinuations against +myself—if he wishes to circulate his malicious lies, why not speak them +out plainly like a man—not send you to attack me in this manner with +that accursed ring?" dashing the signet forcibly to the ground.</p> + +<p>"Eugene!" interposed Mary, "these reflections on the most honourable and +upright of men are unfounded and unjust. There was nothing in the nature +of our intercourse with which the most jealous could find fault. He, Mr. +Temple, was in a manner forced into joining my brother and myself during +a short excursion, by an old friend, Mr. Wynne, with whom he was +travelling, and at last parted from us abruptly. As to the rest it is I +alone on whom your displeasure need fall; it was by my anxious +importunity alone—which he tried in vain to evade—that I drew from him +all that I learnt on a subject on which it has become necessary to the +peace and quiet of my spirit, that I should be more clearly enlightened. +He told me that his lips were sealed upon the points on which I +questioned him; but that some mystery does exist—some mystery +respecting your brother, Eugene, some mystery in which you yourself, and +indeed he Mr. Temple, are strangely, closely confused—is most certain. +And then he gave me back that ring, and referred me to you for a true +and faithful relation of all I so anxiously desired to ascertain; or for +your sake, as well as my own, to bid you farewell for ever. Oh, Eugene! +disperse then, I implore you, this dark, bewildering cloud, for I +cannot, cannot walk on any more groping in this darkness. Think of me +what you please—wrong my motives if you will, but only show me the +truth whatever it may be; or, Eugene," she added, faintly, her voice +melted into a tone of mingled compassion and concern, "I must indeed put +an end at once to my ceaseless perplexity, by bidding you farewell for +ever."</p> + +<p>Eugene Trevor was calm now, though still livid with the passion into +which he had excited himself. He sat down, close to Mary's side, and +there was a dogged air of resolution expressed in his countenance.</p> + +<p>"I am willing to tell anything that you may wish to ask," he said +sarcastically, "to tear off any part of this delightful veil of mystery +in which you have been pleased to invest my deeds and actions, for the +benefit of your romantic imagination. So pray begin your catechism."</p> + +<p>"Your brother?" was the faint and faltering interrogatory, which came +from Mary's lips.</p> + +<p>Eugene Trevor's assumed calmness vanished; he started up, and approached +the fire-place, murmuring hoarsely:</p> + +<p>"Well, what of him?"</p> + +<p>"Where is he? Who is he? How is it that he does not return or appear in +England—in the world? What has he to do with Mr. Temple? For that some +mysterious link does exist between those two; I have for sometime had +suspicions which I can no longer quell, or put aside as imaginary and +vain—by night as well as by day I have been haunted by wild, strange +dreams that Mr. Temple and your brother are the same."</p> + +<p>She paused aghast, for she had risen and approached Eugene in her +excitement, and now stood gazing as Adah might have gazed upon the face +of her husband Cain, when for the first time his countenance was +revealed to her in all its undisguised hatred and wrathfulness of +expression.</p> + +<p>"Eugene!" she murmured, her voice melting into a tone of mingled +surprize, compassion and concern. "Eugene!" and she laid her hand +soothingly on his arm.</p> + +<p>He turned his eyes, flashing defiance upon her.</p> + +<p>"Well," he cried, "and if they were, pray, what of that?"</p> + +<p>"If—if" she cried, returning his gaze unshrinkingly, "then—then your +brother, Eugene, should not <i>now</i>—never should have been a banished +exile from his home and heritage. They have wronged him basely, who +ever, on the plea of madness, deprived such a man of honour, hope and +happiness. Farewell indeed, Eugene, if this <i>could</i> be the case. +Farewell, at least, till you have repaired your grievous error, and +restored Eustace Trevor to all which has been wrongfully, deceitfully +taken from him."</p> + +<p>She turned away, but Eugene Trevor seized her hand.</p> + +<p>"Stop, Mary," he said in a low voice of subdued and concentrated rage. +"Stop, if you please, and hear <i>me</i>. You may remember, you said, a +little time ago, farewell, <i>if</i> I did not reveal to you all you desired +to know. I have told you nothing yet, though you seem indeed too ready +to conclude every thing of the blackest and most preposterous +description against me. But although you are so eager for any excuse to +rid yourself of me, for ever; though the heart you once swore would +scarcely have been torn from me, were I proved to be the greatest +villain upon earth, has shown itself a very woman's in its weakness, its +feebleness, its inconstancy. Yes, Mary, villain as you may wish to +consider me, <i>I</i> preserve at least the virtue of <i>constancy</i>. I love you +as much as ever, Mary. I will not give you up. What," he exclaimed, +fixing his eyes upon her pale and startled countenance, and advancing +towards her as she sunk down upon a sofa, "do you own yourself, false +and faithless, enough to wish that I should do so? Do you now love this +Eustace, this Temple, whatever he may please to call himself?"</p> + +<p>"Eugene!" gasped Mary's blanched lips.</p> + +<p>"Answer me, Mary, or rather prove it. I see indeed that our marriage has +been deferred too long; promise me, <i>swear</i>, that it shall take place +secretly; there is nothing now that should impede it. I can manage my +father now, that that woman will be out of the way. You know, Mary—you +cannot wonder that I should have considered her presence as an objection +to your entrance into my father's house; the obstacle will now be +removed."</p> + +<p>But Mary shrank back with shuddering repugnance at the suggestion thus +presented to her delicate imagination. <i>She</i> invited to take the place +of Mabel Marryott—<i>she</i> to have room made for her within her lover's +home, by the removal of such a being.</p> + +<p>"Mary, you are not—you cannot own yourself so faithless and so false as +to love that other man."</p> + +<p>"No—Eugene—no. What right have you to entertain such a suspicion? but +you—you have not told me what I required."</p> + +<p>"But I <i>will</i> tell you, Mary—I will tell you everything. I will +redeem—I will atone for all that I may have done—I will lay my fate in +your hands—I will yield my future conduct, my every action, to your +guidance and direction. As your husband, I shall be content to give up +all, whatsoever your wishes may cost me. But I will wait no longer; say +you will be my wife, Mary: and I swear to fulfil whatever you may impose +upon me."</p> + +<p>He had passed his arm with a kind of reckless excitement round her +waist, and now held her tightly towards him, so that her heart beat +wildly against his own, though she shrank trembling from the close +embrace, and still he repeated, with a voice which sounded to her ear +more like hatred than affection:</p> + +<p>"Say—promise me, you will marry me in a week, Mary, publicly or in +secret, as you will; you are your own mistress, no one can prevent you. +Speak, say that one word, Mary, and you shall hear everything as truly +as if I stood before the judgment-seat of God."</p> + +<p>But Mary's lips could not utter a reply, her breath seemed choked, a +mist was before her eyes, though the once most beloved face on earth +was bending down upon her, so near that his very breath fanned her +cheek. She saw it, but as in a frightful dream changed into the face of +a demon, and she felt that breath to be upon her brow like a burning and +a blighting flame. Yet in the strange terror, the perplexity of feeling +which had come over her, a kind of fascination, which something in that +dark, lurid glance fixed so steadfastly upon her, seemed to enthral her +senses. She might perhaps, had it been possible, have forced her lips to +give the required promise. But though they moved, they uttered no sound. +She grew paler and paler, more and more heavily she pressed against the +retaining arm which encircled her, till finally her head lay back on the +cushion of the couch; and Eugene Trevor started at perceiving her closed +eyes and ghastly countenance, released her from his hold, for she had +fainted!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">For thee I panted, thee I prized,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">For thee I gladly sacrificed<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Whate'er I loved before;<br /></span> +<span class="i12">And shall I see thee start away,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say—<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Farewell! we meet no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">COWPER.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Eugene Trevor's first impulse was to step back shocked and amazed; but +the first paroxism of passion into which he had worked himself, in a +degree cooled by this unlooked for catastrophe, he felt that he had +acted in a weak and unreasonable manner.</p> + +<p>Yes, to say that he stood there, looking on that good and gentle being, +whose pitiful condition only showed the climax to which he had +distressed and unnerved her guileless spirit, by the course of conduct +he had so unjustifiably pursued—the peace and happiness of whose life +he had so selfishly blighted.</p> + +<p>That he had looked on her thus, and thought chiefly of himself, was but +too true a proof of the purity and genuineness of the feelings, which +had prompted him to press upon her their union in so urgent and +unjustifiable a manner.</p> + +<p>Yes—dark and perplexing considerations as to the position of his own +affairs came crowding upon his mind. Mary's suspicions, nay, even +amounting to certainty, as to his brother's identity, he had himself +recklessly confirmed; but that mattered little, for suspicion once +awakened on the subject, the truth in any case, must sooner or later +have transpired.</p> + +<p>No, he should have long ago have broken off with Mary, as his brother +had required; that would have been the only means of keeping that mad +enthusiast quiet till his father's death, and his own affairs +satisfactorily settled. What infatuation had kept him hankering after +that "mess of pottage," which after all, he felt had become far less +valuable to him, than all that had been risked through its cause. He had +been in love with Mary Seaham three years ago; then he was really and +truly in love—in love with her sweet youth—her gentle excellence; and +could he then have made her his wife without the trouble and annoyance +to which the engagement had since subjected him, he had little doubt +that the step would have been for his happiness and benefit; but as it +had turned out, he should have long since have given up the inauspicious +business—the strength and purity of his affection had not been such as +could stand the test of their protracted separation. The crystal stream +would soon have palled upon his vitiated taste, had it not been for the +excitement of opposition, and the triumph over his brother it procured +him.</p> + +<p>Added to this, we must in justice say, there had ever remained in +Eugene's heart at all times—and under every circumstance, a sort of +fascinated feeling towards Mary which had never been wholly +extinguished—an influence over his nature wonderful even to himself. +But this was nothing to the disquieting fears which now assailed him for +the future; he could not well see his way before him, and +impatiently—with feelings in which every bad passion was combined, he +turned away from the poor girl, who lay there so wan and faded before +him; in this moment of excitement, considering her but as the source of +the disturbance and perplexity, in which through her, he had involved +himself. With but one more glance, therefore, at the pale, prostrate +form, he rang the bell with careless violence; and leaving the room, +contented himself with desiring the servant whom he met hurrying to obey +the summons, to send Miss Seaham's maid to her, and hastily quitted the +house.</p> + +<p>In no happy mood of mind, Eugene Trevor regained his own hotel, and +having made inquiries as to conveyances, started by the night mail from +----, and reached Montrevor the following afternoon.</p> + +<p>His first inquiry was for Marryott. He was told that she had expired +soon after his departure. "Had any one been with her?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No one; they had supposed her to be asleep for some hours; but at +length she had been found by the housemaid who took up her gruel, stiff +and cold."</p> + +<p>Yes—the sin of that hardened and unrighteous woman had surely found her +out. The curse breathed from the pale, meek features of the corpse of +her, whose angel heart she had crushed and broken—whose death she had +rendered lone and desolate as her life, had come back "on her bosom +with reflected blight," she too had breathed forth her expiring sigh in +agony unrelieved.</p> + +<p>But who wept over her remains—who cared for, who mourned her death? not +one within that mansion. Old Mr. Trevor heard of the event, with the +satisfaction of a child released from the dominion of a harsh attendant, +and took advantage of his disenthralment to creep from his chamber to +his study, to enjoy the long restricted luxury of gloating over his +beloved treasures; and from whence, overcome by that unwonted exertion, +he had but just been carried back to his chamber by his servant, who had +discovered him thus employed, when his son arrived.</p> + +<p>Eugene's first act was to order the property of Marryott to be submitted +to his inspection, and he had but just satisfied himself of there being +no more forged notes in her possession, when the officers of the crown +employed to make inquiries into the business, arrived at Montrevor.</p> + +<p>Their examination of the deceased's effects proved, of course, equally +unproductive, as was every inquiry which was afterwards made. A few +questions put to the bewildered Mr. Trevor, to whose presence Eugene +tremblingly admitted the officials, showed him incompetent to give any +available evidence. Their warrant went no further.</p> + +<p>With the death of the self-accused offender, ended every possibility of +further enlightenment. She had gone to give an account of her actions to +a Judge from before whom all hearts are open and no secrets are hid; and +who require no human testimony to decide His just and terrible judgment.</p> + +<p>They departed, and Eugene breathed more freely, though far was the +removal of this one weight of anxiety from leaving peace and comfort at +his heart. The gloom and darkness which brooded over the house of sin +and death, lay with a leaden weight upon his soul. For the first time he +seemed to be sensible of the foulness of the atmosphere in which for +years he had breathed so contentedly—the dark maze in which he had +entangled himself. Perhaps it was the influence of <i>her</i> presence, which +even still, as it had ever done, exercised a power over his feelings—a +wish, a transitory yearning for better, purer things; for happiness such +as he had never tasted in his world of sensuality.</p> + +<p>From whatever it might have arisen, certainly his was no enviable frame +of mind, and in the perplexity of the moment he was almost prompted to +relax his immediate hold of all his anxious schemes and purposes; put +his father under proper guardianship, and leaving the house, the +country, for a time, abandon the issue to the future—to fate. If the +old man died soon, well and good; he knew his present will would secure +him the bulk of his large and long accumulated unentailed property. If +he lingered on for years, why even then, he little feared his brother +taking advantage of his absence. No, not his brother perhaps, but his +friends. Might they not rise up in Eustace Trevor's behalf; and the old +man become, as in his present state he was likely to do, a ready tool in +their hands, to effect his ruin—for ruin to him any alteration in that +will must prove—that will made under his own auspices; at the same time +that the deed was executed, which in favour of his brother's alleged +incompetency, put all power into his hands, with regard to the +management of the entailed property.</p> + +<p>No, he must retain his post even to the death, and above all he must +gain assurance as to the security of the deed, on which so much +depended, and which it had been necessary to humour the old man, at the +time, in the whim of keeping secreted in his own possession, without the +farther security of a copy—a legal expense against which, he had +strongly protested. There was another point too on which he was still +painfully anxious. Were the remainder of those forged notes, which his +father had evidently neglected to destroy, still in existence, and in +the same place from which the rest had been extracted?</p> + +<p>With these thoughts on his mind, Eugene went to his father, and with the +usual address of which he was full master, broke to him the nature and +the cause of the intrusion with which he had that day been terrified and +annoyed—in short the whole history of Marryott's share in the forgery +case, the origin of which he recalled to his darkened recollection.</p> + +<p>The old man was confounded and dismayed—his old panic as regarded his +son's youthful delinquency reviving in full force. He, however, held out +still, that the notes had been destroyed, and that Marryott must have +been a witch to have restored them to existence.</p> + +<p>Eugene combated the folly of this idea, at the same time impressing upon +him the necessity of ascertaining the better security of any papers of +importance, than Marryott's abstraction of the forged notes, proved them +to be in at the present moment.</p> + +<p>For that purpose he conducted the miserable old man to his study, or +rather private room; and with great difficulty induced him to go through +an examination under his inspection of all places he thought it likely, +the will and the remainder of the notes might be secreted.</p> + +<p>But the old man's cunning avarice was a match for the younger one's +cupidity.</p> + +<p>He had his own peculiar feelings with respect to the will. A jealous +tenacity in preserving to the last his power over the disposal of his +riches, however other powers might have departed from him, and as to +giving up his will to Eugene, that he would never do. He knew where it +lay snug and secret, and if Eugene treated him ill, and stole the money +over which even now his eyes gloated, and his hands passed so +graspingly, he knew what he could do, and as for the notes, he had in +truth forgotten that secret hiding-place.</p> + +<p>So the search ended for that day without the desired results, for the +old man grew faint and feeble, and said he could do no more that time, +but would continue the search on the morrow, so, content for the +present, his son supported him back to his chamber. He did not leave his +bed for the following week, before the end of which period Mabel +Marryott was carried out to be buried. And there she lies—the same sun +which shines upon the evil and the good, gleams upon the decent stone +which perpetuates the dishonoured memory of the wicked—as upon the tomb +of mocking grandeur, in which the weary had found rest—that rest "which +remaineth for the people of God."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">Desolate in each place of trust,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Thy bright soul dimmed with care,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">To the land where is found no trace of dust.<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Oh! look thou there.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>The servant had either not understood, or had neglected the orders of +Eugene Trevor. Her own faithful attendant had not accompanied Mary, and +Miss Elliott's maid, who waited upon her, had gone to the hall to be in +attendance in the cloak-room upon her young lady. So that when the poor +girl recovered from her temporary insensibility, she found herself quite +alone, and nearly in darkness with but a dim and bewildered recollection +of what had occurred, the sense of physical indisposition preponderating +at the moment. She feebly arose, and managed to drag her chilled and +heavy limbs to her own room.</p> + +<p>In the morning she awoke restored to a full consciousness of the reality +of the last night's events; very dark appeared to her the world on which +she opened now her eyes; a vague sense of misery oppressed her—a +feeling as if the end of all things was come—that the truth, light and +beauty of existence had passed from her for ever—that her life had been +thrown away—the best powers of her mind—the affections of her heart +wasted on an object suddenly stripped of every false attribute which she +had so ignorantly worshipped.</p> + +<p>She did not feel inclined, as may be supposed, to face the glare and +bustle of the court, and under plea of a headache excused herself from +accompanying Miss Elliott and her brother, who, having been obliged to +be in attendance at an early hour, had only exchanged a few words with +his sister at her room-door previous to his departure.</p> + +<p>Mary would, therefore, have been left alone all the morning had it not +been for a visit from Jane Marryott, who came to say farewell; and to +express her grateful thanks, both for the aid she had received from her +legal advocate and the kindness shown to her by the young ladies after +the trial.</p> + +<p>Mary received her with much kindness, and encouraged her by the sweet +sympathy of her manner, to relate "the tale of her love with all its +pains and reverses." There was something in the subdued and chastened +tone of the poor woman's happiness, as soothing to Mary's own troubled +heart, as her meek and patient demeanour during her affliction had been +touching; and as to look upon the "grief so lonely" of her upon whose +patient countenance, she had read a tale of baffled hopes, and +disappointed affection, which had made her think with tears upon her +own; so now she did not feel it impossible to accede a smile of +melancholy rejoicing in her pious joy, though no answering chord +vibrated in her own sorrowful bosom—and she felt that the sea of +trouble, and the ocean wide, which had hitherto disunited Jane Marryott +from her affianced lover, was nothing to the deep gulf which must, from +henceforth, roll between her soul and his, whom she had so long looked +upon in that light.</p> + +<p>But the faint mournful smile did not perhaps escape the observation of +her humble visitor, or fail to touch the scarce less delicate sympathies +of one doubly refined in the furnace of affliction. Jane Marryott could +not repress a glance of anxious interest on the pale young lady's face, +as at the close of her own recital, she respectfully proceeded to +express her wishes for the health and happiness of her brother and +herself.</p> + +<p>She had heard, she continued timidly to say, that Mr. Eugene Trevor was +the favoured gentleman who was to make Miss Seaham his wife—then +paused, humbly apologising if she had offended by her boldness, for she +marked the momentary spasm of painful emotion which passed over Mary's +countenance.</p> + +<p>She would not have ventured to speak on the subject she added, had it +not been for the interest, painful though it had become in its +character, which bound her to that family. Mr. Eugene Trevor being as +Miss Seaham probably was aware, her foster-brother.</p> + +<p>Mary bent her head in sign of acquiescence, and then murmuring that Jane +Marryott had not offended, enquired in a low and faltering voice if she +had been thrown much in contact with the Trevor family of late years, +that if so, she would be much obliged by any particulars respecting it: +she need not fear to speak freely on a subject which indeed was one of +such peculiar interest to herself, though not now in the manner to which +Jane had made allusion. She had indeed been long engaged to Mr. Eugene +Trevor, but——. Mary felt not strength to complete the communication; +her voice died away, leaving her listener to frame her own conclusions +from the dejected pause and broken sentence.</p> + +<p>"I would do anything to oblige or serve you, dear young lady, though +there is little on the subject of that family which can be connected in +my mind but with shame and sorrow. However, with the exception of one +unhappy visit of mine to Montrevor last year, I have not entered the +house, or lived in its neighbourhood, since I was quite a young child; +then I remember just having been taken there once or twice to see my +mother, and being allowed to play with little Master Eugene, and most +distinctly of all going with him into the room where was Mrs. +Trevor—such a sweet and gentle looking lady—who spoke very kindly to +me; and there too was Master Eustace, a beautiful boy, who seemed very +fond of his mother, whilst Master Eugene would not do a thing that he +was bid—he was but a child then you know," she added apologetically, +"and they say was never taught much to love and honour that parent, by +those who took him as an infant from her breast. Alas! that I, my +mother's own child, should have to say it—but such visits were not +many; my mother did not care for me enough to run the risk of offending +her master by having me about the place. He hated strange children in +the house, and when I was taken there it was by stealth. So at a very +early age I was sent away to some distant relations in Wales, who +apprenticed me to the trade, and all I have since heard of the family +has been by hearsay; for there was nothing of all that reached my ear, +which made Montrevor a place I could have visited with any comfort or +pleasure.</p> + +<p>"My mother, when I had grown up, offered me a situation in the +establishment, and because I refused to accept it, speaking my mind +perhaps too freely, she never afterwards noticed me in any way, +withdrawing all support in my necessity; till the unlucky hour, I was +induced to give up that patient waiting on God's own time I had +hitherto maintained, and turned aside to seek to bring it to pass by +ways and means that were not of his pointing out. I might have seen that +no good could have come out of gold taken from that house, no blessing +be attached to bounty drawn from such a polluted source. God has been +very merciful, and made all things to work together for my good; but +still even now I rejoice with trembling, and were he again to withdraw +his favour—I should only feel that it were due to my past +unfaithfulness. Oh, dear young lady! it is a good thing to wait +patiently on the Lord, to believe that good is hid behind every cloud of +seeming evil; that grief or disappointment, if dealt us, is intended for +our future happiness either here or hereafter. May you find this to be +the case, and feel it also to your comfort, if I am right in guessing +from your countenance that you stand in need of consolation. I am very +bold, a humble stranger to speak thus to you, young lady—but you have +encouraged me by your kindness and condescension, and we are told never +to neglect, to speak a word in season to the weary, and even when you +hung over me in my fainting fit yesterday, I marked the contrast between +your sad pale face, and that of the bright young lady by your side."</p> + +<p>Mary put her hand into the speaker's for a moment as if both in grateful +acknowledgement of her sympathy, and as encouragement for her to +proceed. There was something inexpressibly soothing to her wounded +spirit in the simple earnestness of the poor woman's speech—strength +and calm resolution to meet the darkened future, seemed to infuse itself +into her own soul as she sat and listened.</p> + +<p>At length in a low sad voice she responded:</p> + +<p>"Thank you very much for speaking to me in that manner. I feel already +that it has done me good, for you are indeed quite right in supposing +that I am not quite happy, though my present unhappiness springs from a +cause of which you, with all your troubles, have never, I think, +experienced the bitterness. I have much on my mind just now, doubts and +fears on a subject, on which I am unable to gain any clear +enlightenment. You, who perhaps have received information from more +authentic sources, may be able to tell me what you may have heard +concerning Mr. Eugene Trevor."</p> + +<p>Jane Marryott looked pained and embarrassed, and hesitated how to reply.</p> + +<p>"Do not fear to speak out plainly," faltered Mary, turning away her +head; "anything is better than the uncertainty and vague insinuations +with which I have been hitherto tortured."</p> + +<p>"Then, Miss Seaham," Jane Marryott answered, sorrowfully, "if I speak +plainly as you desire, I am forced to confess that all that I have heard +of Mr. Eugene Trevor, makes me fear his being too like his father in +disposition to make any lady happy."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Eugene Trevor cannot possibly be like his father," murmured Mary, +her woman's faithfulness still rising up in her lover's defence.</p> + +<p>"God grant that it may not be so in every respect," resumed the other. +"But, alas! it is written 'that the love of money is the root of all +evil;' and what but the coveting of his father's riches, though it might +be for a different purpose than the old gentleman's avariciousness—I +mean the spending it on his own selfish pleasures—could have made him +act in many respects as I have heard that he has done; though God +forgive me for exposing the faults of a fellow-creature."</p> + +<p>"Speak on, I entreat," Mary anxiously exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Well, Miss, I mean why did he not stand up, like his brother, for his +injured, excellent mother; and if he did not exactly join hand in hand +with those who oppressed her, why countenance her wrongs by their +contented endurance? then about Mr. Eustace that true and noble-hearted +gentleman?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! what of him?" Mary eagerly inquired, lifting up her sadly-drooping +eyes, and fixing them upon Jane Marryott's face with an earnest, fearful +expression.</p> + +<p>"He was treated shamefully by his father from a child," was the reply; +"but I fear more badly still at last by his brother, if, indeed, it be +true that he had any hand in the dark business, in which I am told he +was mixed up."</p> + +<p>"What business?" inquired Mary, turning very pale.</p> + +<p>"It is almost too dreadful a story to repeat—almost to believe; but as +I have mentioned the subject, and you, Madam, have made me to understand +that you were not without unpleasant suspicions as to its truth, I will +tell you what I was informed about the matter. The fact is, that an old +servant at Montrevor, who had been much attached to Mrs. Trevor and Mr. +Eustace, and who happened to be a native of the town in which I lived, +came to the place, and finding me out, visited me for the purpose, I +believe, of venting the bitterness of his soul against my unfortunate +mother, who he spoke of as the cause of all the sorrow which happened to +those he loved; but when he saw me ashamed and grieved equally with +himself, then he opened his heart more gently to me, and told me all +about the present subject of his distress, and what had induced him to +leave Montrevor, swearing never again to set his foot in it, as long as +either Mr. Trevor, his son Eugene, or my mother, darkened its doors. He +told me Mr. Eustace Trevor had been attacked by a brain fever, brought +on by the shock of his mother's death, such as he had had once before +after hard study, when Matthew had himself attended on his young master, +who was delirious for some days and nights; but that this last time, +neither he, nor any of the servants, were allowed to go near his +chamber; and that at last he had been carried away at night to a +madhouse, it being reported through the house that he was out of his +mind. Matthew went once or twice to the door of the establishment, to +request to see his master, but was refused admittance. A week or two +after, however, Mr. Eustace came back to Montrevor, and went to the +library, where his father, brother, my mother, and a lawyer were +assembled, making up papers to deprive him of his property. None of the +servants saw him but Matthew, who was told to hold himself in readiness +to assist his master, if any attempt was made upon his liberty. This, +however, was not the case; he left the house as he came, in half an +hour's time. Matthew followed him, and was sent back a few stages off, +to bring his master's things away from Montrevor, chiefly for the sake +of his mother's picture, which was amongst them. Then he gave Matthew +some money, and finally but firmly commanded him to leave him. He said +that he was going to quit the country, never to return; wished to retain +no one, as that might lead to his discovery, entreating him, if he +really loved him, to acquiesce in his wishes. He looked ill, and much +reduced, of course, by all that he had gone through, both in body and +mind. His beautiful hair had been shorn, and with a smile that went +through Matthew's heart like a dagger, he uncovered his wrists, and +showed deep marks of manacles that they had put upon him indented there. +But he said: 'Matthew, I was never mad; it was only another attack, such +as you, good old fellow, nursed me through some time ago; but never +mind, there are worse things than the charge of madness to suffer in +this world. I am going to leave the country, and my unnatural enemies +behind me; and if you wish to serve me faithfully, as you hitherto have +done, do not try to follow me or to find me out.' And then when Matthew +continued to entreat, he grew firmer still, and told him if ever he +found himself importuned by pursuit, either by friend or by foe, or the +story of what had happened had got spread abroad, he should suspect him +of being the cause. So Matthew was fain, with many tears, to bid him +farewell; and very soon after it was that Matthew came to me. But I have +shocked and distressed you, dear young lady," Jane Marryott added, +observing the look of horror which deepened on Mary's countenance, as +she with blanched cheeks and distended eyes listened to the recital. "I +have never breathed all this to other mortal ear, and should not to you, +had not your questioning drawn me to speak out what I fancied you to +have already conjectured. Nay, they say that many of Mr. Eustace's +friends were inclined to look suspiciously on the matter; but earthly +friends, for the most part, are cold and lax in the behalf of those out +of sight."</p> + +<p>"And was nothing more heard by Matthew of his master?" Mary faintly +inquired.</p> + +<p>"Yes, early in spring, Matthew, to his joyful surprise, received a +letter from Mr. Eustace, telling him to go to Oxford, and to remove some +of the property he had at that place to London, where it was received by +a strange clerical gentleman, and taken away he knew not whither. But it +was a consolation to Matthew to know, at least, and be assured by the +gentleman, that his master was safe and well, although still trusting to +his obedience and his silence. I have never since heard or seen anything +of Mr. Matthew, for he left to settle in London. I have often thought +upon the strange story, and wondered whether anything more had ever been +heard of Mr. Eustace."</p> + +<p>Jane Marryott ceased; and for an instant Mary sat with clasped hands, +and a stunned expression in her countenance, till at length meeting the +gaze of her companion fixed upon her, with a look of regretful concern; +she held out her hand and with a wan smile, such as wherewith a patient +might express his thanks at the performer of some painful but necessary +operation, thanked her again for having satisfied her painful +curiosity; sweetly—yet with an expression which much belied the +assertion—assuring Jane Marryott when she expressed her fears as to the +effect upon her mind this communication had produced—that though pain +of course such a relation could not fail to cause her—yet it was not +more than she had endured of late, nor more for her to listen than some +points of her communication must have been to her, Jane Marryott, to +reveal; for even in the absorption of her own feelings, Mary had not +failed to mark and to compassionate the look of humbled shame and +sorrow, which bowed down the daughter's head in those parts of her +relation bearing allusion to her mother, whilst at the same time the +honest simplicity of her class and character, had forced her to pass +through the ordeal without compromise or circumlocution; and thus from +the lips of the stranger of yesterday, there had been revealed in a +manner calculated to strike entire conviction upon the mind of the +listener, every circumstance which before had been concealed by a dark +cloud of mystery—or that the tender consideration of friends had dealt +out to her, in the vile daily drop of vague insinuation and report.</p> + +<p>Stupified and still, she sat for some time after Jane Marryott had taken +her departure. Mary having said something at parting about seeing her on +the morrow, as Jane Marryott did not leave for Liverpool, the place of +her intended embarkation, till she had received the final tidings of her +mother's fate; promised to her by Eugene Trevor.</p> + +<p>But the interview did not take place. Mary sent her a useful present, +but was too unwell to see her when she called.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">As they, who to their couch at night<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Would win repose, first quench the light,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">So must the hopes that keep this breast<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Awake, be quenched, ere it can rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">MOORE.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>We left Mary yielding herself to the passive impression made upon her +mind by the startling results of that strange conversation; then +gradually that mind began to rouse itself to think, and form, and +deliberate as to what was to be done—or rather <i>was</i> there anything to +be done? Was hers to be the tongue to blaze about the woman's story, to +give substance and a shape to the airy-tongued aspersions brought +against her lover's name—was this her woman's part? Oh, no; yet +something she had to do—some part to act?</p> + +<p>Under the influence of this impulse it was that she arose, and going to +a writing-table, sat down, and wrote to Eugene Trevor; not to +accuse—not to condemn—not even to attack him in the mildest terms with +the grave charge she had heard laid against him.</p> + +<p>There was no such spirit as this in Mary; though the mere reminiscences +of past words and looks which had escaped her lover in moments of +uncontrol, but more still the words he had left unspoken—the looks so +sedulously avoided, rose before her remembrance, and flashed fearful +conviction on her mind; the more her soul shrunk from the dark idea now +connected with her lover's history, the more did her heart bleed for +him, who must all along have carried in his breast so heavy a load of +conscience, upon whose life one fatal remembrance must have cast its +bleak and dreary shade, whose smile must have hidden so aching a +heart—whose laugh, which had so often rejoiced her soul, must have rung +forth so false and hollow from his breast; and as love seemed startled +from its seat, so did a great compassion usurp its place within her +soul.</p> + +<p>And he, the persecuted, the alien—how far less for him she felt were +tears of pity due!</p> + +<p>No, addressing Eugene in the subdued and broken terms which more +touchingly spoke the feeling actuating her heart than any stern or +solemn eloquence of appeal could have done, she began by alluding to the +distressing interview of the preceding night; she gave him to understand +her determination, that it should be final—that it had become the +gradual conviction of her mind, that it was not fit that they should +ever be united—before she had seen him, indeed, she had promised her +brother that their inauspicious engagement should be brought to an end. +Since then a terrible story had been sounded in her ear—one she had not +courage to repeat—she would only say it related to his conduct to his +brother, of whose identity with Mr. Temple she now was fully aware. Mary +asked for no confession or denial of the imputation, but she told him +simply where that brother was to be found, and implored him no longer, +if innocent, to countenance such an implication, by consenting to +continue his present false position in his father's house, under cover +of so baseless a plea as that which had made his brother an exile. But +if any shade of truth rested on the story, why then what remained, but +that full reparation which would bring peace and happiness to his own +soul—greater peace and happiness, she was sure, if a single shade of +guilt in this respect had laid upon it than he ever could have tasted +since the dreadful moment when first it rested there? She was sure, +though bitter words had been wrung from him in the excitement of last +night's conversation, that he would feel convinced of the +disinterestedness of the feelings which prompted her anxiety in this +affair—that she would have pleaded for the interest of an utter +stranger, as now she pleaded for the valued friend whom, whatever +circumstances accrued, it was probable she should never see again. Mary +alluded but slightly to the prospects of her own future, and that only +to express how its altered aspect would be cheered and brightened by the +knowledge that this just and necessary line of conduct had been adopted.</p> + +<p>Mary had been interrupted in the middle of her letter by the return of +Miss Elliott from the courts. Little dreaming the nature of the +correspondence over which she found her sad friend employed, there was +enough revealed in her manner and countenance to bespeak the anxiety and +painful absorption of her mind.</p> + +<p>Even Miss Elliott's glowing description of the success, superior to that +indeed of the preceding day which had attended her brother's exertions, +in a case of considerable interest and importance (a report delivered +not without many beautiful blushes on the fair speaker's part), even +this scarcely seemed to have power to concentrate and excite her +listener's languid and abstracted attention.</p> + +<p>"Dear Miss Seaham, have you been sitting writing here all the time I +have been away? if so, it is very naughty of you, for you do not look +fit at all for the exertion. I am sure you must be more ill than you +will allow us to suppose—and without your own maid too."</p> + +<p>"I fainted last night, a thing I have not done since I was a child; of +course to-day I feel rather weak and languid, in consequence," Mary +replied, seeing it was necessary to account in a more satisfactory +manner, for her wretched appearance.</p> + +<p>"Fainted, my dear Mary, what could have been the cause?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose the heat of the court, all the excitement and agitation of +the day, had something to do with it," Mary answered hurriedly; "but +pray do not tell Arthur, I would not have him annoyed with any anxiety +on my behalf just now. I feel rather tired, having had a long visit from +poor Jane Marryott and this letter too to write; when it is over," with +a faint smile, "I trust you will find me a more agreeable companion."</p> + +<p>Carrie Elliott took the gentle hint, and pressing her rosy rips on +Mary's cheek, in her graceful caressing manner, went away to her own +apartments.</p> + +<p>"Oh, happy Arthur!" thought Mary as with tears starting to her eyes, she +returned to her painful task. "Oh, why is it," asked the swelling heart, +"that such different lots are appointed to human beings? why are some +destined to be thus privileged and blest, whilst others are suffered, +like myself, by a strong delusion, to place their hopes and happiness +upon unworthy objects; to feed on ashes—to lean on reeds which pierce +them, to be wounded—disappointed in their tenderest affections." What +had there been in her blameless life to draw upon her such retribution? +But these were but the murmuring risings of the moment—in another, +that spirit humble, contrite and resigned, which unquestioning kisses +the rod of Him who hath appointed it, had resumed its customary place +within the writer's breast.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Eugene's letter concluded, Mary did not pause there. She felt there was +one more step to be taken. She wrote to Mr. Wynne; she told him in a few +emphatic words, how from a source bearing only too strong a stamp of +veracity, doubts and suspicions which had long vaguely agitated her +mind, had received perfect confirmation; namely, that Mr. Temple was no +other than Eustace Trevor, the brother of Eugene. "But it is not this +fact, dear Sir," she continued, "which most concerns and distresses me; +it is the strange, and fearful story, which for the first time, in one +terrible moment was revealed to me. I allude to the conduct of Eugene +towards his brother. You, dear friend, I am convinced, are fully +informed of every particular respecting Mr. Eustace Trevor's history. I +implore you then to tell me, is there entire truth in this awful tale; +and if so, to entreat your injured friend to allow no farther guilt to +be accumulated on the unhappy offender's soul. I have even ventured to +write to Eugene, and entreated him to take the first step towards +atonement and reconciliation; but if my feeble influence fail, then help +him to cast aside those morbid feelings and ideas (noble and generous in +their origin as they were) which hitherto actuated his conduct, and to +return to England—to the world—reassert his rights—the lawful place +in his country and amongst his friends. Whether his unhappy brother +comes forward in this cause or not, still let him act, as alas! +presumptuous as it may be for me to speak thus, to one so far above me, +it had been well for all he had long since acted. What but woe could +come when the righteous and the true fled before the face of wickedness +and deceit—stooped to false disguises with a heart and conscience which +could have defied the united malice of the world. Let him return; all +that is merciful I am fully convinced, as far as is consistent with +human justice, will sway the conduct of one, so true and faithful a +follower of that Divine Being, whose long-suffering forgiveness to the +vilest offenders against His goodness, no man can fathom."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>This letter proved of the two, the most agitating and trying to Mary's +feelings; so that when her brother, just after its completion, entered +the room, he found his sister's cheeks no longer pale as Miss Elliott +had left them, but burning with a false and feverish excitement.</p> + +<p>He questioned her affectionately about her health; for though she at +first, with a forced vivacity, congratulated him fondly on the brilliant +report she had heard of him from so eloquent a source, the brother had +not failed in the meantime to observe her quivering lips, the glittering +restlessness of her eyes, and the trembling hands with which she sealed +the letter before her.</p> + +<p>"Dear Arthur," she said, with a melancholy attempt at a smile, "I am as +well as one in my position can be, for look," she added hurriedly, "I +have done your bidding," and she took up one of the letters and placed +it in Arthur's hand.</p> + +<p>The brother started as he read the direction, then looked up anxiously +into his sister's face.</p> + +<p>"Mary, have you really done it?"</p> + +<p>She bowed her head.</p> + +<p>"And you are finally free of the engagement?"</p> + +<p>"I am."</p> + +<p>"And you do not repent of what you have done?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"And you do not find it very painful?"</p> + +<p>A wan smile was the answer.</p> + +<p>"Dear Mary!" the brother exclaimed, turning away to hide a bright drop +that started to his eye, "how shall we ever be able to repay you for all +you have suffered so long and patiently?"</p> + +<p>A smile again played upon her lips, as she marked the <i>we</i> for the first +time used in a speech of this nature, and putting her hand in her +brother's, she replied:</p> + +<p>"By allowing me to witness your happiness, dear Arthur."</p> + +<p>Too much occupied with unselfish concern for his sister, the young man +did not understand the speech as it was intended; but after a moment's +anxious consideration, inquired:</p> + +<p>"Mary, has anything occurred since our conversation the day before +yesterday, to hasten this step? I know that Trevor went away early this +morning, but had you any meeting with him yesterday?"</p> + +<p>"I had," she answered, colouring deeply; "but, Arthur," in a faltering +voice, "spare me any further questions; let what I have done suffice."</p> + +<p>"Selfish—heartless—double-hearted," were the emphatic murmurings of +the young man's lips, as he turned away with dark and moody brow, "would +that <i>I</i> might ask a few questions of him."</p> + +<p>"Arthur!" Mary exclaimed, laying her hands reproachfully on his +shoulder, "you will make me believe that after all you are vexed and +disturbed that our engagement is over."</p> + +<p>"No, Mary, Heaven knows that is not the case; but still, it makes my +blood boil to think how you have waited so long and faithfully, and that +after all your trust and patience will have been all in vain, that your +precious affection should have been wasted."</p> + +<p>"Then, Arthur, console yourself with the assurance that I grudge no +measure of faith and patience I may have exerted. Faith and patience can +never be in vain; would that was all I have now to mourn over. As for +wasted affection—affection never can be wasted," unconsciously quoting +the words once sounded in her ear, in tones which ever since had +lingered there. "My affection, though blind, perhaps, and mistaken, was +pure and innocent. God will not suffer it to return fruitless to my +bosom."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Arthur Seaham was obliged to go and prepare himself for the judge's +dinner, and Mary to exert herself during her <i>tête-à-tête</i> evening with +Miss Elliott.</p> + +<p>The next day she was too ill to rise. Her maid was sent for, and with +her Mary a day or two after went to a pretty cottage not far distant, +belonging to her brother, where he was soon to join her. The Morgans +were not then in the country.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">But now, alas! the place seems changed,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Thou art no longer here:<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Part of the sunshine of the scene<br /></span> +<span class="i12">With thee did disappear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">LONGFELLOW.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i18">Confess! Record myself<br /></span> +<span class="i12">A villain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">VENICE PRESERVED.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Mary Seaham's letter reached Montrevor the day after Mabel Marryott's +funeral. Eugene Trevor tore it open eagerly, turned ashy pale as he +perused it, then, thrusting it into his pocket, went about his business +as before.</p> + +<p>Day after day went by, and the letter remained unanswered—unacted upon.</p> + +<p>With sullen defiance, or silent contempt, Eugene Trevor seemed to have +determined upon treating the earnest appeal the important requisition +it contained. The appeal he endeavoured to consider it of a weak, simple +woman, who probably looked upon an affair of so serious—nay, he was +forced to acknowledge, so fearful—a nature in no stronger light than +that of some romantic fiction, only costing the actor engaged in it the +struggle of some heroic and high-wrought feeling to bring the matter to +a satisfactory issue; and who little knew that it would have been far +easier to him to put a pistol to his head, than to draw down upon +himself such ruin—in every sense of the word—as the sacrifice so +calmly required of him by the fair and gentle Mary Seaham must entail.</p> + +<p>"Senseless girl! what! recall my father's incensed heir to his admiring +friends, now all up in arms at the treatment—the persecution, they +would call it—that he had received at my hands! restore him in all the +strength and brightness of his intellect, striking conviction to every +mind as to the truth of the testimonies, which would not fail to start +up on every side, to substantiate the false nature of the plea which had +alienated him from his lawful rights. Then how would vague reports find +confirmation! surmises, suspicions be brought to light! And what would +become of <i>me</i>? what would become of my debts—my character—my +honour—my covetousness?"</p> + +<p>If these were in any sort the reflections which influenced Eugene Trevor +for the next week or so after the receipt of Mary's letter, that letter +seemed to have had at any rate the power of subduing for a time his +energies and courage in the prosecution of former designs.</p> + +<p>He made no attempt to alter his father's obstinate determination to keep +wholly to his bed. He seemed suddenly to have lost his anxiety as to +securing the will, and discovering the remaining forged notes. He was +moody, gloomy, apathetic. One day chance took him to that part of the +house where his mother's boudoir was situated. Pausing as he passed the +door, he pushed it open, and entered.</p> + +<p>The window was open—the sunbeams played upon the old quaint furniture, +the room seemed fresh, and bright, and clear, in comparison with the +rest of the house; which ever since Marryott's death and funeral seemed +to have retained the influence, and impressed him with those revolting +ideas attached to the signs and ensigns of mortality entertained by the +mind who cannot, or dare not, look beyond those consequences of +corruptibility for the object of that fearful power. A dark, pall-like +covering seemed spread over the whole house; a close, sickly atmosphere +to pervade it throughout.</p> + +<p>But here—all this seemed to have been effectually shut out, as if the +destroying angel, as he brushed past with hasty wing, had seen the mark +upon that door, which forbade him entrance; and Eugene Trevor went and +stretched his head out of the window, breathing more freely than he had +done for many a day.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, however, he drew back; the action had brought to his +remembrance just such another clear, bright sunny day, when he had last +stood leaning in that position; but alas! how differently accompanied.</p> + +<p>Then alone with a fair, pure, gentle girl—her sweet presence, her +tender voice, infusing into his soul an influence which for the time had +lifted him almost above himself into a paradise of thought—of feeling +he had long since forfeited; and now alone—alone with his own dark +jarring thoughts—alone with that juggling fiend impenitent remorse +gnashing at his heart—alone with his present disquiet—with the +threatening fear of the future—the withering memories of the past. Well +might he have cried aloud for the lost dream which suggested this +comparison—a dream indeed false and treacherous in its foundation; for +except that conscience slept undisturbed, how was he different then to +what he is now. And yet he would fain have recalled it, for suddenly +with that association seemed to have taken hold upon his fancy a +passionate yearning, an impatient regret that he had not been able to +secure possession of the being who had at that time certainly exercised +a very worthy influence over his affections. A tormenting idea that his +marriage at that period might have warded off the evils now circling +threatening around his head; or at the worst have given him a fond and +devoted sharer in his fortunes, such as in the whole world he knew not +where to look for now. For how she had loved him! Yes, it was pleasant +and soothing to his feelings, in their present ruffled state, to +remember that he had been loved so tenderly, so purely, so entirely for +himself alone: and then came the stinging reaction—the remembrance +that he was no longer loved—that he had seen a look of fear, almost of +aversion, usurp the place of confiding affection in those soft and +loving eyes: that finally, she had fainted from mere abhorrence at the +idea of the promise he had pressed so urgently upon her—then too, when +it seemed she had not heard the story which proved the cause and subject +of her letter.</p> + +<p>No—but she had been in Italy with his brother, that +martyr-hero—fascinated, enthralled, no doubt,—and he must lose, +relinquish her too. No, by heaven! that he would not do—that weak, +pale, soft-hearted girl, should he passively resign his power over her +also? villain or not as she might deem him, he must make her to believe +it were cruelty, perjury, and sordid unfaithfulness, to desert him +now—to break her vows, because she had discovered that there was one +with better claims than himself to the fortune and expectations she had +imagined him to possess.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>In this new mood Eugene went to pay his customary morning visit to his +father's room, and there fresh fuel was added to the fire lately kindled +in his breast.</p> + +<p>The old man had for the last few days taken a different turn. At first, +as we have said, his disenthralment from Marryott's guardianship had +been a relief to his mind; but to this feeling had succeeded a restless +disquiet as to the consequences of the removal of this Cerberus of his +household, and the destruction both of himself and property, fraud, +robbery, poisoning, fire, ruin and destruction in every possible shape, +seemed to be hanging over his head by a single hair. He was in a +perpetual fear whenever he found his son had left the house.</p> + +<p>The day to which we allude, Eugene Trevor was assailed with the usual +amount of murmuring and complaint.</p> + +<p>"Eugene, a pretty state we are in now. I should like to know what's to +become of us if we go on much longer in this manner."</p> + +<p>"In what way, my dear Sir? everything seems to go on very quietly; +really, with scarcely half a dozen servants in the house, and all the +plate safe in the bank, I do not think there's any chance of much harm +being done."</p> + +<p>"No harm? Gracious powers! how do you know what abominations of +extravagance are not going forward—you who are always sleeping miles +away from the wretches, and know not how I may be robbed, and cheated, +and eaten out of house and home. I'll tell you one thing, Eugene, I am +determined I'll get to the offices, if I'm carried there, and see to a +fraction every bit of meat weighed that comes into the house, as <i>you</i> +won't help me."</p> + +<p>"My dear Sir, I would do everything in my power, I assure you, but the +chief object at present I think will be to try and find some second +Marryott, who, I hope," with a sneering emphasis on the words, "you will +find an equal treasure of honesty and faithfulness as the other."</p> + +<p>"I don't want another Marryott," whined the old man, peevishly; "I won't +have a housekeeper at all, with their forty-guinea wages—they are as +bad as any of them—Marryott understood my ways—"</p> + +<p>"And your coffers too, Sir," added Eugene, with a scornful laugh. "A +pretty hoard she had at the bank. I am sorry she made no will; I, as her +foster-son, might have been the better for it; but as it is, it belongs +to her husband, if he is yet alive."</p> + +<p>"What's the use of telling me all this <i>now</i>," whimpered the father, +"when you let her go on doing it without giving me a hint?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear Sir, she saved it for you in other ways! 'Set a thief to +catch a thief,' you know, at any rate she let no one rob you but +herself, which, as so very old and faithful a servant, of course she +considered herself privileged to do; but set your mind at ease," he +continued more soothingly, as the old man writhed upon his bed, groaning +in agony of spirit, "I'll make it my business to find some honest, +decent woman, who at least will not be able to claim the privilege of +common property on the above-mentioned score."</p> + +<p>"But how can you be sure of her being decent and honest?" still +persisted Mr. Trevor; "there's not one amongst the race, I believe, that +is so. I'll have nothing to do with any of them. I will tell you what, +Eugene," and the old man's eyes gleamed at the sudden suggestion, "the +only thing that's to be done—why don't you get a wife, and bring her to +live here, and keep the house?"</p> + +<p>Eugene Trevor's brow darkened.</p> + +<p>"A bright idea, Sir," he responded, ironically.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," continued the old man; "what are you thinking of, Eugene, +that you don't marry? you're getting on in life; I was married before I +was as old by half. What's to become of the family and fortune—if +there's any left of it—if you don't marry?"</p> + +<p>His son's eye brightened.</p> + +<p>"And by the bye, now I think of it," the father continued, craftily, +"what became of that pretty young lady you brought here with Olivia, to +that grand luncheon some time ago? I liked her—her voice was soft and +gentle, and her manners sensible and quiet. She was something like your +mother, Eugene, when I married her; now why could she not do for you?"</p> + +<p>"You remember, Sir, that when I did propose making her my wife, it did +not meet with your unqualified approbation," replied his son, evasively.</p> + +<p>"Oh, didn't it! but that was long ago—then Marryott was here to look +after things, and she, I suppose, didn't like it; but now couldn't you +look her out again—she isn't gone, is she—you have not lost her?"</p> + +<p>Eugene set his teeth hard together and did not immediately reply; but +then he said, fixing his eyes on the old man's face, and speaking in +tones of affected carelessness:</p> + +<p>"After all, I do not see how <i>my</i> marriage can be an affair of such +<i>great</i> consequence, for you know, Sir, there is Eustace."</p> + +<p>The old man's face convulsed terribly—that name had not for many years +past been uttered by Eugene or any one in his presence.</p> + +<p>"Eustace," he murmured tremblingly, "and what has it to do with +Eustace—isn't he mad, or dead, or something?"</p> + +<p>"He is not dead, certainly, Sir; and mad or not, he might be coming back +any day, to put in claims which would not make my marriage so very +desirable or expedient a business."</p> + +<p>Mr. Trevor looked fearfully around him.</p> + +<p>"But, Eugene," he gasped in a low, breathless whisper, "he's not +near—he's not likely to come and threaten me. You must keep the doors +fastened—you must keep him locked out."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear father!" his son responded, "there's no such immediate +danger as all that; he's far enough off, and not likely to trouble you: +only I mean, if—if anything were to happen—then—then, of course, he +would be here to look after his own interests; for he's on the watch +for your death, I have been told on good authority, and therefore of +course you know it would not do for <i>me</i> to run any risk—to marry for +instance—unless I can see my way a little more plainly before me."</p> + +<p>The old man became livid with rage; all his ancient hatred against his +son seemed to revive at the suggestion thus insinuated against him.</p> + +<p>"To watch for my death! and what then will that do for him—the +bedlamite? Eugene! Eugene!" grasping his arm, "never fear him—go and +get married—bring your wife here to look after the house, and I'll live +another half century to spite him, and then see who'll have it all. +We've got a will, Eugene, haven't we?" chuckling and rubbing his hands +exultingly.</p> + +<p>"There was one made certainly, and a deed giving me the guardianship +over the entailed estates in case of your death, under plea of Eustace's +incompetency. But if you remember, you would not have a duplicate made +of it. I hope you have it safe."</p> + +<p>"I'll look it out, Eugene," Mr. Trevor continued as if effectually +aroused by the new friction his old heart had received. "I have it safe +enough. I'll get up immediately—no, not to-day, but to-morrow. I'll +make a day of it, and put all things right."</p> + +<p>"Very well, my dear Sir; keep yourself quiet for to-day. My man is here, +you can trust in him should you want anything. I'm going to ride for an +hour or two."</p> + +<p>"Eh—to ride—where? I can't be left," the old man whispered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear Sir, William will take as good care of you as myself. I'm +really expiring for want of fresh air, and exercise. I'm going to ride +over to Silverton on a little business—to make inquiries you know about +my wife," he added, looking back with a laugh as he left the room.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">Oh! it is darkness to lose love, however<br /></span> +<span class="i12">We little prized the fond heart—fond no more!<br /></span> +<span class="i12">The bird, dark-winged on earth, looks white in air!<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Unrecognised are angels till they soar!<br /></span> +<span class="i12">And few so rich they may not well beware<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Of lightly losing the heart's golden ore!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">WILLIS.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Eugene Trevor accordingly mounted his beautiful horse, all fierce and +fiery for the want of exercise, and rode fast to Silverton without +scarcely once slackening his steed's pace. Just as he approached the +mansion, he raised his eyes to a chamber window above. Strange to say, +he never drew near the house without being moved with a pang smiting at +his heart, fraught with more or less of regretful recollections; for he +could not but remember whose gentle eyes had so often watched for him +there.</p> + +<p>But to-day, a darker and more determined spirit spoke in the upward +"flash of that dilating eye," as his horse's hoofs clattered over the +stony approach.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh only, he heard to his satisfaction was at home, and she +was confined to her dressing-room with a sprained ankle, but no doubt +would see Mr. Trevor—a supposition in which the servant was quite +correct.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh was only too delighted to have the tediousness of her +confinement thus broken in upon, particularly as she was hoping to hear +all about Marryott's death, and the strange circumstances connected with +the forged notes of which only vague and contradictory reports had +reached her ear.</p> + +<p>Having, therefore, first accounted for her accident, and giving vent to +some complaining strictures on Louis's unfeeling conduct in leaving her +alone; whilst he went visiting and amusing himself in Scotland, making +it indeed appear an act very unconjugal and unkind, till it came out +that Mr. de Burgh's departure had taken place before her accident; and +that she had in her fretful pique never written to inform her husband +of what had occurred.</p> + +<p>After this the fair lady began to question her cousin concerning the +late events at Montrevor, and Eugene Trevor to satisfy her curiosity as +far, and in the manner he deemed most expedient.</p> + +<p>"So you see, Olivia," he added, "altogether I have had a pretty time of +it lately, what with one thing and another, and have been terribly put +out."</p> + +<p>"Well, I thought there was something the matter, as you had quite +deserted Silverton."</p> + +<p>"Plenty the matter; but there was one subject I came on purpose to speak +to you about to-day; you were always my friend in need, Olivia, and I +want to consult you—I mean about Mary Seaham."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed!" replied the lady, with a suppressed yawn, and a tone in +which the words "that weary old subject" seemed expressed; for there is +nothing which in the end so much wears out the sympathy and interest of +one's friends, however much excited they may have been in the beginning, +as a protracted love affair.</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed! have you seen or heard anything of her lately?" Mrs. de +Burgh then inquired with assumed interest.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I saw her at —— after the trial, at which, you know, I had to +appear. She was there with her brother, who was retained for the +prisoner."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, how did she look? is she much altered, poor girl?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he answered gloomily; "she looked pale; but then, our +interview was of no very pleasing nature, and.... But I have heard from +her since then," he added, in the same tone, without concluding the +former sentence; "she writes to break off the engagement."</p> + +<p>"Well, Eugene, you can scarcely wonder; you must own, you have tried her +patience to the very uttermost," his cousin answered, smiling +reproachfully; "but it is just the way with you men," she continued, as +she scanned more closely the working of Eugene's countenance, "you would +keep us waiting till doomsday to serve your own convenience, without one +scruple of concern; but if we begin to show any disposition to be off, +then you are, forsooth, the injured and aggrieved; well, however, is it +not as well? What profit or pleasure can such an engagement be to you, +who year after year seem no nearer the end than at the beginning? and as +for your father, I believe he's 'the never-dying one.'"</p> + +<p>"But, Olivia, matters have lately taken a different aspect," her cousin +muttered, gloomily, "my father is urging me to marry, and would do +anything to further it. I would marry her to-morrow, if it could only be +managed."</p> + +<p>"Well, why not tell her so. I suppose it was only the apparent +hopelessness of the case which induced her to give you up—tell her at +once."</p> + +<p>"I did tell her when I saw her last—more, I pressed an immediate +marriage urgently upon her; but," with a bitter laugh, "the idea has +become so repugnant to her feelings, that she absolutely fainted with +horror and aversion."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Eugene, from joy most likely."</p> + +<p>"Joy, indeed—and that letter she wrote after. Oh, no! she has taken it +into her head that I am a villain, and—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh laughed.</p> + +<p>"A villain," she repeated, "not quite so bad as that I hope, though not +very good I am afraid. A villain! no, we must manage to get that idea at +least out of the young lady's head."</p> + +<p>"But how?" Eugene asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, really, I don't know; let me see—I will write to her—though +letters are not worth much. I wish, indeed, I could get her here away +from her relations, who are all such terribly good people."</p> + +<p>Eugene Trevor drew his chair eagerly forward.</p> + +<p>"What here, do you really mean it—do you think it possible—that there +would be any chance of her consenting to come?"</p> + +<p>"I do not see why it should be impossible—at any rate we can try, and I +flatter myself I am not a little clever about these sort of things. Oh, +depend upon it, poor girl, she will only be too glad to be persuaded +into loving you again. But then, Eugene, I must be sure that you really +are in earnest—that the affair will be really brought to a decided +issue, before I move again in the business. I burnt my fingers too +severely with it before, and brought upon myself quite sufficient odium. +What does Mary say in her letter? I must be quite <i>au fait</i> in the +business, you know, and understand what I am about."</p> + +<p>"You shall know everything," said Eugene, approaching nearer, and +subduing his tone to a confidential whisper. "It is a more complicated +matter than you suppose. There is one very serious point to be dealt +with: you will be surprised when you hear that it relates to my unlucky +brother."</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh started, and looked a little uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"First of all," he added in still lower tones; "but," pausing suddenly, +"will you be so good as to tell that young gentleman not to stare me out +of countenance," alluding to his cousin's eldest boy, a delicate and +serious-looking child, who sat on his mother's sofa, his intelligent +eyes with earnest scrutiny rivetted upon Eugene's countenance, as he sat +there with bent brow, and dark look of brooding care.</p> + +<p>"Don't be rude, Charlie; go to the nursery," said his mother, half +angry, half amused. "Why do you stare at cousin Eugene? do you not think +he is very handsome?"</p> + +<p>The boy coloured, but rising slowly, as if to escape an answer to the +question, murmured evasively:</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'll go up stairs, and look at my pictures about the dark-looking +Cain thinking about his brother Abel."</p> + +<p>"The strange child," said Mrs. de Burgh, with a little awkward laugh, +for she knew the picture to which the child alluded, and was +irresistibly struck by the similitude which it seems had suggested the +comparison. A dark flush at the same time suffused the temples of her +companion; but it had soon passed away. After a momentary pause, drawing +near Mrs. de Burgh, and placing his chair a little behind her couch, +with eyes bent still on the ground, Eugene resumed the subject thus +interrupted. He spoke to her of his brother.</p> + +<p>We will not detail the conversation, or how much, or in what manner he +revealed or confided of that momentous theme. We must not compromise +Mrs. de Burgh by supposing it possible she would have made herself privy +to any known questionable transaction; suffice it to say, that it was +dusk before Eugene Trevor rose to leave her, and that then the cousins +parted most amicably.</p> + +<p>Eugene promised to ride over very soon again; and when he had gone, Mrs. +de Burgh after lying still meditating for a short time, aroused herself +with the philosophical observation that this was a strange world—rang +the bell for lights, which being brought, and her writing materials laid +before her, she wrote as follows:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"My dearest Mary,</p> + +<p>"Eugene Trevor has just been here, wretched beyond description, to +tell me you have broken off your engagement with him just as +matters were beginning to take a favourable turn, and he could +marry you to-morrow. I tell him he deserves this for having taxed +your patience so long; but that, as you may imagine, gives him +little comfort. But, Mary dear, I cannot believe you so very +hard-hearted as to place so final an extinguisher on his hopes.</p> + +<p>"He tells me you have listened to reports about him; one scandalous +story in particular he mentioned, about his strange and unfortunate +brother, in behalf of whom, some romantic adventures in Wales and +abroad, gave you an interest unduly awarded. I say unduly—because, +however fine and noble a creature Eustace Trevor may be by nature, +it is not right that you should be unfaithful and unjust to Eugene +through his cause. However, this is an affair which we cannot +rightly dispose of in a letter; in one conversation I could put +everything before you, dear, as clear as day.</p> + +<p>"My dear Mary, come to Silverton; you owe it to Eugene—you owe it +to yourself—you owe it to me, who first made you known to my +cousin, not to refuse this request. I do not know where to direct +this letter, I only know that you are somewhere in Wales, so send +it to Plas Glyn, from whence it is certain to be forwarded to you. +When I also tell you I am confined to my sofa by a terrible sprain +which will keep me a prisoner, Heaven knows how long, you will +suspect perhaps a little selfish feeling is mixed up with my +solicitude for your visit; but no, indeed, I am too seriously +anxious for your own happiness and Eugene's to have any such minor +considerations, though a pleasure only too great would it be to me +to have my dear Mary with me again.</p> + +<p>"Louis will be at home by the time you arrive. I need not say how +glad he will be to see you. Eugene shall not come here at all, if +you do not like it—he need not even know of your arrival; he +seldom comes to Silverton now. Alas, poor fellow! the recollections +this place awakens can be but painful to him under present +circumstances.</p> + +<p>"Mary, Eugene may have some faults, but still I maintain that you +might have made him what you wished, and that love so tried as his +ought not to be thrown away, as you are about to do. Not many men, +after being exposed to the temptations to which Eugene has been +subjected, would still, after four years' almost constant +separation, be so very urgent in the cause of marriage. But, dear +Mary, even setting aside all this, what have you better to do than +to come here with your faithful servant? You surely do not mean +quite to desert Silverton and your cousins. I want you to see my +children; the youngest is such a fine creature. I shall look +forward to your answer with the greatest anxiety; you do not know +how much may depend on acceding to the request of</p> + +<p class="right">"Your affectionate <br /> + +"<span class="smcap">Olivia</span>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>And this was the letter Mary at last received, after having, day after +day, waited in sick and solitary suspense for any answer which she might +have received from Eugene Trevor—solitary, for though her brother, as +speedily as his professional engagements would permit, had followed her, +a summons from Judge Elliott had quickly succeeded, offering the young +man some very responsible legal appointment, which required his +immediate presence in London. Of course there could be no question of +demur. Mary urged her brother's immediate departure, over-ruling any +scruples on his part at leaving her alone, and his earnest desire that +at least she should accompany him to town.</p> + +<p>No, she persuaded him that she should rather like the rest and quiet of +the place in her present state of feeling; "besides, dear Arthur," she +said with a melancholy smile, "it is necessary that I should begin to +learn to accustom myself to a solitary life."</p> + +<p>"I do not at all see that, Mary," Arthur answered almost angrily—"why +your's should ever be solitary."</p> + +<p>"No indeed," was the affectionate reply; "I know that can never be, with +such a brother, and," with a playful smile, "such a sister as I hope +soon to have."</p> + +<p>"Mary, you have become very anxious to dispose of your brother."</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly I am, to such advantage;" then with gaiety which shot a +ray of gladsome pleasure from the young man's bright eyes, she added: +"besides, I am as much in love with Carrie as yourself; and she and I +are sure to get on well together."</p> + +<p>So Mary was left alone, supposed at least to be calmly happy, when alas, +poor girl! to such a desirable condition she was as yet very far from +having arrived. No, there was as yet too much of suspense and +uncertainty still gnawing within her soul.</p> + +<p>It is not all at once, without a struggle, and one backward longing +look, that we can resign ourselves to the certainty that the hope and +trust on which we had flung our all, has proved a lie. There were two +letters yet to come ere she could let the black curtain fall over the +past for ever.</p> + +<p>Alone too, with a dreamy impression stealing over her, that whatever her +brother's affection might maintain, this loneliness was a foretaste of +her future life. And then the bitter sigh and yearning void, as the +thought flew back to visions all too brightly wrought, now for ever +flown.</p> + +<p>Her faithful servant, who marked her dear young lady's spirits sink +lower and lower every day, sighed too over her disappointed +expectations, for she thought "it would have been better for Miss Mary +to have married Mr. Trevor—even if he were somewhat of a wild +gentleman, as they said he was: she is so like an angel that she could +tame a lion. So good and tender a heart as hers, was never made to live +alone with no one to love her, and to love—and my heart misgives me," +added the affectionate servant. "She will never get over the affair. And +Mr. Arthur too, he is getting too great a man to have much time to give +to her—and there's his heart too, quite gone they say after Miss +Elliott, who is as much taken with him I fancy; and after all he is but +a brother, and the best of them are not so sure and comfortable like as +a husband. But after all," the good woman continued to soliloquize, "a +bad character will not certainly do for my young lady, and there's +something wrong in the Trevors they say. Who would have thought it, and +my Miss Mary loving Mr. Eugene as she did; but she is so good and +innocent-hearted herself! At any rate, she must not stay moping here +much longer. I can see she's getting quite low and nervous."</p> + +<p>These were good Mrs. Hughes' thoughts and reflections on the subject, +and it was no inconsiderable satisfaction to her mind, when Mary came to +her one morning with a letter in her hand, informing her, that she had +received an invitation from Silverton, which she intended to accept, and +begged her to prepare without delay for the journey; after which Mary +sat down and wrote to Mrs. de Burgh, and also the following announcement +to her brother:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Dearest Arthur,</p> + +<p>"You will be surprised—perhaps not well pleased—to hear that I am +going to set off to-morrow for Silverton. I have had a pressing +letter from Olivia de Burgh; and there are many things that I must +have explained by Louis and herself, before I feel that I can with +a mind contented and at ease settle down (I do not speak +ironically, but with the calm assurance that there will be much of +blessedness in store for me) in that estate—a life of single +blessedness—which now lies before me.</p> + +<p>"Do not then suspect me of weak and wavering motives in the step I +am going to take. Believe me when I say, that it is not my +intention even to see Eugene. Olivia has promised that I should not +meet him unless I desire it; and what could our meeting cause, but +pain and discomfort to us both? No, I can no longer fight against +the conviction which time and my more experienced perception has +forced upon me, that Eugene Trevor is not what my blind affection +so long firmly believed him.</p> + +<p>"God knows my love was not of an evanescent nature; and +irresistible indeed must be the causes which have so undermined it. +But still my heart shrinks from doing an act of injustice, by +condemning him more than he deserves; and there is one horrible +suspicion with which my mind has been distracted, my heart can +never rest till it has been more clearly enlightened.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Arthur! it is a dark and terrible story, I cannot enter upon +it now. Suffice it that, if true, it must cast a shadow on my +latest hour of existence. If you knew how it has—how it still +preys upon my imagination, even till I sometimes fear the +bewildering influence it may produce upon my senses, you would not +now blame the impulse which leads me to prefer even the risk of +obtaining this fearful certainty—rather than continue groping in +darkness—for to such I may compare the condition under which I +have for some time laboured. But Olivia has promised that my mind +shall be relieved, and Louis, I know, will tell me the truth. May +God give me strength and fortitude to bear it.</p> + +<p>"I shall not wish to remain at Silverton longer than is absolutely +necessary; if therefore your business will permit you to join me +there, I can travel with you back into Wales where the Morgans will +by that time have returned, and I can stay with them as they wish, +till our plans and prospects, dear Arthur, are more finally +arranged."</p></blockquote> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i18">Thou, my once loved, valued friend!<br /></span> +<span class="i12">By Heavens thou liest; the man so called my friend<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Was generous, honest, faithful, just, and valiant:<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Noble in mind, and in his person lovely;<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Dear to my eyes, and tender to my heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i12">But thou, a wretched, base, false, worthless coward.<br /></span> +<span class="i12"> * * * * *<br /></span> +<span class="i12">All eyes must shun thee, and all hearts detest thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Pr'thee avoid, no longer cling thou round me,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Like something baneful, that my nature's chilled at.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">VENICE PRESERVED.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>It was as may be supposed, a trying ordeal for poor Mary, her arrival at +Silverton. The circumstances attendant on her last arrival, then +hopeful, trustful, happy; for what appeared the light fears and +imaginary evils which then oppressed her, contrasted with her feelings +and circumstances now? The thousand recollections the sight of the place +recalled, everything, caused her heart to sink and sicken within her.</p> + +<p>With trembling limbs she alighted from the carriage, and in answer to +her inquiries for Mrs. de Burgh, was ushered by the servant into the +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>A gentleman stood leaning his elbow against the marble mantle-piece. The +door closed upon her, and she found herself alone with Eugene Trevor. +Surprise, distress, displeasure, were alternately displayed on Mary's +countenance; and withdrawing the hand which, having hurried forward to +meet her, he had seized passionately in his own, she faltered forth in +accents choked by indignant emotion:</p> + +<p>"I did not expect this; Olivia promised—or I should never have come."</p> + +<p>"It was not Olivia's fault, the blame is entirely mine, Mary. But, ... +is it really come to this? can you look around; can you remember all +that passed between us in this room; nay, what happened on this very +spot—here where our vows of love were plighted?"</p> + +<p>"I do remember," she replied in accents low and mournful, and leaning in +trembling agitation against the very chair on which on that occasion +she had been seated.</p> + +<p>"Then surely your heart cannot harden itself against me—cannot doom me +to misery."</p> + +<p>"My letter," Mary faintly murmured, gently but firmly repulsing the +effort he made again to take her hand.</p> + +<p>"Oh! that abominable story, cooked up against me, which you are so ready +to believe—Olivia will explain...."</p> + +<p>"God grant it!" she murmured, turning her eyes lighted with a brightened +expression on his face; but oh! for one calm, clear, truthful glance in +return.</p> + +<p>Again painfully she averted her head, and saying faintly:</p> + +<p>"I will go to Olivia," moved slowly towards the door. Eugene did not +attempt to stay her departure, only darkly eyeing her retreating +footsteps, he suffered her to leave the room without stirring from the +spot whereon he stood.</p> + +<p>Slowly and heavily she ascended the familiar staircase to Mrs. de +Burgh's dressing-room. Her cousin, still lying on the sofa, started with +affected surprise at her appearance, and stretched out her arms to +receive her.</p> + +<p>Pale, cold, and silent Mary suffered the embrace, then sinking on a +seat, covered her face with her hands, sobbing forth:</p> + +<p>"Olivia, this was cruel; this was unkind—untrue; I came here trusting +to your word. Where is Louis? he surely would not think this right, +would not have allowed me to be drawn into such a distressing position."</p> + +<p>"My darling Mary, what do you mean? You have not fallen in with Eugene, +I hope? Well, that is too bad of him; and he promised so faithfully that +he would leave an hour ago. One of the children let out that you were +coming, and you know there is no managing lovers in a case like this; +the poor fellow is half mad with wretchedness on your account. However, +go he shall, dear, if you wish it—pray make yourself easy on that +point. You must have some tea; you are exhausted after your journey; and +then we shall be able to talk comfortably together. No one shall +interrupt us. Louis has not come home yet, but I expect him every +moment; he will be so charmed to see you."</p> + +<p>Thus Mrs. de Burgh hurried on with affectionate alacrity, without giving +Mary time to renew her reproaches or complaints, but by the tears which +from her overcharged heart the poor girl still silently continued to +shed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh did not mind those tears; she rather considered them a +favourable sign. Had Mary appeared before her after the meeting into +which she well knew she had been surprised—cold, calm, stern, silently +upbraiding, she would have feared then for the success of the cause in +which she was engaged.</p> + +<p>But judging from herself, tears in her sex's eyes were marks of +conscious weakness, and the melting mood of feeling rather than of any +firmness or serious effect upon the mind; therefore with secret +complacency she watched and awaited the close of her gentle cousin's +agitated paroxysm of emotion. Then she had strong tea brought, of which +she insisted upon her drinking, overwhelming Mary with care and +tenderness, in the meantime sending for the children to stay a few +moments to divert her thoughts, and restore her by their innocent +presence to a more natural state of thought and feeling. Then, after +partaking herself of some dinner, which Mary declined to share, she saw +her guest ensconced in a comfortable arm-chair by the fire, looking very +pale, it was true, and eyes bright only from nervous excitement, but +her feelings apparently tranquillised and soothed; then struck bravely +forth upon the anxious theme.</p> + +<p>With tact, skill, and eloquence which would have graced a better cause, +Mrs. de Burgh pleaded in her favourite's behalf—favouritism, alas! we +fear drawing its source from principles doing little honour to the +object of her partiality, and justifying still less the restless zeal +with which she strove to forward a cause, in which the fate of a good +and innocent being was so closely implicated.</p> + +<p>But though "her tongue dropped manna and could make the worst appear the +better reason," the time was past when the willing ear of the auditor +could be thus beguiled. She had no longer to deal with the too credulous +and easy-to-be-persuaded Mary of other days, but one with eyes too +tremblingly awake, and ears too powerfully quickened, to the discernment +of falsity from the truth.</p> + +<p>Each specious statement rang false and hollow on her unpersuaded mind, +touching not one atom of that weight of inward conviction which, alas! +had been too firmly rooted there, for aught but the touch of genuine +truth to undermine; and when, with her face buried in her hands, she +listened with suspended respiration to the story of the brother's +madness, which flowed so glibly from those eager, fluent lips, little +Mrs. de Burgh deemed now every word thus uttered served but more +forcibly to confirm the fearful impression which the simple-motived Jane +had made upon her listener's mind.</p> + +<p>"And then poor man," Mrs. de Burgh, continued, "after frightening the +old man out of his wits by his violence, he fled from the house and hid +himself no one knew where. Poor Eugene's anxiety on his behalf was +extreme; but of course, as he supposed him to have gone abroad, all +researches were taken on the wrong track. There is no one to vouch for +the condition of his mind during that interval—when he came to your +part of the world it seems that he had pretty well recovered."</p> + +<p>Thus had Mrs. de Burgh concluded her plausible relation, pausing not a +little, anxious for the effect produced upon her ominously silent +auditor. Mary then lifted up her eyes, and with an expression upon her +face, the fair Olivia did not know exactly how to understand, replied:</p> + +<p>"Yes, he came to us, appearing like some being of a higher sphere, and +in accordance with Mr. Wynne's earnest persuasion (Mr. Wynne, a man +whose keen and sensitive discernment it would have been difficult to +deceive) settled down amongst us at once—unmistakably endued with every +attribute which bespeaks the spirit of wisdom and a sound mind. He had +spent the winter at ——, and often spoke of the solitary life he led +whilst at that wild spot. Since that time we have frequently visited the +Lake; and very far seemed the idea of madness to have entered the minds +of the poor simple people of the place, in connection with that 'great +and noble gentleman,' as they called him, who, to their pride and +profit, had taken up his abode amongst them for a time. Then he went to +----, and there he was taken very ill at the inn. The landlady and the +doctor, who are both familiar to us, never had but one simple idea +respecting the nature of his malady. He came to us with the signs of +past suffering stamped too plainly on his countenance—suffering which, +in such a man, appeared but to exalt and sanctify the sufferer in the +eyes of those who beheld him.</p> + +<p>"But all this would bear little on the point, were it not for the surer +testimony which not myself only, but the many who for five years lived +in daily witness of the calm excellency of his life and conduct—the +undoubted strength and clearness of his mind and understanding are able +to produce. Tell the poorest and most ignorant of the little flock, +amongst whom Mr. Eustace Trevor (their beloved Mr. Temple) so familiarly +endeared himself, that he—who even, though interchange of language was +scarcely permitted between them, they had learned to venerate as some +almost supernatural being—that <i>his</i> mind had been ever overthrown by +an infirmity which had banished him from society, from his friends; and +they would laugh to scorn the imputation, and say 'that the world rather +must be mad, that imagined such an absurdity against him.'"</p> + +<p>Slowly and painfully, as if each word was drawn from her by the +irresistible conviction of her secret soul, to which some inward power +compelled her to give utterance, Mary offered these assertions. Mrs. de +Burgh's countenance when she concluded showed signs of uneasiness, but +she only said with some bitterness of tone:</p> + +<p>"Those people must indeed be rather uninformed, who are not aware that +it is more frequently the strongest and the wisest minds who are most +liable to that most deceptive of all maladies; but really, my dear +Mary," she continued with increased asperity, "it seems to me a great +pity that you did not sooner appreciate the extraordinary perfections of +which you speak with such enthusiasm—both you and poor Eugene might +then have been spared all the trouble your mutual attachment has thus +unfortunately occasioned—though, of course, this is only according to +your own view of the case, for it would enter into few people's heads to +believe it probable that poor Eustace Trevor could ever marry."</p> + +<p>The blood flowed with painful intensity over Mary's face and brow, and a +spark of almost fire shot from her usually mild eyes. But from whatever +cause the strong emotion proceeded, whether impatient indignation at +such unjust and cruel persistance on her cousin's part, or any other +feeling, its unwonted force, though momentary, seemed entirely to +over-power her self-possession, for though her lips moved, she found no +words to reply, but drooped her head in silent confusion before her +cousin.</p> + +<p>So Mrs. de Burgh continued:</p> + +<p>"You, Mary, would have been the last I thought to put such a +construction on an affair of this sort. You cannot know the +circumstances of the case, and the difficult position in which Eugene +might have been placed. That a most violent hatred between him and his +father always existed is well known. That Eustace Trevor's feelings in +this respect (feelings which it is to be confessed were not without some +foundation) after his mother's death amounted to frenzy, as it is easy +with his excitable disposition to believe. His violence must indeed have +been extreme, for I know from good authority, that it has been +impossible ever since to mention his eldest son's name in Uncle Trevor's +presence, without sending the old man almost into convulsions. For peace +and grief's sake alone, Eugene might have found it necessary to have his +brother removed from the house, especially when sanctioned, as of course +the action must have been, by medical certificates; at any rate, it is +only charitable to suppose error—rather than malice deliberate and +propense—to have been the origin of the proceeding."</p> + +<p>Mary's eyes were by this time lifted up in anxious attention.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," she murmured, with clasped hands and agitated fervour; +"convince me it were <i>error</i>, and I should be thankful—oh, how thankful +to cherish the idea; but vain, vain will be the endeavour to reason me +into the persuasion that anything short of the most generous +misconception could have justified any such proceeding with regard to +Eustace Trevor, as the cruel course which was pursued against him; and +oh, Olivia, I wonder at you—a woman—advocating such a cause."</p> + +<p>Then pressing her hand wearily across her brow, as if she felt the +overpowering influence of the dark bewildering theme which had taken +such painful hold of her imagination.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh lay back upon her sofa, and was silent. She felt herself +getting into deeper waters than she had power or ability to struggle +with. She had been persuaded to use all her rhetoric, into arguing a +serious but gentle-minded girl into marrying a man, towards whom time +and experience had much shaken her estimation.</p> + +<p>To sift so particularly a matter, the wrongs and rights of which she +had, like the world in general, been contented to take for so many years +on credit, she was not prepared; and Mary's rebuke chafed her spirit, +and changed in a manner the current of her thoughts.</p> + +<p>"How very disagreeable it would be for Eugene, if his brother should +ever come forward, claiming rights, of which he had been dispossessed by +his brother, under false pretences—" and the fair lady was beginning, +for the first time, seriously to agitate her mind with these +reflections, when the door softly opened, and Eugene Trevor himself made +his appearance.</p> + +<p>One uneasy glance directed towards Mary, as if to see how she would take +the intrusion; a slight movement of her shoulders, as she met the look +of anxious inquiry which Eugene Trevor fixed upon her, seeming to +express: "I have done my best—you must now try for yourself—" and Mrs. +de Burgh took up her work and applied herself to it assiduously. Eugene +Trevor said something not very coherent about his horse not being ready +and seated himself a little behind Mary's chair, who had seemed more by +feeling than by sight to be aware of her lover's entrance; for she had +not lifted up her downcast eyes, fixed so drearily on the fire. And now +only a scarce perceptible shudder and more rigid immovability seemed to +announce the knowledge of his proximity.</p> + +<p>"Mary is very tired," observed Mrs. de Burgh, glancing up from her work.</p> + +<p>Eugene bent gently forward, and looked with earnest solicitude into +Mary's face. He did not speak, but volumes could not have expressed more +than the silent concentrated fervour of those dark, passionate eyes.</p> + +<p>It was impossible not to feel in some degree their power, though the +influence which had enthralled her soul in other days, was gone; or +remained, to use that most hackneyed of all similes, only as the power +of the repellant rattlesnake.</p> + +<p>Painfully she turned away her head, whilst the hand of which Eugene +gently had managed to possess himself, struggled to free itself from his +hold. Probably, Mrs. de Burgh conceived, from all appearance, that this +was the momentous crisis which it was her duty to make another effort +to assist.</p> + +<p>She had a little piano-forte in her dressing-room, removed there to +while away the hours of her confinement to its precincts; and she +contrived, without disturbing her companions, to wheel her light sofa in +the right direction. She then arranged herself in a moment before the +instrument, and saying, playfully, "Mary, my dear, you shall have some +of your favourite songs to cheer you up a little," she struck the +chords, and without waiting for further encouragement or reply, began to +sing—perhaps by accident, but more probably by design—her choice +falling upon those plaintive songs and ballads with which she delighted +Mary that first evening, more than four years ago, of her last visit to +Silverton. That night on which her fair hostess was always pleased to +consider the magic of her own sweet singing had in no slight degree +contributed to weave the fatal spell, whose broken charm it was now so +much her object to renew. What better could she do for Eugene's +interest, than try this method of enchantment once again?</p> + +<p>And could Mary listen, and her susceptible soul not be touched by the +memories and associations which must be naturally awakened? Could she +sit by Eugene's side, and not be carried back in softened fancy to the +time—that time to use the impassioned language of the poet—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When full of blissful sighs<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> They sat and gazed into each other's eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Silent and happy, as if God had given<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Nought else worth looking on this side of heaven."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Alas! for the spell so irremediably broken, that not even this sweet and +subtlest of all human influences can restore.</p> + +<p>Mary's soul was stirred indeed within her, but it was with very +different emotions than those which were intended to be produced; above +all was her heart swelling within her, with wounded, more than indignant +feelings, against the pretended friend who had thus made her the +unsuspected victim of an unworthy plot.</p> + +<p>Therefore the soft music rather seemed to irritate, than to soothe her +jarred and shaken nerves—the words of thrilling pathos, which the +strain for the most part conveyed, to sound in mocking accents on her +ear.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The sunshine of my life is in those eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> And when thou leav'st me, all is dark within."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>What to her could such words be, but mockery; when now, alone "the image +of a wicked, heinous fault lived in the eye," which once, indeed, had +seemed too powerfully to absorb the whole sunshine of her life.</p> + +<p>But still she sat there, pale, spiritless, and subdued, as if some spell +still bound her, she had not energy to break, however unwillingly she +yielded herself to its sway. Sat—till from silent looks, it seemed that +Eugene, perhaps encouraged by her passive conduct, began again to urge +in low and pleading tones his anxious suit, his father's earnest wishes +on the subject—his own broken-hearted despair. Then, it seems, her +passive trance had given way, for very soon after, when Mrs. de Burgh, +warned by the sound of Eugene's voice, that matters were taking a more +decisive and particular character, had begun to strike the chords with +considerately proportioned force, she was startled by hearing Mary's low +voice close behind her, announcing, in accents tremulous with agitation, +her intention of immediately retiring to bed.</p> + +<p>The sweet sounds were abruptly suspended; the performer looking up, +said, with cheerful <i>insouciance</i> which she did not exactly feel, for +she was rather disappointed at this ominous sign of the destruction of +her hopes that affairs were taking a more favourable turn:</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear Mary, certainly, you shall go directly. I forgot that you had +had so fatiguing a journey."</p> + +<p>Then glanced uneasily round to see how it went with the other party +concerned.</p> + +<p>Eugene Trevor had approached the window, and having, with impetuous +hand, drawn aside the curtain, threw open the shutter, and looked out, +as if to ascertain the aspect of the night.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, dark as pitch," he murmured moodily; then looking back, cried +with a kind of reckless laugh, "Olivia you must keep me here to-night, I +think, if you have the least regard for my neck."</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh glanced towards the window.</p> + +<p>"Is it so very dark?" she asked, evasively.</p> + +<p>"Dark—not a star to be seen—but—what in the name of fortune, is that +strange sudden light yonder?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh again glanced towards the window, but from the position of +her seat could not gain sight of anything but the thick impenetrable +darkness. Mary, however, standing with the candle she had taken up in +her trembling hand, mechanically turned her eyes in the direction +indicated. They were, indeed, immediately attracted by a red glare, +which, rendered more conspicuous by the surrounding blackness, +illuminated the distant sky opposite, just across the twelve miles of +flat country separating Silverton from that wooded rise, which had so +often rivetted her interested gaze, as marking the neighbouring site of +Montrevor.</p> + +<p>But it must have been a meteorical appearance which had produced the +transitory effect, for even as she gazed it seemed to have faded from +her sight—or rather, she observed it no more—saw nothing but the dark +eye of Eugene Trevor flashing upon her with a lurid glaze, which in the +troubled confusion of her ideas seemed in some way confounded with this +late aspect of the sky.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Sullenly fierce, a mixture dire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Like thunder clouds, half gloom, half fire."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She turned away, lighting her candle with unsteady hand.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Olivia," she said gravely.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh held out her hand.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Mary. I hope you will sleep well, and be better to-morrow."</p> + +<p>By a faint, cold smile, Mary alone acknowledged the kindness of the +desire. She was turning silently away, but something seemed to come over +her spirit—a chill—a pang—a sinking at the heart—such as those must +feel who, be the circumstances what they may, have torn thus away the +last link of that broken chain which once, alas! so fondly bound them.</p> + +<p>She paused, her softened glance directed towards Eugene. There was no +relenting, no wavering in the glance, nothing but a mournful interest, +sorrowful regret, offered up as it were, as a final tribute to the past.</p> + +<p>But it seemed not that Trevor was in a condition of mind to enter into +the spirit of this silent adieu. Throwing himself back upon a chair, +without appearing to notice it, and addressing himself to Mrs. de Burgh, +he exclaimed in a tone of almost insolent defiance:</p> + +<p>"Olivia, I must trouble you to order me a bed also. I shall not turn out +this dark night for any one."</p> + +<p>It was not so much the words, but the tone in which they were spoken, +which seemed to complete the work of disenchantment. The softness passed +from Mary's eyes, and her parting look, though still sorrowful, was +grave and firm, whilst in a voice, low, but full of dignified reserve, +she uttered the words "Good bye."</p> + +<p>Simple as was their emphasis, they were not to be mistaken. They seemed +to say "Good bye, Eugene, for whether you stay to-night, or go, you and +I meet not again." And then she slowly left the room.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">Suddenly rose from the South a light, as in autumn the blood red<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Moon climbs the crystal walls of Heaven, and o'er the horizon,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Titan-like, stretches its hundred hands upon mountains and meadow,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge shadows together.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">LONGFELLOW.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i12">Why flames the far summit? why shoot to the blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?<br /></span> +<span class="i12">'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven<br /></span> +<span class="i12">From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of Heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Oh crested Lochrel! the peerless in might,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn;<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Return to thy dwelling, all lonely, return,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">CAMPBELL.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>It was with a numbed and dreary sense of bruised and outraged feeling +that Mary—the last fibre of mistaken partiality torn from her +heart—the last atom of her false idol crumbled into dust, lay down upon +her bed that night.</p> + +<p>She had lain there perhaps an hour, when the loud ringing of the +hall-door aroused her from the state of dreamy stupor which was stealing +over her.</p> + +<p>Her first supposition was that her cousin Louis had returned. Then the +hasty-ascending footstep of the servant, the quick knocking at the door +of Mrs. de Burgh's dressing-room, from which the chamber appointed for +Mary was not far removed; the hasty communication then given, the loud +and agitated voice of Eugene in reply, his impetuous rush down stairs +and from the house—as the banging of the hall-door made her aware—led +her rather to conclude that some intelligence of peculiar importance, +perhaps relating to the illness of old Mr. Trevor, had been received +from Montrevor.</p> + +<p>The next moment Mrs. de Burgh's bell rang violently, and very soon after +her maid entered Mary's apartment, begging Miss Seaham to go immediately +to Mrs. de Burgh.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Montrevor was on fire! Mr. Eugene Trevor had been sent for. Mrs. de +Burgh was greatly agitated.</p> + +<p>Pale and horror-stricken, Mary hastened to obey the summons. She found +her cousin with her sofa pushed towards the window, gazing in strong +excitement on the red glare, now again plainly visible in the distance, +and so fearfully accounted for.</p> + +<p>"Gracious heavens, Mary, is not this terrible! the poor old place. +Eugene has gone off distracted, not knowing whether he will find the +whole house consumed; as for the wretched old man, God only knows what +has become of him! it did not seem that the messenger brought any sure +tidings of his safety. How dreadful if he were to perish in the flames!"</p> + +<p>"Dreadful, indeed!" murmured Mary; but she was no match for her cousin's +volubility. She sank down shivering by her side, her eyes fixed in +appalled bewilderment on the awful sign written in the heavens—sign, as +it were, of the judgment and fiery indignation which is to devour the +adversary.</p> + +<p>They sat there long intent upon the anxious watch, though little was to +be gleaned from that flickering and unconstant glare, now deepening, +now dying into comparative darkness, but that the fire was still in +existence.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh had ordered some of her servants to follow Eugene, and +render any assistance in their power; one was to return immediately with +intelligence. In the meantime she entreated Mary not to leave her, a +petition which poor Mary, in her present state of mind, was not inclined +to resist.</p> + +<p>Coffee was brought up to revive their strength and spirits, during the +two hours which at least must elapse before the messenger could arrive, +and wrapping Mary in a warm shawl, the weary interval of suspense passed +away as quickly as could be expected. It was over at last. The servant +returned. Mrs. de Burgh had him up to the dressing-room to hear the +account from his own lips.</p> + +<p>In a few words the man related, that one entire wing of the house had +been past recovery when the party arrived from Silverton, or before any +effectual assistance could be procured. It was the wing containing the +private library of Mr. Trevor; there it was supposed the fire had broken +out and made some way before discovered by the household.</p> + +<p>The catastrophe was supposed to have originated in some way from Mr. +Trevor, as he was missing in his own apartment; and it was feared that +he had perished in the flames, as he had been known to have some nights +before crept stealthily from his bed-room to the study. It did not +appear that any of the servants had been sufficiently courageous to +attempt his rescue, and of course now all hope of saving the unfortunate +old man was at an end, the flames having communicated with the adjoining +passages before the alarm was given, though even then Mr. Eugene Trevor +had seemed almost inclined to pierce the flames in that direction, so +great was his horror at the intelligence.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh at this awful communication fell into a fit of hysterical +weeping, whilst Mary, pale as death, speechless, tearless with emotion, +sat with her eyes raised and her hands clasped together. "Thoughts too +deep for tears" stirred up within her breast—thoughts of death, +judgment, and eternity.</p> + +<p>How terrible indeed the retribution which had fallen upon the head of +that sinful old man. How mighty and terrible the hand which might be +said to have taken up the cause of the oppressed, and stopped the way +of the ungodly!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Fearfully vivid was the light which guided Eugene Trevor on his course, +as like a demon of the night he dashed through the darkness—his +neighing, foaming steed bearing him far onward before the party +following him from Silverton.</p> + +<p>The conflagration lighted the country many miles around, and fierce was +the effort the distracted rider had to make to force the frightened +animal to proceed.</p> + +<p>When entering the grounds, the flames shone through the leafless trees +full upon his path, his dilated nostrils inhaled at every breath air +heated like a furnace; and bleeding, panting, trembling in every limb, +stopped short before the blazing pile.</p> + +<p>A shout from the spectators, now congregated in considerable numbers, +announced the anxiously expected arrival of Eugene Trevor. One second's +pause, as raising himself in his stirrups, he seemed in one wild, +hurried, desperate glance to review the fearful scene—then casting away +the reins and springing to the ground, called out in a hoarse loud +voice an inquiry for his father; but without waiting an answer—or +perhaps reading the full truth too plainly revealed on the countenances +of those around him—he darted forward, almost as the servant had +related (it might have appeared with the desperate impulse to attempt +even then the rescue of his father's remains); when, either repelled by +the violent heat or suddenly recalled to recollection, he staggered +back, struck his clenched hand wildly against his brow, and turned away +just as that part of the roofing gave way; the flames bursting out with +increasing fury necessitating a hasty retreat. The conflagration +presented altogether a scene of awful grandeur. Engines were playing on +the other extremity of the mansion, though little hopes of checking the +devastation were entertained.</p> + +<p>All the furniture and other valuable property which it had been possible +to rescue had been already removed, and now lay strewn out in the park +before the house; and there, a little aloof from the rest of the crowd, +with arms folded on his breast, stood Eugene Trevor watching the +progress of the demolition—the terrible glare distinctly revealing the +expression of dark despair settled in his glazed eyes and upturned +countenance.</p> + +<p>A few gentlemen of the neighbourhood were on the spot, but a feeling of +delicacy restrained them from intruding on the sufferer their sympathy +at that dreadful moment.</p> + +<p>The feelings of a man who stands beholding the house of his forefathers +burning before his eyes, with the fearful knowledge that a parent's +blackened corpse is consuming to ashes beneath the ruins, might seem +indeed to require no other consideration to render their harrowing +nature complete. But were these the subject matter of the thoughts which +pressed upon the soul of Eugene Trevor at that awful moment?—or had it +been the natural promptings of filial piety alone which at first had +impelled him to rush forwards in that fatal direction?</p> + +<p>Alas! no—rather must we fear it was the impulse of the man, goaded by +the consciousness that there too was consuming the papers on whose +existence all which he had staked his greedy soul to obtain, and the +destruction of which must be the total demolition of all his unrighteous +hopes and prospects, bring him to the feet of an injured and offended +brother, and prove, in short, his ruin.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The work of destruction continued unabated; portion after portion of the +burning mass gradually gave way; the roof of the large dining-room fell +in with a tremendous crash, and all the interior part of the mansion +being now destroyed, nothing remained but the mere skeleton of one of +the oldest, stateliest residences in the kingdom.</p> + +<p>By this time, Eugene Trevor had turned away, and exerted himself to +speak with the superior servants and superintendents of the estate; and +then the friends still lingering by, hesitated no longer to draw near. +They first shook hands in silent and sorrowful token of their sympathy +with the bereaved man, proceeding to press upon him invitations to +accompany them to their respective homes. Eugene received their advances +with as much calmness as could be expected; their hospitality, however, +he thankfully declined.</p> + +<p>If he went anywhere he had promised to return to Silverton, but his +presence would be required on the spot some time longer. After he had +seen to everything that remained to be done, he should probably go to +----, the town four miles distant. He had hurt his arm by approaching +too near the fire, and must have it looked at by a surgeon.</p> + +<p>His friends had too much consideration to urge him further, and having +received his repeated thanks, and assured them that they could not be of +any further assistance, they departed.</p> + +<p>The further proceedings of that night, or rather morning (for it was +about four o'clock) before the work of ruin was finally achieved, were, +as may be supposed, to seek for the remains of Mr. Trevor from amidst +the wreck of the fallen house. They were at length discovered.</p> + +<p>There they lay: the iron chests which lined the apartment, (once the +general library of the mansion, but long since monopolized by Mr. Trevor +for his especial use and purposes)—and which alone remained of +everything belonging to it, testified to its identity. The existence of +these giving hopes of the security of its contents, caused a ray of +renovated hope to kindle on the countenance of Eugene Trevor, who +superintended the investigation in person.</p> + +<p>But the hope was but transitory. The position of the blackened bones +indicating his father's remains, plainly betokened the vicinity of the +miser to the old oak <i>bureau</i>, at the time of his dreadful death: of +that receptacle, of course, nothing now remained but the iron bends +which had once so jealously secured its contents, and the blackened +ashes of paper in considerable quantity; rendering it still more +probable that the horrible catastrophe had originated through their +means—namely, that the wretched old man had set some of them on fire +during their examination; indeed, within the fleshless hand of the +miser, clutched doubtless in his dying agony, there still remained a +scorched fragment of parchment, upon which the eager eyes of his son +still deciphered a word or two, which at once told him his fate was +decided; that it was the unrighteous will on which his future fortunes +so strongly depended, the last atom of which, miraculously preserved, he +now beheld.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A few moments more, and Eugene Trevor turned his back upon the smoking +ruins of his home; and soon, in the hateful light of morning, with bent +brow and livid cheek, was riding away to ——, with feelings at his +heart it would be indeed but a futile endeavour to describe.</p> + +<p>With the guilty woe of him who ponders over a well-merited fate—a +serpent wound around the heart, stinging its every thought to +strife—can alone perhaps suggest a fit comparison, when applied to the +state of a man's mind under circumstances like the present.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">Away, come down from your tribunal seats;<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Put off your robes of state, and let your mien<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Be pale and humbled.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Mr. de Burgh was in the north of England when he received news of the +destruction of Montrevor, by means both of the public papers and a few +hurried lines from his wife.</p> + +<p>He had been contemplating at the time a speedy return; but this dreadful +intelligence hastened his movements, and three days after the fire he +arrived at Silverton.</p> + +<p>Mr. de Burgh did not see Mary at first. The unrest and agitation of mind +under which for some time she had been suffering, brought to a climax by +the shock this last dire event had occasioned, produced its physical +effect, a kind of low nervous fever, now confined her to her bed.</p> + +<p>Her cousin Louis was surprised to hear of Mary's being at Silverton, +Mrs. de Burgh having slightly mentioned the fact in her hurried letter +to him; nor did she consider it at all necessary to enlighten her +husband as to the cause and circumstances of her visit when on the night +of his return, Mr. de Burgh commented somewhat sarcastically on the +subject.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mary was very kind to come to me, when I told her of my accident +and loneliness—indeed I do not see in the least why she should not have +come," Mrs. de Burgh remarked.</p> + +<p>"Nor I either, if she likes it," he answered drily—"at any rate this +fire will bring matters to a crisis both as regards her affair with +Eugene Trevor, as it will also a few others."</p> + +<p>"Of course you will go and see after poor Eugene to-morrow, and try and +persuade him to come here."</p> + +<p>"Of course—but as to coming to stay here, I am pretty well persuaded +that Eugene Trevor will have too much on his mind just now to think of +visiting any where. I shall be curious to know how things will turn +out."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course my poor uncle left Eugene all the money," Mrs. de Burgh +said.</p> + +<p>"Most probably, all his immense savings, but you know the estates are +strictly entailed."</p> + +<p>"Yes ...," was the answer, with some hesitation; "but if Eustace Trevor +does not make his appearance."</p> + +<p>"That will not alter the entail whilst he is alive, and every exertion +will be made which can lead to his discovery, if his father's death does +not, indeed, as there is every likelihood, make him come forward of +himself."</p> + +<p>"But if he is mad?"</p> + +<p>"Pshaw!" was the only reply deigned by Mr. de Burgh, with the expression +of indignant incredulity, which any such allusion always excited in him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Burgh was silent for a few moments, but there was a very +significant display of intelligence visible on her countenance.</p> + +<p>The fact was, that she was inwardly struggling between a very womanly +desire to let out the secret of which she was in possession, and the +unwillingness she felt to gratify her husband by the communication of +Eugene's rejection by Mary—also she felt some hesitating repugnance to +relate the particulars concerning the identity of the lost Eustace +Trevor with Mr. Temple, the esteemed and beloved friend of all the +Seaham family. But then her silence would but for a few hours postpone +the intelligence—the truth would be revealed by Mary on the first +opportunity, if it transpired not through other means. So at length, +after keeping it fluttering for some time on the tip of her undecided +tongue, the final plunge was taken, some mysteriously oracular words +were spoken, which excited Mr. de Burgh's curiosity, and led to the full +and final developement of the whole story of "Mr. Temple," and every +particular relating to him as received from Mary. The surprise and +interest of Mr. de Burgh at this communication, was of course extreme. +He was much excited, walking about the room and questioning his wife +over and over again on the subject, whilst she having once broken the +ice scrupled not to afford him every satisfaction in her power—nay, +taxing her imagination and ingenuity to make the romantic story even +more extraordinary than it really was.</p> + +<p>The following morning Mr. de Burgh rode off immediately after breakfast +for the town of ——, and on his return late that afternoon desired to +see Mary, and though Mrs. de Burgh objected that she was not fit for +any exciting conversation—that she was very weak and ill, so much so, +that she was going to write to Arthur Seaham to come to Silverton as +soon as it was possible—Mr. de Burgh persisted on its being a matter of +importance, the more so when he heard, that, on that very morning Mary +had received a foreign letter, which Mrs. de Burgh supposed was from her +friend the clergyman, the companion of Eustace Trevor, though she had +not as yet alluded to its contents, which seemed nevertheless to have +considerably affected Mary.</p> + +<p>Mr. de Burgh was, therefore, in the course of the evening, taken to +Mary's room, where she was lying on the sofa ready to receive her +cousin, for whose visit she had been previously prepared.</p> + +<p>The interview lasted some time—when Mr. de Burgh left the room, he +immediately sat down and wrote a note, which he dispatched without +delay. It was, he afterwards told Mrs. de Burgh, when she could induce +him to satisfy her curiosity, to the lawyer concerned in the management +of the Trevor affairs, whom he had seen that day. He had just written +to inform him where Eustace Trevor was to be found, it being proposed +to send a special messenger abroad to summon him to England, in order to +take possession of his inheritance.</p> + +<p>"No will of any kind having been found in existence, Eustace Trevor +comes of course into undisputed possession of the property and estates, +both entailed and unentailed, that is to say," added Mr. de Burgh, with +something of sarcastic triumph in his tone, "if he is found in a fit +state of mind to enter upon his rights."</p> + +<p>"And poor Eugene," demanded Mrs. de Burgh, bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Eugene, I did not see," answered her husband; "a hurt he received the +night of the fire, it seems, was inclining to inflammation, and he was +ordered to keep quiet; at least, he would not see me when I called at +the inn. The lawyer tells me he seems suffering much anxiety and +distress of mind; no wonder, for from what I hear, it will go hard with +him, if he finds not a generous and forgiving brother in Eustace Trevor; +his ten thousand pounds, the portion secured by the marriage settlement +to the younger children, will be but a poor set off against the immense +expectations on which he had speculated so securely."</p> + +<p>"You are very ungenerous and unkind to speak in that way of a fallen +man; I hope Mary does not enter into your sentiments, I am sure I shall +always stand up for Eugene."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no doubt, through thick and thin," was the rather sneering reply, +"unkind indeed, I should say, it was cruel kindness 'that the wrong from +right defends;' as for Mary, I am glad to find that she has for some +time not been quite the blindly obstinate and deluded person I had began +regretfully to esteem her, that her infatuation has long since been +giving way before the evidences of truth and reason—yes, her charity in +the point in question is rather more honourable to her character than +that which you profess; there being an old proverb I have somewhere +read, which says: 'Charity is an angel when it rejoices in the truth; +but (something with a very different name) when it embraces that, which +it should only pity and weep over.'"</p> + +<p>Tears, indeed; the tears of many mingled and conflicting feelings were +trickling through the pale fingers clasped over Mary's aching eyes when +left alone by her cousin. The letter that morning received from Mr. +Wynne, the superscription of which had been noted down by Mr. de Burgh, +held tight in her other hand; that letter, which indeed contained such +fearful testimony to the truth of Jane Marryott's story, and all she had +heard assigned against him, whom she had once so blindly and ignorantly +worshipped. Mr. Wynne related succinctly the whole story of Eustace +Trevor's wrongs, as confided by his own lips on his first arrival in +Wales. This Mr. Wynne had taken on himself to do unauthorized by his +friend; it was all, indeed, which Mary's letter seemed purposed to +effect—her own communication of having entirely broken off her +engagement with Eugene Trevor, only rendering more wholly out of the +question the execution of the step she had so urged upon Eugene's +brother.</p> + +<p>For her own sake, for her preservation from a fate he so deprecated on +her account—he had promised to sacrifice his own interest—to take no +step likely to lead to the well-merited discomfiture and disturbance of +his brother, or an exposure of the past. The point on which the +agreement turned had now been established. He would not too closely +inquire by what means, and in what manner; but the promise he must still +consider binding on his part, a promise but too much in unison with the +solemn determination of his aggrieved and wounded spirit when last he +quitted his father's house, never again to seek a son or brother's place +within those dishonoured walls. This had been the substance of Mr. +Wynne's letter. How changed the aspect of affairs since the period when +it had been penned. How mighty the hand, and by what terrible means had +been effected, that which her weak influence had attempted to achieve!</p> + +<p>It might, indeed, be called an instance in which the still small voice +must fail, but the power of the all mighty one be heard in the fire.</p> + +<p>And now, all the past—the strange position in which she stood—the +circumstances in which she had become involved, passed before Mary's +mind's eye as in a bewildering dream—confused and conflicting feelings +she could scarcely divide from one another, troubling her enfeebled +spirits; till, at length, those relieving drops had flowed, and prayers +mingled with those tears to the all wise and the all merciful disposer +of events, in whom she trusted.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It must not be supposed that Eustace Trevor had been unmoved by the +urgent appeal conveyed in Mary's letter; that the words she had written, +the argument she had used, had unimpressed him with their justice and +their truth. They brought to his recollection the words of the psalm +sung that afternoon in the little church of Ll—— by the simple village +choir, when first the fair face of Mary Seaham had cast its softening +spell upon his frowning destiny—those words which had even then struck +upon his fancy as strikingly applicable to his own strange case, and +which from Mary's low sweet voice had thrilled like an angel's soft +rebuke upon his ear.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Since I have placed my trust in God<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> A refuge always nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Why should I, like a timorous bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> To yonder mountain fly."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But erroneous as might have been the cause of action, crooked the path +he had been morbidly driven to pursue; innumerable causes seemed now to +oppose the conduct that angel-like minister with unworldly and too +prevailing voice now urged him to pursue. No, for the present let it +suffice that she was saved from a fate, which apart from all selfish +feelings, he feared for her worse than death; for the rest, matters must +take their natural course, work out their own intended end, swayed by +the hand which ruleth the universe—much more the affairs of the sons of +men; for neither to blind chance, or what men call fate, did Eustace +Trevor commit his ways.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">My gentle lad, what is't you read<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Romance or fairy fable?<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Or is it some historic page<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Of kings and crowns unstable?<br /></span> +<span class="i12">The young boy gave an upward glare:<br /></span> +<span class="i12">"It is the death of Abel!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">HOOD.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>It was about ten days after the event recorded in the last chapter, that +Mary Seaham, for the first time since her illness, came down stairs; and +wearied by the exertion, and left comparatively alone—for Mrs. de Burgh +was driving with her little girl, and Mr. de Burgh, and her brother—who +had arrived to take his sister away as soon as she was sufficiently +strong enough to move—were also from home; only the quiet, eldest boy +remained to keep her company.</p> + +<p>She was lying late in the afternoon upon the drawing-room sofa, the +effects of her still lingering weakness causing a dreamy feeling of +weariness to creep over her. Struggling with the sensation, and wishing +to arouse herself, she now and then opened her languid eyes, and spoke +to her little companion, who sat so seriously at the foot of the couch, +amusing himself with the book upon his knee—his favourite book of +scripture prints and stories.</p> + +<p>He was an interesting and peculiar child, very unlike the girl, who had +all the <i>eveillé</i>, excitable disposition of her mother—or the +high-spirited, most beautiful child, the youngest boy, of whom his +parents were so proud and fond.</p> + +<p>"What are you reading, Charlie?" Mary inquired.</p> + +<p>"About Cain and Abel. Here is the picture of Cain, that dark, bad man, +who hated his brother Abel," the child replied.</p> + +<p>"And why did he hate him, Charlie?"</p> + +<p>"Because his brother's works were good, and his were evil."</p> + +<p>"It is very dreadful not to love one's brother. Always love your's, +Charlie," Mary said mournfully.</p> + +<p>"I do love him," the boy answered with simple earnestness, lifting up +his expressive eyes to his gentle monitor's face; "and look," he +continued, sidling closer to her side, "here are two other brothers, who +once did not love one another; and one was obliged to go and live for a +great many years in a far-off country; but see here, he is returned, and +the brothers have forgiven one another; and," continuing in the words of +the scripture explanation written in the page, "'Esau ran to meet him, +and embraced him, and fell on his neck and kissed him, and they wept.' +That is a nicer picture, Mary, than that of Cain and Abel, for Abel +there is dead, and Cain can never be forgiven; but must wander about the +earth with a mark upon his forehead, lest people should kill him; but +Jacob and Esau might be friends on earth, and meet again in heaven."</p> + +<p>Mary placed her hand fondly and gratefully on the head of her dear +little expositor. A tear of happier feeling trembling amidst the lashes +of her drooping eyelids, than had gushed for many a day from her +perplexed and troubled spirit, for she thought of two other brothers, +who, through the mercy of God, were still spared on earth—the one to +forgive, the other to be forgiven; and a calm, peaceful, expression +stole over the sweet countenance whose placid serenity distressing +thoughts had of late so sadly disturbed, till at length, as Charlie went +on to read to her, at full, the history, as he said, "of another +brother—the best brother of all." "Even Joseph, who was sold for a +servant, whose feet they hurt in the stocks, who was laid in irons, +until the time came that he was delivered, the word of the Lord tried +him;" but who yet, when his brothers were brought to bow down before +him, he spoke kindly to them, even to those who had done him such +grievous wrong, and kissed them, and wept over them, and made them as +rich and happy as he could—the soft monotony of the child's voice +lulled her senses to repose; and with that glittering tear still +moistening her drooping lashes, and a smile, sweet and innocent as might +have been that of the child by her side, she peacefully slept.</p> + +<p>The boy's voice then sunk to a whisper, and so absorbed was he in his +interesting task, and the carpet of the saloon so thick and soft, that +he perceived or heard nothing till a darkening shadow fell upon his +book.</p> + +<p>Then he quietly lifted up his serious eyes, and beheld a tall stranger +gentleman standing at a little distance before him. But the stranger +was not looking at him, the little boy: his full, dark eyes were bent +with earnest intensity upon the sleeping Mary, who, as she lay there +with that still serenity of brow, that look almost of child-like +innocence which sleep, like death, sometimes brings back to the +countenance, might have well suggested to the recollection of the gazer +these beautiful lines of Mrs. Hemans, "The Sleeper:"</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh lightly, lightly tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Revere the pale still brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> The meekly drooping head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The long hair's willowy flow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ye know not what ye do,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That call the slumberer back<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> From the world unseen by you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unto life's dim, faded track.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Her soul is far away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In her childhood's land perchance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Where her young sisters play,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where shines her brother's glance.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Some old sweet native sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her spirit haply weaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> A harmony profound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of woods with all their leaves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A murmur of the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A laughing tone of streams;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Long may her sojourn be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the music land of dreams."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The stranger's rivetted regard seemed to attract the young Charlie's +also, for he now turned his eyes upon the slumberer, and then, as if +equally attracted by the angelic sweetness of her expression at that +moment, or wishing to demonstrate to the intruder the privileged +position he held with respect to the object of their joint attention, he +slid still nearer to Mary's pillow, and gently kissed her cheek; then, +again looking up, something remarkable in the stranger's mien and +countenance—something mournful and tender, yet altogether more noble +and beautiful than he had perhaps ever seen before upon the face of man, +seemed to inspire favour and confidence in his innocent breast; for the +little fellow smiled benignantly and trustfully, as, holding out his +hand, he said softly:</p> + +<p>"And you may kiss her too, if you like; but very gently: you must not +wake her, she has been so ill, poor thing!"</p> + +<p>At these words his listener started, dropped the little hand he had +kindly taken, the crimson blood suffusing his brow. He cast one hurried +glance on the object of their conversation, then with irresolute +quietness turned away, and paced the room with hushed but rapid steps, +as if to calm some sudden storm of troubled feeling, the boy's +innocently spoken words had awakened in his breast.</p> + +<p>When next he paused before the couch, the deep flush had passed away, +leaving his countenance paler than before, though calmer and more +composed; and smiling kindly upon the watchful child, as if to promise +him that his injunctions should not be disregarded, he reverently +stooped, and "very gently," as the boy had enjoined, touched with his +lips the fair white hand which drooped by Mary's side; and when again he +raised his head, the wondering child perceived a tear glistening in the +tall, pale stranger's eye. And no wonder if the heart of Eustace Trevor +swelled with peculiar emotion at that moment! The last time his lips had +pressed the form of woman it had been in that kiss of agony, in "that +last kiss which never was the last," which, in his strong despair and +mighty anguish, he had imprinted on the cold, cold brow of his mother, +ere they hid her from his sight for ever!—his then only beloved on +earth, with whom all the light and hope of his existence would be +quenched for ever!</p> + +<p>And must he not now turn away from her he had learnt since to love, with +a love such as he had thought never again to feel on earth?—from that +being, fair, and gentle, and good as the object of his soul's first +pure, faithful idolatry: she whose sleeping smile—cold, pale and +tranquil almost as that which had greeted his arrival that night of +never-to-be-forgotten misery—now welcomed the exile on his homeless, +hearthless, desolate return!</p> + +<p>Must he turn away, and never look on <i>her</i>—never look on Mary thus +again? Was it the last time, as it had been the first, that he should +ever dare to press that dear hand as now he had done? Nay, more—must he +see it given to another?—would he be called upon to crown the measure +of that generous mercy with which he had come, his heart overflowing—by +withdrawing the restraining hand he had, for the few last years, held +between his unnatural enemy, and that innocent object of his enemy's +covetous affections? Was he to be called upon—yes, perhaps by Mary +herself—to abstain from his threatened exposure of the past, and stand +from between Eugene and herself?—now, in his hour of triumph, to be +merciful, generous and forgiving in this also?</p> + +<p>For why else did he see her here?—why, if the purport of her letter +still held good, that she had bade adieu—cancelled for ever her +engagement with her former lover? Why, then, was she here, in the very +place where she had first fallen into this dangerous snare?</p> + +<p>Ah, no!—he saw it all too plainly! Impelled by the impulse of a woman's +mistaken, but generous devotion, her lover's fallen fortunes, whilst +engaging her pity, had redeemed his offences in her eyes, and recalled +her alienated affections; that she was here, like a ministering angel, +to assure him of this—to console him, to sympathize; perhaps to ward +off, by her intercession, the disgrace and ruin to which his injured +brother's dreaded coming threatened to overwhelm the object of her +solicitude.</p> + +<p>But he had no time to dwell on these things. There had been something in +his touch, light as it had been, which proved sufficient to break the +charm of slumber. Mary slowly unclosed her eyes, and murmuring:</p> + +<p>"Are you there, Charlie?" looked up and beheld her new companion. One +uncertain bewildered gaze she fixed upon his face, then gliding to her +feet cried: "Mr. Trevor, are you really come?" and burst into tears.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss Seaham, I am come," was the reply, in a voice trembling with +emotion; and taking the hands she had extended towards him, gently +reseated her on the sofa, and sat down by her side, looking with earnest +mournfulness in her face.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am come, and thank you for this feeling welcome, which is but +too much required, for you may well imagine what a coming, one such as +mine must be."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," she murmured through her fast falling tears; "I know, I feel +it must be a fearful trial; your father's dreadful death, the melancholy +destruction of your home. But—but, Mr. Trevor, it is the hand of the +Almighty—His great and terrible hand—we must look upon it as such; +and," lifting up her streaming eyes, "hope for His loving-mercies to +shine forth once again. There has been much of dark and terrible in the +past, but let us pray that the future may atone. Yes, you have returned, +and all may still be right."</p> + +<p>"You think so," he replied gently, but still most mournfully; then +averting his face, added in low and sterner accents of interrogation: +"and my brother?"</p> + +<p>"He has been ill," was Mary's low reply, "suffering, it is to be feared, +as much from mental anxiety as from physical pain. Oh, Mr. Trevor, your +coming to him indeed must prove a relief—a relief from the worst of +sufferings—suspense."</p> + +<p>"What has he to fear?" demanded Eustace Trevor.</p> + +<p>"What? You will learn too soon the desperate nature of your brother's +position, unless, indeed, he finds in you one more generous and +forgiving than he has any right or reason to expect."</p> + +<p>Mary spoke earnestly, but with firmness, almost severity; and as she +uttered these last words Eustace Trevor turned and anxiously regarded +her.</p> + +<p>"Eugene need have no fears on any pecuniary account," he again repeated; +"he will find in me one who cannot set too low a value on that of which +he strove so hard to deprive me. Surely you, Miss Seaham, could not have +believed me capable of so poor and contemptible a spirit of revenge, as +to entertain any doubt or fear as regards my conduct in that respect?"</p> + +<p>"No, no," Mary replied, with trembling fervour; "I might have rested +well assured as to what must be the high and holy character of <i>your</i> +revenge. 'If your enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink;' +and oh, Mr. Trevor, by so doing, coals of fire will indeed be heaped +upon your unhappy brother's head. But, alas! can <i>he</i> suppose you +capable of such magnanimity—he of so different a spirit to your own?"</p> + +<p>There was a spirit in the mild eyes, a colour on the pale cheek turned +towards him, as she thus expressed herself, which caused a corresponding +glow to illumine the countenance of her listener, and with still greater +earnestness he regarded her.</p> + +<p>Mary turned away, bending her head over the boy, who had again drawn +caressingly to her side, whilst in low, faltering accents she replied +to his inquiries, whether she had come to Silverton since the fire?</p> + +<p>"No, the afternoon before it had occurred."</p> + +<p>"Had she seen his brother?"</p> + +<p>"She had, contrary to her cousin Olivia's promise, that so painful and +useless an ordeal should be spared her. She had found him at Silverton +on her arrival. It had been an interview most distressing and repugnant +to her feelings at the time, though the startling and terrible events, +which so closely succeeded, had in a great degree diverted her mind from +any selfish consideration. She had since then been very ill. Her illness +had detained her at Silverton, but this I shall not regret," she added. +"I shall now depart with the happy consciousness, which I have not +experienced for the last few years, that all is right which has been for +long so very wrong, my mind relieved of its harassing weight of doubt, +darkness and perplexity."</p> + +<p>"Yes, your sense of disinterested justice may be satisfied; but your +heart, will it remain equally so? The cause which you have so generously +espoused, established; will not other feelings re-assert their power, +and my brother again triumph in the possession of that which, to call +my own, I would gladly have cast at his feet the richest inheritance on +earth?"</p> + +<p>These words were uttered with almost breathless agitation.</p> + +<p>"No," was the reply in a voice so low and trembling that the anxious +listener had to hold his breath to catch its accents; "such feelings +have long been destroyed, and can never re-assert their influence. Even +pity is done away save for the wounded conscience, which he who once I +loved must carry with him through life; yes, pity even is now scarcely +to be excited; and love—can love survive esteem?"</p> + +<p>With a jealous, yearning glance Eustace Trevor watched the tears again +falling from the agitated speaker's eyes, kissed away by the +sympathising child; and then he rose and began again to pace the room as +if to stem some fresh torrent of inward emotion which stirred within his +breast. But at this juncture the door opened abruptly, and in another +moment Eustace Trevor's hand was clasped in Louis de Burgh's, who, +followed by Arthur Seaham, entered the room; and Mary, leaning on her +brother's arm, left the re-united friends together.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i18">Flesh and blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">You brother mine, that entertained ambition,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Expelled remorse and nature,<br /></span> +<span class="i12"> * * * * *<br /></span> +<span class="i18">I do forgive thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Unnatural as thou art—<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Forgive thy rankest fault.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">TEMPEST.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Arthur Seaham stood at the hall door two days after, looking out for the +carriage which was to convey himself and sister from Silverton, some +delay having been occasioned by the non-arrival of the post-horses.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a single horse's hoof was heard approaching, and he had but +just time to retreat out of observation, when Eugene Trevor rode up to +the door.</p> + +<p>Arthur Seaham could not but feel shocked at his altered appearance—his +haggard countenance, and the strong marks of mental suffering it +exhibited. His very form seemed bowed down by the sudden weight of care +and anxiety which had fallen upon him; and when, having dismounted, and +rang the bell, he stood there, whilst waiting for the servant to attend +the summons, unconscious of human regard, holding his horse's +rein;—there was something touching to the young man's kindly heart, in +the manner in which Eugene Trevor stroked the glossy mane of the noble +animal as it rubbed its head against his master's shoulder, looking up +affectionately into his face.</p> + +<p>The action seemed as expressively as words to say:</p> + +<p>"Poor fellow! it must go hard indeed with me before I can make up my +mind to part with you; in your eye, at least, is none of the suspicion +and distrust I plainly perceive in every other." And softened by this +touch of nature, and remembering the attachment to his sister—sincere +he believed at the time, which like a fair flower amongst noxious plants +had shewn his nature to be so capable of better things—a feeling of +regret was excited in Arthur Seaham's mind that that "root of all evil," +the promoter of "every foolish and hurtful lust—the love of money," +should ever have struck its baneful fibres in this man's heart.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Eugene Trevor had demanded a personal interview with his brother +previous to his departure for London, through the lawyer who for many +years had been the legal adviser of the family, and whom he still +retained on his own account. Eustace Trevor had deemed it expedient to +call in another man of business for himself. This person was now at +Silverton, with some of the necessary documents connected with the +property now devolving upon him; and Mr. de Burgh proposed the meeting +of the brothers should take place there.</p> + +<p>It was with perfect unconsciousness of what awaited her, that Mary +Seaham entered the library some few minutes after, in order to bid adieu +to her cousins, who, she had been told, were awaiting her there.</p> + +<p>She had closed the door behind her before perceiving her mistake, and +stood rooted to the spot with feelings the nature of which may be better +imagined than described, at finding herself at this critical moment in +the presence of the brothers—those two beings with whom her fate had +been so strangely, so intricately involved.</p> + +<p>Yes, there stood the one, with look and bearing almost like that said to +have distinguished man before the Fall:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Erect and tall—Godlike erect, with native honour clad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Within whose looks divine the image of the glorious Maker shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Truth, wisdom, sanctitude, severe and pure.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"> His fair large front and eye sublime"—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Irradiated with that attribute of God himself—a free and full +forgiveness of an enemy.</p> + +<p>And the other—with whom might his aspect at that moment suggest +comparison? Alas! we fear but to</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"That least erected spirit that fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> From Heaven; whose looks and thoughts even in Heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Were always downwards bent, admiring more<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> The riches of Heaven's pavement trodden gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Than aught divine or holy there."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>For as there he sat, even as he had done when suddenly confronted that +night with his offended, injured brother, in the room of the London +hotel, with bent brow and lowering eye, half defiance and half fear; so +now still more he seemed to shrink into abject nothingness before him, +abashed and confounded by the majestic power of goodness—the awful +loveliness of a virtuous and noble revenge. For a few grave, calm, but +gentle words from Eustace Trevor's lips had already set his anxious +fears at rest—had assured him that the well-merited ruin with which the +overthrow, so sudden and unlooked-for, of his unrighteous hopes and +machinations had threatened to overwhelm him, would be averted.</p> + +<p>And there stood Mary, pale and motionless. Whilst from one to another +wandered her distressed and startled glance, she yet saw and marked the +contrast; saw—and mourned in spirit that thus too late her eyes were +opened; that thus, for the first time, had been presented, side by side +to her enlightened perception, the brother whom in her deceived +imagination she had so blindly chosen—the one she had so ignorantly +refused.</p> + +<p>Yes, too late—for could she dare now to lift her eyes to own the full, +but tardy abnegation of every thought and feeling of her heart, as well +as understanding, to the noble being it had lost?</p> + +<p>Oh, no! for those two last days that they had passed under the same roof +together—in the same manner, as she had seemed to shrink, with timid, +lowly, self-abasement from the brother of her discarded lover, had +Eustace Trevor appeared almost equally to avoid any close communion with +that brother's alienated love. It was, therefore, influenced by these +considerations, that after her first astounded pause, feeling that it +was now impossible to retreat, and scarcely knowing what she did, Mary +approached the table over which Eugene Trevor had been leaning on her +entrance, but now had risen—holding out her hand, as her kindly heart +perhaps, under any circumstances, would have instinctively dictated +towards any being suffering under like vicissitude; but something in the +grasp which closed over it—a detaining grasp, such as that with which +the miser may be supposed to clasp some treasure on the point of making +itself wings to fly away, seemed to distress and perplex her.</p> + +<p>She turned with downcast eyes towards Eustace Trevor. His face, as she +had approached his brother, had been averted with an expression in +which, perhaps, was more of human weakness than it had before exhibited; +but now he turned again and gratefully received the other she extended, +in sign of parting, then as gently released it; and standing thus +between the brothers, all the noble self-forgetfulness of Mary's nature +seemed to revive within her. She felt that through her means the gulph +had further widened which kept them apart—that she had been the shadow +between their hearts, as now she stood in person—it was over now for +ever. She was to go from between them—from him towards whom her heart +had too late inclined, and from him from whom it had declined. Let her +last act be at least one more blest in its effects, than had been +hitherto her destiny to produce concerning them.</p> + +<p>With a smile, faint, sad, and tearful, such as might have seemed almost +to plead forgiveness from the one whom she ceased, and the one whom she +had learnt too late, to love, she again extended her hands, and with a +gentle movement joined those of the brothers together; then hurried from +the room.</p> + +<p>A few moments more, and Mr. de Burgh who was on his way to seek her had +conducted her to the carriage, and Arthur springing in by her side; once +more Mary Seaham was driven far away from Silverton.</p> + +<p>And the brothers—taken by surprise by Mary's abrupt departure, the eyes +of both had followed her from the room with an expression in which +emotion of no common kind was visible; then turned silently from one +another, only too anxious to be released from a situation, of which they +could not but mutually feel the increased delicacy and embarrassment; +the lawyers were summoned to their presence; and if a few minutes before +Eugene Trevor had pursued with wistful glance the retreating form of +Mary, the still more anxious brow and eager eye with which he might have +been seen soon after entering with those gentlemen into the discussion +of the settlement of his intricate affairs, plainly testified that for +him at least there was, as there had ever been closer affections twined +about his heart—deeper interests at stake than any that were connected +with that pale sad girl, who for so long had hovered like a redeeming +angel round his path, but who now turned away her light from him <i>for +ever</i>.</p> + +<p>Not so Eustace Trevor, as absent and inattentive he sat abstractedly by, +or paced with anxious steps the boundary of the library, joining only +when directly appealed to, or addressed, in the matters under +discussion. It was plainly apparent how light and trifling the weight he +attached to the heavy demand made under his sanction upon his generous +liberality.</p> + +<p>Only once he paused, and with more fixed attention looked upon his +brother with an expression in which something of noble contempt seemed +to curl his lip and to flash forth from his eye.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the part he saw him play on this occasion recalled to his +remembrance another scene of similar, yet contrary character, when he +had found that brother seated in the library of Montrevor, with as much +anxious avidity superintending arrangements of no such disinterested +nature as those of which he now so graspingly availed himself.</p> + +<p>But it was for a moment that any such invidious reminiscences retained +their place within that generous soul. Soon had they vanished, as they +came—the fire from his eye, the curl from his lip. And again Eustace +Trevor paced the room—and thought on Mary.</p> + +<p>A few months more, and Eugene Trevor, having settled his affairs to his +entire satisfaction—thanks to the most generous and forgiving of +brothers—had left England for the continent; and that same space of +time found Eustace Trevor established in the neighbourhood of Montrevor, +surrounded by admiring, and congratulating friends; superintending the +improvement of his property, and making arrangements for the erection of +a new mansion on the site of the one destroyed, but chiefly employed in +acts of charity and beneficence towards the hitherto neglected poor and +necessitous surrounding him, causing many a heart to sing for joy, who +for many a long year had prayed and sued in vain at the wealthy miser's +door.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i12">Alas! the maiden sighed since first<br /></span> +<span class="i14">I said: 'Oh, fountain, read my doom.'<br /></span> +<span class="i12">What vainest fancies have I nursed,<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Of which I am myself the tomb!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">L. E. L.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>It was a beautiful evening of that next summer year, and a large +family-party was assembled at Glan Pennant, now again inhabited by its +rightful owner, Arthur Seaham: the handsome dowry of his lovely bride, +Carrie Elliott, joined to the emolument derived from the rapid and +promising rise in his profession, having enabled him to take possession +of his much loved home on his marriage, about a twelve month since.</p> + +<p>Not only were Alice Gillespie and her family the guests of the young +couple; but Lady Everingham, their eldest sister, who had returned from +India, and the beautiful Selina, whose husband was shortly to follow, +was staying with their children at Plas-Glyn, with the Morgans; and no +evening passed without, as may be supposed, some reunion of this sort +taking place at one or the other of the neighbouring residences. But +there was one still wanting, on this present occasion, without whom such +gatherings could not be complete—one, regarded with a kind of peculiar +love by each there present, though by none, perhaps, with such especial +tenderness as by the young master and mistress of Glan Pennant; and ever +and anon the question as to when Mary would return, and what could have +kept her out so late, was heard repeated: the children of the party +going back to Plas-Glyn, sorrowful at not having been able to wish that +dear Aunt Mary good night.</p> + +<p>Some one, at length, remarked that Mr. Wynne had not been seen for the +last day or two. Arthur Seaham observed, in reply, that he had been +expecting a visitor, with whom he had been probably occupied; and he and +Carrie exchanged looks of some significance.</p> + +<p>Mary was not a partner in their secret understanding. Calmly, as was +her wont, she had been returning homeward, with the happy consciousness +that her presence that day had lighted up many a face with +sunshine—bound up by its consolation, many a wounded heart—that she +could lay her head on her pillow that night, and feel that she had +to-day lived to God, and to her fellow-creatures.</p> + +<p>And truly many a tongue blessed, and many an eye turned with love and +respect, as they looked upon that sweet pale face, returning slowly from +her wanderings amongst them. Mary knew she was expected home to tea, but +having turned a wistful eye towards her favourite hill, now all red and +glowing in the early sunset, finally began the ascent; and once more we +see her seated on that cool, quiet spot, her eye fixed on the same fair +scene she had viewed with such fond, but hopeful regret, on the evening +of her last departure from her mountain-home. And, oh! it was on such +occasions, when hours of languid ease returned like this she now +enjoyed, that Mary felt the urgent necessity of bracing up her mind and +nerves by a course of healthy action, by carrying out into practice the +lesson which the great trial of her early youth had taught +her—"Patience, abnegation of self, and devotion to others." For then +would she feel stealing over her senses the spirit of those days, when +she had walked the earth overshadowed by a dream. Yes, the spirit of her +dream had changed since last we followed Mary Seaham to this charmed +spot!—the shadows of hopes at that time vaguely cherished in her +breast, soon, to her sorrow, so wonderfully realized, had passed away +for ever, as their idol object had been torn from its shrine.</p> + +<p>And now this purer, nobler image, reared upon the crumbled image of the +former, engendered by no ideal dreams—no morbid fantasy, but which, by +the force of its own glorious strength and beauty, had won its victory +over her soul—must this be also doomed to perish—to fade away into a +haunting shadow of the past?</p> + +<p>Yes, Eustace Trevor must be to her as one dead—not absent!—the dream +be dissipated, for the hope was vain on which it was founded: vain—and +incompatible with the pure, calm hope it was now the desire of her heart +to aspire.</p> + +<p>Not very long, therefore, did Mary allow herself to indulge in the +beguiling luxury of her solitary repose; but remembering that there were +loving hearts at home awaiting her return, she aroused herself from the +spirit of reverie which was stealing over her, and waiting but to pluck +some few sprigs of the first white heath of the season, with one last, +lingering look on the fading beauties of the landscape, she rose and +turned to depart; but as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Still she stood with her lips apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> And forgotten, the flowerets dropped from her fingers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Whilst to her eyes and her cheeks, came the light and<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> The bloom of the morning."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>For it was no dream—no deluding vision of her imagination out of which +she was called to awake—a shadow indeed was upon her path, but it was +the form of Eustace Trevor, which in its noble reality stood before her!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The conversation which ensued was not so lengthened as that which had +taken place between Edward Temple and Mary Seaham, on that same spot +some six years ago; but need we say that its issue was of a very +different character, and that this time Eustace did not descend the +hill alone.</p> + +<p>Mr. Wynne was waiting at the gate of Glan Pennant, when at length the +stately figure of his friend, and leaning on his arm the fair and +fragile form of Mary,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The dew on the plaid, and the tear in her e'e,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>appeared in sight.</p> + +<p>Hastening to meet them, he wrung the hand of Mary with emotion, but bade +her go in fast and make the tea which had been waiting for her ever so +long—the water getting cold whilst she was after her old tricks, +dreaming on the hills; and Mary, with a grateful smile, having returned +the fervent pressure of her good old friend, in broken accents, promised +that she would dream no more.</p> + +<p>She was not indeed free from a deep debt of gratitude to Mr. Wynne, for +it was he who, it may be said, had formed the cementing link between the +fates of Mary Seaham and Eustace Trevor.</p> + +<p>Not that any such was wanting to maintain the strongly rooted attachment +of Eustace towards Mary. It was one which must ever have exerted a +sensible and indelible influence over his future life, as it had done +over the few last years of his past existence. But there were scruples +in his mind, the result perhaps of that extreme susceptibility +conspicuous in his character, on every point of delicacy or honour, +which restrained him from yielding himself to the delightful hope of +obtaining the beloved of his brother for his wife; and it was these +morbid scruples, as he deemed them, that Mr. Wynne had made every effort +to overcome, and that not so much by direct argument, as by bringing +before his friend's imagination the lovely picture of Mary's present +existence, finally declaring that, through the daily increasing +heavenliness of her life and conversation, she was growing so much too +good for this world, that they should not be allowed to retain her long +amongst them, did not some earthly tie of a very binding nature give her +some motive for interest here below; and there was one alone he felt +convinced could have that power—for that some secret grief, some sorrow +unspoken, unsuspected—some strongly crushed affection, lay at the +bottom of Mary Seaham's outwardly calm and patient demeanour, and this +in no way connected with the old delusion of her youth, her old friend +felt but too well assured.</p> + +<p>So on this hint it was that Eustace Trevor came—came with a heart all +yearning, tremulous tenderness and solicitude—and once more on the +Welsh hill-side, laid the hope and happiness of his future life at the +feet of Mary Seaham.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>And the world—that part of it at least which had known of the +engagement subsisting between Mary and Eugene Trevor—might remark on +the singular and interesting circumstance of her union with the elder +brother; but as the general understanding had been, that through +Eugene's own fault his engagement had been dissolved, and his change of +position considerably altering that same charitable world's estimation +of the younger brother's character, there were few inclined to make any +invidious comment on the new arrangement, nor deem it anything but +one—most wise, fortunate, and just.</p> + +<p>There was, however, amongst Mary's friends, one who seemed inclined at +first to frown on the affair—Mrs. de Burgh was loth to the last to let +fall the weapons of defence she had always wielded in behalf of her old +favourite, and maintained, that if there was a law against a marriage +with two brothers, she considered consecutive attachment to each equally +to be repudiated. But as she could not well carry out the argument which +her husband so triumphantly derided, she in the end let the subject +drop; and finally, with as much kindly warmth as she had bestowed upon +the beloved of Eugene, received beneath her roof the bride of Eustace +Trevor.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>As we are upon the subject, we might as well regretfully state, that +Silverton has never yet become quite the perfect seat of conjugal +felicity we would fain have left it, but that petty bickerings and +debates still occasionally desecrate its inner walls.</p> + +<p>Still we hope that, though there are no very conspicuous symptoms of +reform, the evil is somewhat on the decrease; that the fair Olivia, as +she grows older, steadies down in a degree her high-wrought expectations +and ideas; and her husband, in proportion, softens away his asperity and +selfish disregard, allowing his natural amiability of disposition to +have its own way towards his wife, as well as to the rest of the world. +Whilst, at the same time, was there not a mansion in the neighbourhood +where a perfect pattern of unity and godly love was exhibited, such as +put to shame every spirit of domestic strife which approached it?</p> + +<p>In fact, the prosperity of the de Burghs continues so unabated, so +little else do they find in life to ruffle the even tenor of their lot, +that if they do still indulge in a few domestic quarrels, it would seem +to be, that, preserved from every other exciting cause of trouble and +annoyance, it must be on the principle adopted by two little sisters of +our acquaintance, who, on being reproved for their continual squabbles +with one another, begged that they might not be deprived of this +privilege, saying that it would take from them their greatest amusement; +in short, be so very dull, if they were not allowed to quarrel.</p> + +<p>The Eustace Trevors first went abroad: there they revisited those scenes +they had last viewed together under such different auspices, but which +had been the period from which Mary dated the current of her fate to +have been turned—a purer, nobler image to have risen on the ruins of +the old; and Eustace Trevor—blessed beyond conception, finds himself in +the enjoyment of that most ambitioned privilege, the guide and guardian +of his Mary, beneath skies which seemed to grow still "fairer for her +sake."</p> + +<p>In about a year's time, they returned to England, where the new mansion +awaited their reception. The mansion had been rebuilt much on the same +plan as the other, only the position and arrangement of the library was +entirely altered. One room, as far as it were possible, had been +remodelled by Eustace after the fashion of the original—that one in +which at once his happiest and his most agonizing hours in that old home +might be said to have been spent.</p> + +<p>Mary did not tell her husband, as they sat together in the sunny window +of that apartment, the very afternoon of their arrival, what +associations were in her mind connected with that place.</p> + +<p>Eustace Trevor had had no personal communication with his brother since +they parted at Silverton. It is easier for the offended to forgive than +the offender to be forgiven, and no true reconcilement could ever heal +the wounds, which his injured brother's generous conduct had impressed +on Eugene's galled conscience. Besides, what sympathy could exist +between two natures so different? what intercourse be established +between two individuals whose course of conduct and habits of life were +so widely apart?</p> + +<p>What were Eugene Trevor's feelings when he heard of Mary Seaham's +marriage with his brother, we cannot exactly define; but that it placed +only a more decisive barrier between their personal intercourse, may be +imagined. He lived on his handsome younger brother's income of two +thousand a-year, in London; his brother having paid all his debts, and +thus added to his legitimate claim of ten thousand pounds to which alone +he was entitled.</p> + +<p>The brothers met occasionally in London; but Eugene never accepted any +invitation to visit Montrevor, nor was he scarcely heard of amongst his +former country friends. Even Silverton was deserted by him.</p> + +<p>Some say that the avaricious parsimony of his father is growing rapidly +upon him, and this and many other similarities of character and conduct +which year after year develop themselves, may well cause Mary gratefully +to rejoice that she was suffered before too late to redeem the error of +<i>her first mistaken choice</i>.</p> + + +<h3>THE END.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p class="center">LONDON:<br /> +Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street</p> + +<p class="center">[Transcriber's Note: Hyphen and spelling variations within each volume +and between volumes left as printed.]</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mary Seaham, Volume 3 of 3, by +Elizabeth Caroline Grey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARY SEAHAM, VOLUME 3 OF 3 *** + +***** This file should be named 40407-h.htm or 40407-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/4/0/40407/ + +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) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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