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diff --git a/4605-h/4605-h.htm b/4605-h/4605-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..904cc6a --- /dev/null +++ b/4605-h/4605-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13230 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Basil, by Wilkie Collins + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> +.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +div.poetry {text-align:center;} +div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; +display: inline-block; text-align: left;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Basil, by Wilkie Collins + +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 + + +Title: Basil + +Author: Wilkie Collins + +Release Date: December 5, 2009 [EBook #4605] +[Last updated: July 3, 2019] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BASIL *** + + + + +Produced by James Rusk + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + BASIL + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Wilkie Collins + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> LETTER OF DEDICATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> BASIL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART1"> PART I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> PART II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART3"> PART III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> LETTERS IN CONCLUSION. </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + LETTER OF DEDICATION. + </h2> + <h3> + TO CHARLES JAMES WARD, ESQ. + </h3> + <p> + IT has long been one of my pleasantest anticipations to look forward to + the time when I might offer to you, my old and dear friend, some such + acknowledgment of the value I place on your affection for me, and of my + grateful sense of the many acts of kindness by which that affection has + been proved, as I now gladly offer in this place. In dedicating the + present work to you, I fulfil therefore a purpose which, for some time + past, I have sincerely desired to achieve; and, more than that, I gain for + myself the satisfaction of knowing that there is one page, at least, of my + book, on which I shall always look with unalloyed pleasure—the page + that bears your name. + </p> + <p> + I have founded the main event out of which this story springs, on a fact + within my own knowledge. In afterwards shaping the course of the narrative + thus suggested, I have guided it, as often as I could, where I knew by my + own experience, or by experience related to me by others, that it would + touch on something real and true in its progress. My idea was, that the + more of the Actual I could garner up as a text to speak from, the more + certain I might feel of the genuineness and value of the Ideal which was + sure to spring out of it. Fancy and Imagination, Grace and Beauty, all + those qualities which are to the work of Art what scent and colour are to + the flower, can only grow towards heaven by taking root in earth. Is not + the noblest poetry of prose fiction the poetry of every-day truth? + </p> + <p> + Directing my characters and my story, then, towards the light of Reality + wherever I could find it, I have not hesitated to violate some of the + conventionalities of sentimental fiction. For instance, the first + love-meeting of two of the personages in this book, occurs (where the real + love-meeting from which it is drawn, occurred) in the very last place and + under the very last circumstances which the artifices of sentimental + writing would sanction. Will my lovers excite ridicule instead of + interest, because I have truly represented them as seeing each other where + hundreds of other lovers have first seen each other, as hundreds of people + will readily admit when they read the passage to which I refer? I am + sanguine enough to think not. + </p> + <p> + So again, in certain parts of this book where I have attempted to excite + the suspense or pity of the reader, I have admitted as perfectly fit + accessories to the scene the most ordinary street-sounds that could be + heard, and the most ordinary street-events that could occur, at the time + and in the place represented—believing that by adding to truth, they + were adding to tragedy—adding by all the force of fair contrast—adding + as no artifices of mere writing possibly could add, let them be ever so + cunningly introduced by ever so crafty a hand. + </p> + <p> + Allow me to dwell a moment longer on the story which these pages contain. + </p> + <p> + Believing that the Novel and the Play are twin-sisters in the family of + Fiction; that the one is a drama narrated, as the other is a drama acted; + and that all the strong and deep emotions which the Play-writer is + privileged to excite, the Novel-writer is privileged to excite also, I + have not thought it either politic or necessary, while adhering to + realities, to adhere to every-day realities only. In other words, I have + not stooped so low as to assure myself of the reader’s belief in the + probability of my story, by never once calling on him for the exercise of + his faith. Those extraordinary accidents and events which happen to few + men, seemed to me to be as legitimate materials for fiction to work with—when + there was a good object in using them—as the ordinary accidents and + events which may, and do, happen to us all. By appealing to genuine + sources of interest <i>within</i> the reader’s own experience, I could + certainly gain his attention to begin with; but it would be only by + appealing to other sources (as genuine in their way) <i>beyond</i> his own + experience, that I could hope to fix his interest and excite his suspense, + to occupy his deeper feelings, or to stir his nobler thoughts. + </p> + <p> + In writing thus—briefly and very generally—(for I must not + delay you too long from the story), I can but repeat, though I hope almost + unnecessarily, that I am now only speaking of what I have tried to do. + Between the purpose hinted at here, and the execution of that purpose + contained in the succeeding pages, lies the broad line of separation which + distinguishes between the will and the deed. How far I may fall short of + another man’s standard, remains to be discovered. How far I have fallen + short of my own, I know painfully well. + </p> + <p> + One word more on the manner in which the purpose of the following pages is + worked out—and I have done. + </p> + <p> + Nobody who admits that the business of fiction is to exhibit human life, + can deny that scenes of misery and crime must of necessity, while human + nature remains what it is, form part of that exhibition. Nobody can assert + that such scenes are unproductive of useful results, when they are turned + to a plainly and purely moral purpose. If I am asked why I have written + certain scenes in this book, my answer is to be found in the + universally-accepted truth which the preceding words express. I have a + right to appeal to that truth; for I guided myself by it throughout. In + deriving the lesson which the following pages contain, from those examples + of error and crime which would most strikingly and naturally teach it, I + determined to do justice to the honesty of my object by speaking out. In + drawing the two characters, whose actions bring about the darker scenes of + my story, I did not forget that it was my duty, while striving to portray + them naturally, to put them to a good moral use; and at some sacrifice, in + certain places, of dramatic effect (though I trust with no sacrifice of + truth to Nature), I have shown the conduct of the vile, as always, in a + greater or less degree, associated with something that is selfish, + contemptible, or cruel in motive. Whether any of my better characters may + succeed in endearing themselves to the reader, I know not: but this I do + certainly know:—that I shall in no instance cheat him out of his + sympathies in favour of the bad. + </p> + <p> + To those persons who dissent from the broad principles here adverted to; + who deny that it is the novelist’s vocation to do more than merely amuse + them; who shrink from all honest and serious reference, in books, to + subjects which they think of in private and talk of in public everywhere; + who see covert implications where nothing is implied, and improper + allusions where nothing improper is alluded to; whose innocence is in the + word, and not in the thought; whose morality stops at the tongue, and + never gets on to the heart—to those persons, I should consider it + loss of time, and worse, to offer any further explanation of my motives, + than the sufficient explanation which I have given already. I do not + address myself to them in this book, and shall never think of addressing + myself to them in any other. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Those words formed part of the original introduction to this novel. I + wrote them nearly ten years since; and what I said then, I say now. + </p> + <p> + “Basil” was the second work of fiction which I produced. On its + appearance, it was condemned off-hand, by a certain class of readers, as + an outrage on their sense of propriety. Conscious of having designed and + written, my story with the strictest regard to true delicacy, as + distinguished from false—I allowed the prurient misinterpretation of + certain perfectly innocent passages in this book to assert itself as + offensively as it pleased, without troubling myself to protest against an + expression of opinion which aroused in me no other feeling than a feeling + of contempt. I knew that “Basil” had nothing to fear from pure-minded + readers; and I left these pages to stand or fall on such merits as they + possessed. Slowly and surely, my story forced its way through all adverse + criticism, to a place in the public favour which it has never lost since. + Some of the most valued friends I now possess, were made for me by + “Basil.” Some of the most gratifying recognitions of my labours which I + have received, from readers personally strangers to me, have been + recognitions of the purity of this story, from the first page to the last. + All the indulgence I need now ask for “Basil,” is indulgence for literary + defects, which are the result of inexperience; which no correction can + wholly remove; and which no one sees more plainly, after a lapse of ten + years, than the writer himself. + </p> + <p> + I have only to add, that the present edition of this book is the first + which has had the benefit of my careful revision. While the incidents of + the story remain exactly what they were, the language in which they are + told has been, I hope, in many cases greatly altered for the better. + </p> + <p> + WILKIE COLLINS. + </p> + <p> + Harley Street, London, July, 1862. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + BASIL. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART I. + </h2> + <p> + I. + </p> + <p> + WHAT am I now about to write? + </p> + <p> + The history of little more than the events of one year, out of the + twenty-four years of my life. + </p> + <p> + Why do I undertake such an employment as this? + </p> + <p> + Perhaps, because I think that my narrative may do good; because I hope + that, one day, it may be put to some warning use. I am now about to relate + the story of an error, innocent in its beginning, guilty in its progress, + fatal in its results; and I would fain hope that my plain and true record + will show that this error was not committed altogether without excuse. + When these pages are found after my death, they will perhaps be calmly + read and gently judged, as relics solemnized by the atoning shadows of the + grave. Then, the hard sentence against me may be repented of; the children + of the next generation of our house may be taught to speak charitably of + my memory, and may often, of their own accord, think of me kindly in the + thoughtful watches of the night. + </p> + <p> + Prompted by these motives, and by others which I feel, but cannot analyse, + I now begin my self-imposed occupation. Hidden amid the far hills of the + far West of England, surrounded only by the few simple inhabitants of a + fishing hamlet on the Cornish coast, there is little fear that my + attention will be distracted from my task; and as little chance that any + indolence on my part will delay its speedy accomplishment. I live under a + threat of impending hostility, which may descend and overwhelm me, I know + not how soon, or in what manner. An enemy, determined and deadly, patient + alike to wait days or years for his opportunity, is ever lurking after me + in the dark. In entering on my new employment, I cannot say of my time, + that it may be mine for another hour; of my life, that it may last till + evening. + </p> + <p> + Thus it is as no leisure work that I begin my narrative—and begin + it, too, on my birthday! On this day I complete my twenty-fourth year; the + first new year of my life which has not been greeted by a single kind + word, or a single loving wish. But one look of welcome can still find me + in my solitude—the lovely morning look of nature, as I now see it + from the casement of my room. Brighter and brighter shines out the lusty + sun from banks of purple, rainy cloud; fishermen are spreading their nets + to dry on the lower declivities of the rocks; children are playing round + the boats drawn up on the beach; the sea-breeze blows fresh and pure + towards the shore——all objects are brilliant to look on, all + sounds are pleasant to hear, as my pen traces the first lines which open + the story of my life. + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + I am the second son of an English gentleman of large fortune. Our family + is, I believe, one of the most ancient in this country. On my father’s + side, it dates back beyond the Conquest; on my mother’s, it is not so old, + but the pedigree is nobler. Besides my elder brother, I have one sister, + younger than myself. My mother died shortly after giving birth to her last + child. + </p> + <p> + Circumstances which will appear hereafter, have forced me to abandon my + father’s name. I have been obliged in honour to resign it; and in honour I + abstain from mentioning it here. Accordingly, at the head of these pages, + I have only placed my Christian name—not considering it of any + importance to add the surname which I have assumed; and which I may, + perhaps, be obliged to change for some other, at no very distant period. + It will now, I hope, be understood from the outset, why I never mention my + brother and sister but by their Christian names; why a blank occurs + wherever my father’s name should appear; why my own is kept concealed in + this narrative, as it is kept concealed in the world. + </p> + <p> + The story of my boyhood and youth has little to interest—nothing + that is new. My education was the education of hundreds of others in my + rank of life. I was first taught at a public school, and then went to + college to complete what is termed “a liberal education.” + </p> + <p> + My life at college has not left me a single pleasant recollection. I found + sycophancy established there, as a principle of action; flaunting on the + lord’s gold tassel in the street; enthroned on the lord’s dais in the + dining-room. The most learned student in my college—the man whose + life was most exemplary, whose acquirements were most admirable—was + shown me sitting, as a commoner, in the lowest place. The heir to an + Earldom, who had failed at the last examination, was pointed out a few + minutes afterwards, dining in solitary grandeur at a raised table, above + the reverend scholars who had turned him back as a dunce. I had just + arrived at the University, and had just been congratulated on entering “a + venerable seminary of learning and religion.” + </p> + <p> + Trite and common-place though it be, I mention this circumstance attending + my introduction to college, because it formed the first cause which tended + to diminish my faith in the institution to which I was attached. I soon + grew to regard my university training as a sort of necessary evil, to be + patiently submitted to. I read for no honours, and joined no particular + set of men. I studied the literature of France, Italy, and Germany; just + kept up my classical knowledge sufficiently to take my degree; and left + college with no other reputation than a reputation for indolence and + reserve. + </p> + <p> + When I returned home, it was thought necessary, as I was a younger son, + and could inherit none of the landed property of the family, except in the + case of my brother’s dying without children, that I should belong to a + profession. My father had the patronage of some valuable “livings,” and + good interest with more than one member of the government. The church, the + army, the navy, and, in the last instance, the bar, were offered me to + choose from. I selected the last. + </p> + <p> + My father appeared to be a little astonished at my choice; but he made no + remark on it, except simply telling me not to forget that the bar was a + good stepping-stone to parliament. My real ambition, however, was, not to + make a name in parliament, but a name in literature. I had already engaged + myself in the hard, but glorious service of the pen; and I was determined + to persevere. The profession which offered me the greatest facilities for + pursuing my project, was the profession which I was ready to prefer. So I + chose the bar. + </p> + <p> + Thus, I entered life under the fairest auspices. Though a younger son, I + knew that my father’s wealth, exclusive of his landed property, secured me + an independent income far beyond my wants. I had no extravagant habits; no + tastes that I could not gratify as soon as formed; no cares or + responsibilities of any kind. I might practise my profession or not, just + as I chose. I could devote myself wholly and unreservedly to literature, + knowing that, in my case, the struggle for fame could never be identical—terribly, + though gloriously identical—with the struggle for bread. For me, the + morning sunshine of life was sunshine without a cloud! + </p> + <p> + I might attempt, in this place, to sketch my own character as it was at + that time. But what man can say—I will sound the depth of my own + vices, and measure the height of my own virtues; and be as good as his + word? We can neither know nor judge ourselves; others may judge, but + cannot know us: God alone judges and knows too. Let my character appear—as + far as any human character can appear in its integrity, in this world—in + my actions, when I describe the one eventful passage in my life which + forms the basis of this narrative. In the mean time, it is first necessary + that I should say more about the members of my family. Two of them, at + least, will be found important to the progress of events in these pages. I + make no attempt to judge their characters: I only describe them—whether + rightly or wrongly, I know not—as they appeared to me. + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + I always considered my father—I speak of him in the past tense, + because we are now separated for ever; because he is henceforth as dead to + me as if the grave had closed over him—I always considered my father + to be the proudest man I ever knew; the proudest man I ever heard of. His + was not that conventional pride, which the popular notions are fond of + characterising by a stiff, stately carriage; by a rigid expression of + features; by a hard, severe intonation of voice; by set speeches of + contempt for poverty and rags, and rhapsodical braggadocio about rank and + breeding. My father’s pride had nothing of this about it. It was that + quiet, negative, courteous, inbred pride, which only the closest + observation could detect; which no ordinary observers ever detected at + all. + </p> + <p> + Who that observed him in communication with any of the farmers on any of + his estates—who that saw the manner in which he lifted his hat, when + he accidentally met any of those farmers’ wives—who that noticed his + hearty welcome to the man of the people, when that man happened to be a + man of genius—would have thought him proud? On such occasions as + these, if he had any pride, it was impossible to detect it. But seeing him + when, for instance, an author and a new-made peer of no ancestry entered + his house together—observing merely the entirely different manner in + which he shook hands with each—remarking that the polite cordiality + was all for the man of letters, who did not contest his family rank with + him, and the polite formality all for the man of title, who did—you + discovered where and how he was proud in an instant. Here lay his fretful + point. The aristocracy of rank, as separate from the aristocracy of + ancestry, was no aristocracy for <i>him.</i> He was jealous of it; he + hated it. Commoner though he was, he considered himself the social + superior of any man, from a baronet up to a duke, whose family was less + ancient than his own. + </p> + <p> + Among a host of instances of this peculiar pride of his which I could + cite, I remember one, characteristic enough to be taken as a sample of all + the rest. It happened when I was quite a child, and was told me by one of + my uncles now dead—who witnessed the circumstance himself, and + always made a good story of it to the end of his life. + </p> + <p> + A merchant of enormous wealth, who had recently been raised to the + peerage, was staying at one of our country houses. His daughter, my uncle, + and an Italian Abbe were the only guests besides. The merchant was a + portly, purple-faced man, who bore his new honours with a curious mixture + of assumed pomposity and natural good-humour. The Abbe was dwarfish and + deformed, lean, sallow, sharp-featured, with bright bird-like eyes, and a + low, liquid voice. He was a political refugee, dependent for the bread he + ate, on the money he received for teaching languages. He might have been a + beggar from the streets; and still my father would have treated him as the + principal guest in the house, for this all-sufficient reason—he was + a direct descendant of one of the oldest of those famous Roman families + whose names are part of the history of the Civil Wars in Italy. + </p> + <p> + On the first day, the party assembled for dinner comprised the merchant’s + daughter, my mother, an old lady who had once been her governess, and had + always lived with her since her marriage, the new Lord, the Abbe, my + father, and my uncle. When dinner was announced, the peer advanced in + new-blown dignity, to offer his arm as a matter of course to my mother. My + father’s pale face flushed crimson in a moment. He touched the magnificent + merchant-lord on the arm, and pointed significantly, with a low bow, + towards the decrepit old lady who had once been my mother’s governess. + Then walking to the other end of the room, where the penniless Abbe was + looking over a book in a corner, he gravely and courteously led the + little, deformed, limping language-master, clad in a long, threadbare, + black coat, up to my mother (whose shoulder the Abbe’s head hardly + reached), held the door open for them to pass out first, with his own + hand; politely invited the new nobleman, who stood half-paralysed between + confusion and astonishment, to follow with the tottering old lady on his + arm; and then returned to lead the peer’s daughter down to dinner himself. + He only resumed his wonted expression and manner, when he had seen the + little Abbe—the squalid, half-starved representative of mighty + barons of the olden time—seated at the highest place of the table by + my mother’s side. + </p> + <p> + It was by such accidental circumstances as these that you discovered how + far he was proud. He never boasted of his ancestors; he never even spoke + of them, except when he was questioned on the subject; but he never forgot + them. They were the very breath of his life; the deities of his social + worship: the family treasures to be held precious beyond all lands and all + wealth, all ambitions and all glories, by his children and his children’s + children to the end of their race. + </p> + <p> + In home-life he performed his duties towards his family honourably, + delicately, and kindly. I believe in his own way he loved us all; but we, + his descendants, had to share his heart with his ancestors—we were + his household property as well as his children. Every fair liberty was + given to us; every fair indulgence was granted to us. He never displayed + any suspicion, or any undue severity. We were taught by his direction, + that to disgrace our family, either by word or action, was the one fatal + crime which could never be forgotten and never be pardoned. We were + formed, under his superintendence, in principles of religion, honour, and + industry; and the rest was left to our own moral sense, to our own + comprehension of the duties and privileges of our station. There was no + one point in his conduct towards any of us that we could complain of; and + yet there was something always incomplete in our domestic relations. + </p> + <p> + It may seem incomprehensible, even ridiculous, to some persons, but it is + nevertheless true, that we were none of us ever on intimate terms with + him. I mean by this, that he was a father to us, but never a companion. + There was something in his manner, his quiet and unchanging manner, which + kept us almost unconsciously restrained. I never in my life felt less at + my ease—I knew not why at the time—than when I occasionally + dined alone with him. I never confided to him my schemes for amusement as + a boy, or mentioned more than generally my ambitious hopes, as a young + man. It was not that he would have received such confidences with ridicule + or severity, he was incapable of it; but that he seemed above them, + unfitted to enter into them, too far removed by his own thoughts from such + thoughts as ours. Thus, all holiday councils were held with old servants; + thus, my first pages of manuscript, when I first tried authorship, were + read by my sister, and never penetrated into my father’s study. + </p> + <p> + Again, his mode of testifying displeasure towards my brother or myself, + had something terrible in its calmness, something that we never forgot, + and always dreaded as the worst calamity that could befall us. + </p> + <p> + Whenever, as boys, we committed some boyish fault, he never displayed + outwardly any irritation—he simply altered his manner towards us + altogether. We were not soundly lectured, or vehemently threatened, or + positively punished in anyway; but, when we came in contact with him, we + were treated with a cold, contemptuous politeness (especially if our fault + showed a tendency to anything mean or ungentlemanlike) which cut us to the + heart. On these occasions, we were not addressed by our Christian names; + if we accidentally met him out of doors, he was sure to turn aside and + avoid us; if we asked a question, it was answered in the briefest possible + manner, as if we had been strangers. His whole course of conduct said, as + though in so many words—You have rendered yourselves unfit to + associate with your father; and he is now making you feel that unfitness + as deeply as he does. We were left in this domestic purgatory for days, + sometimes for weeks together. To our boyish feelings (to mine especially) + there was no ignominy like it, while it lasted. + </p> + <p> + I know not on what terms my father lived with my mother. Towards my + sister, his demeanour always exhibited something of the old-fashioned, + affectionate gallantry of a former age. He paid her the same attention + that he would have paid to the highest lady in the land. He led her into + the dining-room, when we were alone, exactly as he would have led a + duchess into a banqueting-hall. He would allow us, as boys, to quit the + breakfast-table before he had risen himself; but never before she had left + it. If a servant failed in duty towards <i>him,</i> the servant was often + forgiven; if towards <i>her,</i> the servant was sent away on the spot. + His daughter was in his eyes the representative of her mother: the + mistress of his house, as well as his child. It was curious to see the + mixture of high-bred courtesy and fatherly love in his manner, as he just + gently touched her forehead with his lips, when he first saw her in the + morning. + </p> + <p> + In person, my father was of not more than middle height. He was very + slenderly and delicately made; his head small, and well set on his + shoulders—his forehead more broad than lofty—his complexion + singularly pale, except in moments of agitation, when I have already + noticed its tendency to flush all over in an instant. His eyes, large and + gray, had something commanding in their look; they gave a certain + unchanging firmness and dignity to his expression, not often met with. + They betrayed his birth and breeding, his old ancestral prejudices, his + chivalrous sense of honour, in every glance. It required, indeed, all the + masculine energy of look about the upper part of his face, to redeem the + lower part from an appearance of effeminacy, so delicately was it moulded + in its fine Norman outline. His smile was remarkable for its sweetness—it + was almost like a woman’s smile. In speaking, too, his lips often trembled + as women’s do. If he ever laughed, as a young man, his laugh must have + been very clear and musical; but since I can recollect him, I never heard + it. In his happiest moments, in the gayest society, I have only seen him + smile. + </p> + <p> + There were other characteristics of my father’s disposition and manner, + which I might mention; but they will appear to greater advantage, perhaps, + hereafter, connected with circumstances which especially called them + forth. + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + When a family is possessed of large landed property, the individual of + that family who shows least interest in its welfare; who is least fond of + home, least connected by his own sympathies with his relatives, least + ready to learn his duties or admit his responsibilities, is often that + very individual who is to succeed to the family inheritance—the + eldest son. + </p> + <p> + My brother Ralph was no exception to this remark. We were educated + together. After our education was completed, I never saw him, except for + short periods. He was almost always on the continent, for some years after + he left college. And when he returned definitely to England, he did not + return to live under our roof. Both in town and country he was our + visitor, not our inmate. + </p> + <p> + I recollect him at school—stronger, taller, handsomer than I was; + far beyond me in popularity among the little community we lived with; the + first to lead a daring exploit, the last to abandon it; now at the bottom + of the class, now at the top—just that sort of gay, boisterous, + fine-looking, dare-devil boy, whom old people would instinctively turn + round and smile after, as they passed him by in a morning walk. + </p> + <p> + Then, at college, he became illustrious among rowers and cricketers, + renowned as a pistol shot, dreaded as a singlestick player. No wine + parties in the university were such wine parties as his; tradesmen gave + him the first choice of everything that was new; young ladies in the town + fell in love with him by dozens; young tutors with a tendency to dandyism, + copied the cut of his coat and the tie of his cravat; even the awful heads + of houses looked leniently on his delinquencies. The gay, hearty, handsome + young English gentleman carried a charm about him that subdued everybody. + Though I was his favourite butt, both at school and college, I never + quarrelled with him in my life. I always let him ridicule my dress, + manners, and habits in his own reckless, boisterous way, as if it had been + a part of his birthright privilege to laugh at me as much as he chose. + </p> + <p> + Thus far, my father had no worse anxieties about him than those occasioned + by his high spirits and his heavy debts. But when he returned home—when + the debts had been paid, and it was next thought necessary to drill the + free, careless energies into something like useful discipline—then + my father’s trials and difficulties began in earnest. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to make Ralph comprehend and appreciate his position, as + he was desired to comprehend and appreciate it. The steward gave up in + despair all attempts to enlighten him about the extent, value, and + management of the estates he was to inherit. A vigorous effort was made to + inspire him with ambition; to get him to go into parliament. He laughed at + the idea. A commission in the Guards was next offered to him. He refused + it, because he would never be buttoned up in a red coat; because he would + submit to no restraints, fashionable or military; because in short, he was + determined to be his own master. My father talked to him by the hour + together, about his duties and his prospects, the cultivation of his mind, + and the example of his ancestors; and talked in vain. He yawned and + fidgetted over the emblazoned pages of his own family pedigree, whenever + they were opened before him. + </p> + <p> + In the country, he cared for nothing but hunting and shooting—it was + as difficult to make him go to a grand county dinner-party, as to make him + go to church. In town, he haunted the theatres, behind the scenes as well + as before; entertained actors and actresses at Richmond; ascended in + balloons at Vauxhall; went about with detective policemen, seeing life + among pickpockets and housebreakers; belonged to a whist club, a supper + club, a catch club, a boxing club, a picnic club, an amateur theatrical + club; and, in short, lived such a careless, convivial life, that my + father, outraged in every one of his family prejudices and family + refinements, almost ceased to speak to him, and saw him as rarely as + possible. Occasionally, my sister’s interference reconciled them again for + a short time; her influence, gentle as it was, was always powerfully felt + for good, but she could not change my brother’s nature. Persuade and + entreat as anxiously as she might, he was always sure to forfeit the + paternal favour again, a few days after he had been restored to it. + </p> + <p> + At last, matters were brought to their climax by an awkward love adventure + of Ralph’s with one of our tenants’ daughters. My father acted with his + usual decision on the occasion. He determined to apply a desperate remedy: + to let the refractory eldest son run through his career in freedom, + abroad, until he had well wearied himself, and could return home a sobered + man. Accordingly, he procured for my brother an attache’s place in a + foreign embassy, and insisted on his leaving England forthwith. For once + in a way, Ralph was docile. He knew and cared nothing about diplomacy; but + he liked the idea of living on the continent, so he took his leave of home + with his best grace. My father saw him depart, with ill-concealed + agitation and apprehension; although he affected to feel satisfied that, + flighty and idle as Ralph was, he was incapable of voluntarily + dishonouring his family, even in his most reckless moods. + </p> + <p> + After this, we heard little from my brother. His letters were few and + short, and generally ended with petitions for money. The only important + news of him that reached us, reached us through public channels. + </p> + <p> + He was making quite a continental reputation—a reputation, the bare + mention of which made my father wince. He had fought a duel; he had + imported a new dance from Hungary; he had contrived to get the smallest + groom that ever was seen behind a cabriolet; he had carried off the + reigning beauty among the opera-dancers of the day from all competitors; a + great French cook had composed a great French dish, and christened it by + his name; he was understood to be the “unknown friend,” to whom a literary + Polish countess had dedicated her “Letters against the restraint of the + Marriage Tie;” a female German metaphysician, sixty years old, had fallen + (Platonically) in love with him, and had taken to writing erotic romances + in her old age. Such were some of the rumours that reached my father’s + ears on the subject of his son and heir! + </p> + <p> + After a long absence, he came home on a visit. How well I remember the + astonishment he produced in the whole household! He had become a foreigner + in manners and appearance. His mustachios were magnificent; miniature toys + in gold and jewellery hung in clusters from his watch-chain; his + shirt-front was a perfect filigree of lace and cambric. He brought with + him his own boxes of choice liqueurs and perfumes; his own smart, + impudent, French valet; his own travelling bookcase of French novels, + which he opened with his own golden key. He drank nothing but chocolate in + the morning; he had long interviews with the cook, and revolutionized our + dinner table. All the French newspapers were sent to him by a London + agent. He altered the arrangements of his bed-room; no servant but his own + valet was permitted to enter it. Family portraits that hung there, were + turned to the walls, and portraits of French actresses and Italian singers + were stuck to the back of the canvasses. Then he displaced a beautiful + little ebony cabinet which had been in the family three hundred years; and + set up in its stead a Cyprian temple of his own, in miniature, with + crystal doors, behind which hung locks of hair, rings, notes written on + blush-coloured paper, and other love-tokens kept as sentimental relics. + His influence became all-pervading among us. He seemed to communicate to + the house the change that had taken place in himself, from the reckless, + racketty young Englishman to the super-exquisite foreign dandy. It was as + if the fiery, effervescent atmosphere of the Boulevards of Paris had + insolently penetrated into the old English mansion, and ruffled and + infected its quiet native air, to the remotest corners of the place. + </p> + <p> + My father was even more dismayed than displeased by the alteration in my + brother’s habits and manners—the eldest son was now farther from his + ideal of what an eldest son should be, than ever. As for friends and + neighbours, Ralph was heartily feared and disliked by them, before he had + been in the house a week. He had an ironically patient way of listening to + their conversation; an ironically respectful manner of demolishing their + old-fashioned opinions, and correcting their slightest mistakes, which + secretly aggravated them beyond endurance. It was worse still, when my + father, in despair, tried to tempt him into marriage, as the one final + chance of working his reform; and invited half the marriageable young + ladies of our acquaintance to the house, for his especial benefit. + </p> + <p> + Ralph had never shown much fondness at home, for the refinements of good + female society. Abroad, he had lived as exclusively as he possibly could, + among women whose characters ranged downwards by infinitesimal degrees, + from the mysteriously doubtful to the notoriously bad. The highly-bred, + highly-refined, highly-accomplished young English beauties had no charm + for him. He detected at once the domestic conspiracy of which he was + destined to become the victim. He often came up-stairs, at night, into my + bed-room; and while he was amusing himself by derisively kicking about my + simple clothes and simple toilette apparatus; while he was laughing in his + old careless way at my quiet habits and monotonous life, used to slip in, + parenthetically, all sorts of sarcasms about our young lady guests. To + him, their manners were horribly inanimate; their innocence, hypocrisy of + education. Pure complexions and regular features were very well, he said, + as far as they went; but when a girl could not walk properly, when she + shook hands with you with cold fingers, when having good eyes she could + not make a stimulating use of them, then it was time to sentence the + regular features and pure complexions to be taken back forthwith to the + nursery from which they came. For <i>his</i> part, he missed the + conversation of his witty Polish Countess, and longed for another + pancake-supper with his favourite <i>grisettes.</i> + </p> + <p> + The failure of my father’s last experiment with Ralph soon became + apparent. Watchful and experienced mothers began to suspect that my + brother’s method of flirtation was dangerous, and his style of waltzing + improper. One or two ultra-cautious parents, alarmed by the laxity of his + manners and opinions, removed their daughters out of harm’s way, by + shortening their visits. The rest were spared any such necessity. My + father suddenly discovered that Ralph was devoting himself rather too + significantly to a young married woman who was staying in the house. The + same day he had a long private interview with my brother. What passed + between them, I know not; but it must have been something serious. Ralph + came out of my father’s private study, very pale and very silent; ordered + his luggage to be packed directly; and the next morning departed, with his + French valet, and his multifarious French goods and chattels, for the + continent. + </p> + <p> + Another interval passed; and then we had another short visit from him. He + was still unaltered. My father’s temper suffered under this second + disappointment. He became more fretful and silent; more apt to take + offence than had been his wont. I particularly mention the change thus + produced in his disposition, because that change was destined, at no very + distant period, to act fatally upon me. + </p> + <p> + On this last occasion, also, there was another serious disagreement + between father and son; and Ralph left England again in much the same way + that he had left it before. + </p> + <p> + Shortly after that second departure, we heard that he had altered his + manner of life. He had contracted, what would be termed in the continental + code of morals, a reformatory attachment to a woman older than himself, + who was living separated from her husband, when he met with her. It was + this lady’s lofty ambition to be Mentor and mistress, both together! And + she soon proved herself to be well qualified for her courageous + undertaking. To the astonishment of everyone who knew him, Ralph suddenly + turned economical; and, soon afterwards, actually resigned his post at the + embassy, to be out of the way of temptation! Since that, he has returned + to England; has devoted himself to collecting snuff-boxes and learning the + violin; and is now living quietly in the suburbs of London, still under + the inspection of the resolute female missionary who first worked his + reform. + </p> + <p> + Whether he will ever become the high-minded, high-principled country + gentleman, that my father has always desired to see him, it is useless for + me to guess. On the domains which he is to inherit, I shall never perhaps + set foot again: in the halls where he will one day preside as master, I + shall never more be sheltered. Let me now quit the subject of my elder + brother, and turn to a theme which is nearer to my heart; dear to me as + the last remembrance left that I can love; precious beyond all treasures + in my solitude and my exile from home. + </p> + <p> + My sister!—well may I linger over your beloved name in such a record + as this. A little farther on, and the darkness of crime and grief will + encompass me; here, my recollections of you kindle like a pure light + before my eyes—doubly pure by contrast with what lies beyond. May + your kind eyes, love, be the first that fall on these pages, when the + writer has parted from them for ever! May your tender hand be the first + that touches these leaves, when mine is cold! Backward in my narrative, + Clara, wherever I have but casually mentioned my sister, the pen has + trembled and stood still. At this place, where all my remembrances of you + throng upon me unrestrained, the tears gather fast and thick beyond + control; and for the first time since I began my task, my courage and my + calmness fail me. + </p> + <p> + It is useless to persevere longer. My hand trembles; my eyes grow dimmer + and dimmer. I must close my labours for the day, and go forth to gather + strength and resolution for to-morrow on the hill-tops that overlook the + sea. + </p> + <p> + V. + </p> + <p> + My sister Clara is four years younger than I am. In form of face, in + complexion, and—except the eyes—in features, she bears a + striking resemblance to my father. Her expressions however, must be very + like what my mother’s was. Whenever I have looked at her in her silent and + thoughtful moments, she has always appeared to freshen, and even to + increase, my vague, childish recollections of our lost mother. Her eyes + have that slight tinge of melancholy in their tenderness, and that + peculiar softness in their repose, which is only seen in blue eyes. Her + complexion, pale as my father’s when she is neither speaking nor moving, + has in a far greater degree than his the tendency to flush, not merely in + moments of agitation, but even when she is walking, or talking on any + subject that interests her. Without this peculiarity her paleness would be + a defect. With it, the absence of any colour in her complexion but the + fugitive uncertain colour which I have described, would to some eyes debar + her from any claims to beauty. And a beauty perhaps she is not—at + least, in the ordinary acceptation of the term. + </p> + <p> + The lower part of her face is rather too small for the upper, her figure + is too slight, the sensitiveness of her nervous organization is too + constantly visible in her actions and her looks. She would not fix + attention and admiration in a box at the opera; very few men passing her + in the street would turn round to look after her; very few women would + regard her with that slightingly attentive stare, that steady depreciating + scrutiny, which a dashing decided beauty so often receives (and so often + triumphs in receiving) from her personal inferiors among her own sex. The + greatest charms that my sister has on the surface, come from beneath it. + </p> + <p> + When you really knew her, when she spoke to you freely, as to a friend—then, + the attraction of her voice, her smile her manner, impressed you + indescribably. Her slightest words and her commonest actions interested + and delighted you, you knew not why. There was a beauty about her + unassuming simplicity, her natural—exquisitely natural—kindness + of heart, and word, and manner, which preserved its own unobtrusive + influence over you, in spite of all other rival influences, be they what + they might. You missed and thought of her, when you were fresh from the + society of the most beautiful and the most brilliant women. You remembered + a few kind, pleasant words of hers when you forgot the wit of the wittiest + ladies, the learning of the most learned. The influence thus possessed, + and unconsciously possessed, by my sister over every one with whom she + came in contact—over men especially—may, I think be very + simply accounted for, in very few sentences. + </p> + <p> + We live in an age when too many women appear to be ambitious of morally + unsexing themselves before society, by aping the language and the manners + of men—especially in reference to that miserable modern dandyism of + demeanour, which aims at repressing all betrayal of warmth of feeling; + which abstains from displaying any enthusiasm on any subject whatever; + which, in short, labours to make the fashionable imperturbability of the + face the faithful reflection of the fashionable imperturbability of the + mind. Women of this exclusively modern order, like to use slang + expressions in their conversation; assume a bastard-masculine abruptness + in their manners, a bastard-masculine licence in their opinions; affect to + ridicule those outward developments of feeling which pass under the + general appellation of “sentiment.” Nothing impresses, agitates, amuses, + or delights them in a hearty, natural, womanly way. Sympathy looks + ironical, if they ever show it: love seems to be an affair of calculation, + or mockery, or contemptuous sufferance, if they ever feel it. + </p> + <p> + To women such as these, my sister Clara presented as complete a contrast + as could well be conceived. In this contrast lay the secret of her + influence, of the voluntary tribute of love and admiration which followed + her wherever she went. + </p> + <p> + Few men have not their secret moments of deep feeling—moments when, + amid the wretched trivialities and hypocrisies of modern society, the + image will present itself to their minds of some woman, fresh, innocent, + gentle, sincere; some woman whose emotions are still warm and impressible, + whose affections and sympathies can still appear in her actions, and give + the colour to her thoughts; some woman in whom we could put as perfect + faith and trust, as if we were children; whom we despair of finding near + the hardening influences of the world; whom we could scarcely venture to + look for, except in solitary places far away in the country; in little + rural shrines, shut up from society, among woods and fields, and lonesome + boundary-hills. When any women happen to realise, or nearly to realise, + such an image as this, they possess that universal influence which no + rivalry can ever approach. On them really depends, and by then is really + preserved, that claim upon the sincere respect and admiration of men, on + which the power of the whole sex is based—the power so often assumed + by the many, so rarely possessed but by the few. + </p> + <p> + It was thus with my sister. Thus, wherever she went, though without either + the inclination, or the ambition to shine, she eclipsed women who were her + superiors in beauty, in accomplishments, in brilliancy of manners and + conversation—conquering by no other weapon than the purely feminine + charm of everything she said, and everything she did. + </p> + <p> + But it was not amid the gaiety and grandeur of a London season that her + character was displayed to the greatest advantage. It was when she was + living where she loved to live, in the old country-house, among the old + friends and old servants who would every one of them have died a hundred + deaths for her sake, that you could study and love her best. Then, the + charm there was in the mere presence of the kind, gentle, happy young + English girl, who could enter into everybody’s interests, and be grateful + for everybody’s love, possessed its best and brightest influence. At + picnics, lawn-parties, little country gatherings of all sorts, she was, in + her own quiet, natural manner, always the presiding spirit of general + comfort and general friendship. Even the rigid laws of country punctilio + relaxed before her unaffected cheerfulness and irresistible good-nature. + She always contrived—nobody ever knew how—to lure the most + formal people into forgetting their formality, and becoming natural for + the rest of the day. Even a heavy-headed, lumbering, silent country squire + was not too much for her. She managed to make him feel at his ease, when + no one else would undertake the task; she could listen patiently to his + confused speeches about dogs, horses, and the state of the crops, when + other conversations were proceeding in which she was really interested; + she could receive any little grateful attention that he wished to pay her—no + matter how awkward or ill-timed—as she received attentions from any + one else, with a manner which showed she considered it as a favour granted + to her sex, not as a right accorded to it. + </p> + <p> + So, again, she always succeeded in diminishing the long list of those + pitiful affronts and offences, which play such important parts in the + social drama of country society. She was a perfect Apostle-errant of the + order of Reconciliation; and wherever she went, cast out the devil + Sulkiness from all his strongholds—the lofty and the lowly alike. + Our good rector used to call her his Volunteer Curate; and declare that + she preached by a timely word, or a persuasive look, the best practical + sermons on the blessings of peace-making that were ever composed. + </p> + <p> + With all this untiring good-nature, with all this resolute industry in the + task of making every one happy whom she approached, there was mingled some + indescribable influence, which invariably preserved her from the + presumption, even of the most presuming people. I never knew anybody + venturesome enough—either by word or look—to take a liberty + with her. There was something about her which inspired respect as well as + love. My father, following the bent of his peculiar and favourite ideas, + always thought it was the look of her race in her eyes, the ascendancy of + her race in her manners. I believe it to have proceeded from a simpler and + a better cause. There is a goodness of heart, which carries the shield of + its purity over the open hand of its kindness: and that goodness was hers. + </p> + <p> + To my father, she was more, I believe, than he himself ever imagined—or + will ever know, unless he should lose her. He was often, in his + intercourse with the world, wounded severely enough in his peculiar + prejudices and peculiar refinements—he was always sure to find the + first respected, and the last partaken by <i>her.</i> He could trust in + her implicitly, he could feel assured that she was not only willing, but + able, to share and relieve his domestic troubles and anxieties. If he had + been less fretfully anxious about his eldest son; if he had wisely + distrusted from the first his own powers of persuading and reforming, and + had allowed Clara to exercise her influence over Ralph more constantly and + more completely than he really did, I am persuaded that the long-expected + epoch of my brother’s transformation would have really arrived by this + time, or even before it. + </p> + <p> + The strong and deep feelings of my sister’s nature lay far below the + surface—for a woman, too far below it. Suffering was, for her, + silent, secret, long enduring; often almost entirely void of outward vent + or development. I never remember seeing her in tears, except on rare and + very serious occasions. Unless you looked at her narrowly, you would judge + her to be little sensitive to ordinary griefs and troubles. At such times, + her eyes only grew dimmer and less animated than usual; the paleness of + her complexion became rather more marked; her lips closed and trembled + involuntarily—but this was all: there was no sighing, no weeping, no + speaking even. And yet she suffered acutely. The very strength of her + emotions was in their silence and their secresy. I, of all others—I, + guilty of infecting with my anguish the pure heart that loved me—ought + to know this best! + </p> + <p> + How long I might linger over all that she has done for <i>me!</i> As I now + approach nearer and nearer to the pages which are to reveal my fatal + story, so I am more and more tempted to delay over those better and purer + remembrances of my sister which now occupy my mind. The first little + presents—innocent girlish presents—which she secretly sent to + me at school; the first sweet days of our uninterrupted intercourse, when + the close of my college life restored me to home; her first inestimable + sympathies with my first fugitive vanities of embryo authorship, are + thronging back fast and fondly on my thoughts, while I now write. + </p> + <p> + But these memories must be calmed and disciplined. I must be collected and + impartial over my narrative—if it be only to make that narrative + show fairly and truly, without suppression or exaggeration, all that I + have owed to her. + </p> + <p> + Not merely all that I <i>have</i> owed to her; but all that I owe to her + now. Though I may never see her again, but in my thoughts; still she + influences, comforts, cheers me on to hope, as if she were already the + guardian spirit of the cottage where I live. Even in my worst moments of + despair, I can still remember that Clara is thinking of me and sorrowing + for me: I can still feel that remembrance, as an invisible hand of mercy + which supports me, sinking; which raises me, fallen; which may yet lead me + safely and tenderly to my hard journey’s end. + </p> + <p> + VI. + </p> + <p> + I have now completed all the preliminary notices of my near relatives, + which it is necessary to present in these pages; and may proceed at once + to the more immediate subject of my narrative. + </p> + <p> + Imagine to yourself that my father and my sister have been living for some + months at our London residence; and that I have recently joined them, + after having enjoyed a short tour on the continent. + </p> + <p> + My father is engaged in his parliamentary duties. We see very little of + him. Committees absorb his mornings—debates his evenings. When he + has a day of leisure occasionally, he passes it in his study, devoted to + his own affairs. He goes very little into society—a political + dinner, or a scientific meeting are the only social relaxations that tempt + him. + </p> + <p> + My sister leads a life which is not much in accordance with her simple + tastes. She is wearied of balls, operas, flower-shows, and all other + London gaieties besides; and heartily longs to be driving about the green + lanes again in her own little poney-chaise, and distributing plum-cake + prizes to the good children at the Rector’s Infant School. But the female + friend who happens to be staying with her, is fond of excitement; my + father expects her to accept the invitations which he is obliged to + decline; so she gives up her own tastes and inclinations as usual, and + goes into hot rooms among crowds of fine people, hearing the same glib + compliments, and the same polite inquiries, night after night, until, + patient as she is, she heartily wishes that her fashionable friends all + lived in some opposite quarter of the globe, the farther away the better. + </p> + <p> + My arrival from the continent is the most welcome of events to her. It + gives a new object and a new impulse to her London life. + </p> + <p> + I am engaged in writing a historical romance—indeed, it is + principally to examine the localities in the country where my story is + laid, that I have been abroad. Clara has read the first half-dozen + finished chapters, in manuscript, and augurs wonderful success for my + fiction when it is published. She is determined to arrange my study with + her own hands; to dust my books, and sort my papers herself. She knows + that I am already as fretful and precise about my literary goods and + chattels, as indignant at any interference of housemaids and dusters with + my library treasures, as if I were a veteran author of twenty years’ + standing; and she is resolved to spare me every apprehension on this + score, by taking all the arrangements of my study on herself, and keeping + the key of the door when I am not in need of it. + </p> + <p> + We have our London amusements, too, as well as our London employments. But + the pleasantest of our relaxations are, after all, procured for us by our + horses. We ride every day—sometimes with friends, sometimes alone + together. On these latter occasions, we generally turn our horses’ heads + away from the parks, and seek what country sights we can get in the + neighbourhood of London. The northern roads are generally our favourite + ride. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes we penetrate so far that we can bait our horses at a little inn + which reminds me of the inns near our country home. I see the same sanded + parlour, decorated with the same old sporting prints, furnished with the + same battered, deep-coloured mahogany table, and polished elm tree chairs, + that I remember in our own village inn. Clara, also, finds bits of common, + out of doors, that look like <i>our</i> common; and trees that might have + been transplanted expressly for her, from <i>our</i> park. + </p> + <p> + These excursions we keep a secret, we like to enjoy them entirely by + ourselves. Besides, if my father knew that his daughter was drinking the + landlady’s fresh milk, and his son the landlord’s old ale, in the parlour + of a suburban roadside inn, he would, I believe, be apt to suspect that + both his children had fairly taken leave of their senses. + </p> + <p> + Evening parties I frequent almost as rarely as my father. Clara’s good + nature is called into requisition to do duty for me, as well as for him. + She has little respite in the task. Old lady relatives and friends, always + ready to take care of her, leave her no excuse for staying at home. + Sometimes I am shamed into accompanying her a little more frequently than + usual; but my old indolence in these matters soon possesses me again. I + have contracted a bad habit of writing at night—I read almost + incessantly in the day time. It is only because I am fond of riding, that + I am ever willing to interrupt my studies, and ever ready to go out at + all. + </p> + <p> + Such were my domestic habits, such my regular occupations and amusements, + when a mere accident changed every purpose of my life, and altered me + irretrievably from what I was then, to what I am now. + </p> + <p> + It happened thus: + </p> + <p> + VII. + </p> + <p> + I had just received my quarter’s allowance of pocket-money, and had gone + into the city to cash the cheque at my father’s bankers. + </p> + <p> + The money paid, I debated for a moment how I should return homewards. + First I thought of walking: then of taking a cab. While I was considering + this frivolous point, an omnibus passed me, going westward. In the idle + impulse of the moment, I hailed it, and got in. + </p> + <p> + It was something more than an idle impulse though. If I had at that time + no other qualification for the literary career on which I was entering, I + certainly had this one—an aptitude for discovering points of + character in others: and its natural result, an unfailing delight in + studying characters of all kinds, wherever I could meet with them. + </p> + <p> + I had often before ridden in omnibuses to amuse myself by observing the + passengers. An omnibus has always appeared to me, to be a perambulatory + exhibition-room of the eccentricities of human nature. I know not any + other sphere in which persons of all classes and all temperaments are so + oddly collected together, and so immediately contrasted and confronted + with each other. To watch merely the different methods of getting into the + vehicle, and taking their seats, adopted by different people, is to study + no incomplete commentary on the infinitesimal varieties of human character—as + various even as the varieties of the human face. + </p> + <p> + Thus, in addition to the idle impulse, there was the idea of amusement in + my thoughts, as I stopped the public vehicle, and added one to the number + of the conductor’s passengers. + </p> + <p> + There were five persons in the omnibus when I entered it. Two middle-aged + ladies, dressed with amazing splendour in silks and satins, wearing + straw-coloured kid gloves, and carrying highly-scented pocket + handkerchiefs, sat apart at the end of the vehicle; trying to look as if + they occupied it under protest, and preserving the most stately gravity + and silence. They evidently felt that their magnificent outward adornments + were exhibited in a very unworthy locality, and among a very uncongenial + company. + </p> + <p> + One side, close to the door, was occupied by a lean, withered old man, + very shabbily dressed in black, who sat eternally mumbling something + between his toothless jaws. Occasionally, to the evident disgust of the + genteel ladies, he wiped his bald head and wrinkled forehead with a ragged + blue cotton handkerchief, which he kept in the crown of his hat. + </p> + <p> + Opposite to this ancient sat a dignified gentleman and a sickly + vacant-looking little girl. Every event of that day is so indelibly marked + on my memory, that I remember, not only this man’s pompous look and + manner, but even the words he addressed to the poor squalid little + creature by his side. When I entered the omnibus, he was telling her in a + loud voice how she ought to dispose of her frock and her feet when people + got into the vehicle, and when they got out. He then impressed on her the + necessity in future life, when she grew up, of always having the price of + her fare ready before it was wanted, to prevent unnecessary delay. Having + delivered himself of this good advice, he began to hum, keeping time by + drumming with his thick Malacca cane. He was still proceeding with this + amusement—producing some of the most acutely unmusical sounds I ever + heard—when the omnibus stopped to give admission to two ladies. The + first who got in was an elderly person—pale and depressed—evidently + in delicate health. The second was a young girl. + </p> + <p> + Among the workings of the hidden life within us which we may experience + but cannot explain, are there any more remarkable than those mysterious + moral influences constantly exercised, either for attraction or repulsion, + by one human being over another? In the simplest, as in the most important + affairs of life, how startling, how irresistible is their power! How often + we feel and know, either pleasurably or painfully, that another is looking + on us, before we have ascertained the fact with our own eyes! How often we + prophesy truly to ourselves the approach of a friend or enemy, just before + either have really appeared! How strangely and abruptly we become + convinced, at a first introduction, that we shall secretly love this + person and loathe that, before experience has guided us with a single fact + in relation to their characters! + </p> + <p> + I have said that the two additional passengers who entered the vehicle in + which I was riding, were, one of them, an elderly lady; the other, a young + girl. As soon as the latter had seated herself nearly opposite to me, by + her companion’s side, I felt her influence on me directly—an + influence that I cannot describe—an influence which I had never + experienced in my life before, which I shall never experience again. + </p> + <p> + I had helped to hand her in, as she passed me; merely touching her arm for + a moment. But how the sense of that touch was prolonged! I felt it + thrilling through me—thrilling in every nerve, in every pulsation of + my fast-throbbing heart. + </p> + <p> + Had I the same influence over her? Or was it I that received, and she that + conferred, only? I was yet destined to discover; but not then—not + for a long, long time. + </p> + <p> + Her veil was down when I first saw her. Her features and her expression + were but indistinctly visible to me. I could just vaguely perceive that + she was young and beautiful; but, beyond this, though I might imagine + much, I could see little. + </p> + <p> + From the time when she entered the omnibus, I have no recollection of + anything more that occurred in it. I neither remember what passengers got + out, or what passengers got in. My powers of observation, hitherto active + enough, had now wholly deserted me. Strange! that the capricious rule of + chance should sway the action of our faculties that a trifle should set in + motion the whole complicated machinery of their exercise, and a trifle + suspend it. + </p> + <p> + We had been moving onward for some little time, when the girl’s companion + addressed an observation to her. She heard it imperfectly, and lifted her + veil while it was being repeated. How painfully my heart beat! I could + almost hear it—as her face was, for the first time, freely and + fairly disclosed! + </p> + <p> + She was dark. Her hair, eyes, and complexion were darker than usual in + English women. The form, the look altogether, of her face, coupled with + what I could see of her figure, made me guess her age to be about twenty. + There was the appearance of maturity already in the shape of her features; + but their expression still remained girlish, unformed, unsettled. The fire + in her large dark eyes, when she spoke, was latent. Their languor, when + she was silent—that voluptuous languor of black eyes—was still + fugitive and unsteady. The smile about her full lips (to other eyes, they + might have looked <i>too</i> full) struggled to be eloquent, yet dared + not. Among women, there always seems something left incomplete—a + moral creation to be superinduced on the physical—which love alone + can develop, and which maternity perfects still further, when developed. I + thought, as I looked on her, how the passing colour would fix itself + brilliantly on her round, olive cheek; how the expression that still + hesitated to declare itself, would speak out at last, would shine forth in + the full luxury of its beauty, when she heard the first words, received + the first kiss, from the man she loved! + </p> + <p> + While I still looked at her, as she sat opposite speaking to her + companion, our eyes met. It was only for a moment—but the sensation + of a moment often makes the thought of a life; and that one little instant + made the new life of my heart. She put down her veil again immediately; + her lips moved involuntarily as she lowered it: I thought I could discern, + through the lace, that the slight movement ripened to a smile. + </p> + <p> + Still there was enough left to see—enough to charm. There was the + little rim of delicate white lace, encircling the lovely, dusky throat; + there was the figure visible, where the shawl had fallen open, slender, + but already well developed in its slenderness, and exquisitely supple; + there was the waist, naturally low, and left to its natural place and + natural size; there were the little millinery and jewellery ornaments that + she wore—simple and common-place enough in themselves—yet each + a beauty, each a treasure, on <i>her.</i> There was all this to behold, + all this to dwell on, in spite of the veil. The veil! how little of the + woman does it hide, when the man really loves her! + </p> + <p> + We had nearly arrived at the last point to which the omnibus would take + us, when she and her companion got out. I followed them, cautiously and at + some distance. + </p> + <p> + She was tall—tall at least for a woman. There were not many people + in the road along which we were proceeding; but even if there had been, + far behind as I was walking, I should never have lost her—never have + mistaken any one else for her. Already, strangers though we were, I felt + that I should know her, almost at any distance, only by her walk. + </p> + <p> + They went on, until we reached a suburb of new houses, intermingled with + wretched patches of waste land, half built over. Unfinished streets, + unfinished crescents, unfinished squares, unfinished shops, unfinished + gardens, surrounded us. At last they stopped at a new square, and rang the + bell at one of the newest of the new houses. The door was opened, and she + and her companion disappeared. The house was partly detached. It bore no + number; but was distinguished as North Villa. The square—unfinished + like everything else in the neighbourhood—was called Hollyoake + Square. + </p> + <p> + I noticed nothing else about the place at that time. Its newness and + desolateness of appearance revolted me, just then. I had satisfied myself + about the locality of the house, and I knew that it was her home; for I + had approached sufficiently near, when the door was opened, to hear her + inquire if anybody had called in her absence. For the present, this was + enough. My sensations wanted repose; my thoughts wanted collecting. I left + Hollyoake Square at once, and walked into the Regent’s Park, the northern + portion of which was close at hand. + </p> + <p> + Was I in love?—in love with a girl whom I had accidentally met in an + omnibus? Or, was I merely indulging a momentary caprice—merely + feeling a young man’s hot, hasty admiration for a beautiful face? These + were questions which I could not then decide. My ideas were in utter + confusion, all my thoughts ran astray. I walked on, dreaming in full day—I + had no distinct impressions, except of the stranger beauty whom I had just + seen. The more I tried to collect myself, to resume the easy, equable + feelings with which I had set forth in the morning, the less + self-possessed I became. There are two emergencies in which the wisest man + may try to reason himself back from impulse to principle; and try in vain:—the + one when a woman has attracted him for the first time; the other, when, + for the first time, also, she has happened to offend him. + </p> + <p> + I know not how long I had been walking in the park, thus absorbed yet not + thinking, when the clock of a neighbouring church struck three, and roused + me to the remembrance that I had engaged to ride out with my sister at two + o’clock. It would be nearly half-an-hour more before I could reach home. + Never had any former appointment of mine with Clara been thus forgotten! + Love had not yet turned me selfish, as it turns all men, and even all + women, more or less. I felt both sorrow and shame at the neglect of which + I had been guilty; and hastened homeward. + </p> + <p> + The groom, looking unutterably weary and discontented, was still leading + my horse up and down before the house. My sister’s horse had been sent + back to the stables. I went in; and heard that, after waiting for me an + hour, Clara had gone out with some friends, and would not be back before + dinner. + </p> + <p> + No one was in the house but the servants. The place looked dull, empty, + inexpressibly miserable to me; the distant roll of carriages along the + surrounding streets had a heavy boding sound; the opening and shutting of + doors in the domestic offices below, startled and irritated me; the London + air seemed denser to breathe than it had ever seemed before. I walked up + and down one of the rooms, fretful and irresolute. Once I directed my + steps towards my study; but retraced them before I had entered it. Reading + or writing was out of the question at that moment. + </p> + <p> + I felt the secret inclination strengthening within me to return to + Hollyoake Square; to try to see the girl again, or at least to ascertain + who she was. I strove—yes, I can honestly say, strove to repress the + desire. I tried to laugh it off, as idle and ridiculous; to think of my + sister, of the book I was writing, of anything but the one subject that + pressed stronger and stronger on me, the harder I struggled against it. + The spell of the syren was over me. I went out, hypocritically persuading + myself, that I was only animated by a capricious curiosity to know the + girl’s name, which once satisfied, would leave me at rest on the matter, + and free to laugh at my own idleness and folly as soon as I got home + again. + </p> + <p> + I arrived at the house. The blinds were all drawn down over the front + windows, to keep out the sun. The little slip of garden was left solitary—baking + and cracking in the heat. The square was silent; desolately silent, as + only a suburban square can be. I walked up and down the glaring pavement, + resolved to find out her name before I quitted the place. While still + undecided how to act, a shrill whistling—sounding doubly shrill in + the silence around—made me look up. + </p> + <p> + A tradesman’s boy—one of those town Pucks of the highway; one of + those incarnations of precocious cunning, inveterate mischief, and + impudent humour, which great cities only can produce—was approaching + me with his empty tray under his arm. I called to him to come and speak to + me. He evidently belonged to the neighbourhood, and might be made of some + use. + </p> + <p> + His first answer to my inquiries, showed that his master served the + household at North Villa. A present of a shilling secured his attention at + once to the few questions of any importance which I desired to put to him. + I learned from his replies, that the name of the master of the house was + “Sherwin:” and that the family only consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Sherwin, and + the young lady, their daughter. + </p> + <p> + My last inquiry addressed to the boy was the most important of all. Did he + know what Mr. Sherwin’s profession or employment was? + </p> + <p> + His answer startled me into perfect silence. Mr. Sherwin kept a large + linen-draper’s shop in one of the great London thoroughfares! The boy + mentioned the number, and the side of the way on which the house stood—then + asked me if I wanted to know anything more. I could only tell him by a + sign that he might leave me, and that I had heard enough. + </p> + <p> + Enough? If he had spoken the truth, I had heard too much. + </p> + <p> + A linen-draper’s shop—a linen-draper’s daughter! Was I still in + love?—I thought of my father; I thought of the name I bore; and this + time, though I might have answered the question, I dared not. + </p> + <p> + But the boy might be wrong. Perhaps, in mere mischief, he had been + deceiving me throughout. I determined to seek the address he had + mentioned, and ascertain the truth for myself. + </p> + <p> + I reached the place: there was the shop, and there the name “Sherwin” over + the door. One chance still remained. This Sherwin and the Sherwin of + Hollyoake Square might not be the same. + </p> + <p> + I went in and purchased something. While the man was tying up the parcel, + I asked him whether his master lived in Hollyoake Square. Looking a little + astonished at the question, he answered in the affirmative. + </p> + <p> + “There was a Mr. Sherwin I once knew,” I said, forging in those words the + first link in the long chain of deceit which was afterwards to fetter and + degrade me—“a Mr. Sherwin who is now, as I have heard, living + somewhere in the Hollyoake Square neighbourhood. He was a bachelor—I + don’t know whether my friend and your master are the same?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear no, Sir! My master is a married man, and has one daughter—Miss + Margaret—who is reckoned a very fine young lady, Sir!” And the man + grinned as he spoke—a grin that sickened and shocked me. + </p> + <p> + I was answered at last: I had discovered all. Margaret!—I had heard + her name, too. Margaret!—it had never hitherto been a favourite name + with me. Now I felt a sort of terror as I detected myself repeating it, + and finding a new, unimagined poetry in the sound. + </p> + <p> + Could this be love?—pure, first love for a shopkeeper’s daughter, + whom I had seen for a quarter of an hour in an omnibus, and followed home + for another quarter of an hour? The thing was impossible. And yet, I felt + a strange unwillingness to go back to our house, and see my father and + sister, just at that moment. + </p> + <p> + I was still walking onward slowly, but not in the direction of home, when + I met an old college friend of my brother’s, and an acquaintance of mine—a + reckless, good-humoured, convivial fellow. He greeted me at once, with + uproarious cordiality; and insisted on my accompanying him to dine at his + club. + </p> + <p> + If the thoughts that still hung heavy on my mind were only the morbid, + fanciful thoughts of the hour, here was a man whose society would + dissipate them. I resolved to try the experiment, and accepted his + invitation. + </p> + <p> + At dinner, I tried hard to rival him in jest and joviality; I drank much + more than my usual quantity of wine—but it was useless. The gay + words came fainting from my heart, and fell dead on my lips. The wine + fevered, but did not exhilarate me. Still, the image of the dark beauty of + the morning was the one reigning image of my thoughts—still, the + influence of the morning, at once sinister and seductive, kept its hold on + my heart. + </p> + <p> + I gave up the struggle. I longed to be alone again. My friend soon found + that my forced spirits were flagging; he tried to rouse me, tried to talk + for two, ordered more wine, but everything failed. Yawning at last, in + undisguised despair, he suggested a visit to the theatre. + </p> + <p> + I excused myself—professed illness—hinted that the wine had + been too much for me. He laughed, with something of contempt as well as + good-nature in the laugh; and went away to the play by himself evidently + feeling that I was still as bad a companion as he had found me at college, + years ago. + </p> + <p> + As soon as we parted I felt a sense of relief. I hesitated, walked + backwards and forwards a few paces in the street; and then, silencing all + doubts, leaving my inclinations to guide me as they would—I turned + my steps for the third time in that one day to Hollyoake Square. + </p> + <p> + The fair summer evening was tending towards twilight; the sun stood fiery + and low in a cloudless horizon; the last loveliness of the last quietest + daylight hour was fading on the violet sky, as I entered the square. + </p> + <p> + I approached the house. She was at the window—it was thrown wide + open. A bird-cage hung rather high up, against the shutter-panel. She was + standing opposite to it, making a plaything for the poor captive canary of + a piece of sugar, which she rapidly offered and drew back again, now at + one bar of the cage, and now at another. The bird hopped and fluttered up + and down in his prison after the sugar, chirping as if he enjoyed playing + <i>his</i> part of the game with his mistress. How lovely she looked! Her + dark hair, drawn back over each cheek so as just to leave the lower part + of the ear visible, was gathered up into a thick simple knot behind, + without ornament of any sort. She wore a plain white dress fastening round + the neck, and descending over the bosom in numberless little wavy plaits. + The cage hung just high enough to oblige her to look up to it. She was + laughing with all the glee of a child; darting the piece of sugar about + incessantly from place to place. Every moment, her head and neck assumed + some new and lovely turn—every moment her figure naturally fell into + the position which showed its pliant symmetry best. The last-left glow of + the evening atmosphere was shining on her—the farewell pause of + daylight over the kindred daylight of beauty and youth. + </p> + <p> + I kept myself concealed behind a pillar of the garden-gate; I looked, + hardly daring either to move or breathe; for I feared that if she saw or + heard me, she would leave the window. After a lapse of some minutes, the + canary touched the sugar with his beak. + </p> + <p> + “There, Minnie!” she cried laughingly, “you have caught the runaway sugar, + and now you shall keep it!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment more, she stood quietly looking at the cage; then raising + herself on tip-toe, pouted her lips caressingly to the bird, and + disappeared in the interior of the room. + </p> + <p> + The sun went down; the twilight shadows fell over the dreary square; the + gas lamps were lighted far and near; people who had been out for a breath + of fresh air in the fields, came straggling past me by ones and twos, on + their way home—and still I lingered near the house, hoping she might + come to the window again; but she did not re-appear. At last, a servant + brought candles into the room, and drew down the Venetian blinds. Knowing + it would be useless to stay longer, I left the square. + </p> + <p> + I walked homeward joyfully. That second sight of her completed what the + first meeting had begun. The impressions left by it made me insensible for + the time to all boding reflections, careless of exercising the smallest + self-restraint. I gave myself up to the charm that was at work on me. + Prudence, duty, memories and prejudices of home, were all absorbed and + forgotten in love—love that I encouraged, that I dwelt over in the + first reckless luxury of a new sensation. + </p> + <p> + I entered our house, thinking of nothing but how to see her, how to speak + to her, on the morrow; murmuring her name to myself; even while my hand + was on the lock of my study door. The instant I was in the room, I + involuntarily shuddered and stopped speechless. Clara was there! I was not + merely startled; a cold, faint sensation came over me. My first look at my + sister made me feel as if I had been detected in a crime. + </p> + <p> + She was standing at my writing-table, and had just finished stringing + together the loose pages of my manuscript, which had hitherto laid + disconnectedly in a drawer. There was a grand ball somewhere, to which she + was going that night. The dress she wore was of pale blue crape (my + father’s favourite colour, on her). One white flower was placed in her + light brown hair. She stood within the soft steady light of my lamp, + looking up towards the door from the leaves she had just tied together. + Her slight figure appeared slighter than usual, in the delicate material + that now clothed it. Her complexion was at its palest: her face looked + almost statue-like in its purity and repose. What a contrast to the other + living picture which I had seen at sunset! + </p> + <p> + The remembrance of the engagement that I had broken came back on me + avengingly, as she smiled, and held my manuscript up before me to look at. + With that remembrance there returned, too—darker than ever—the + ominous doubts which had depressed me but a few hours since. I tried to + steady my voice, and felt how I failed in the effort, as I spoke to her: + </p> + <p> + “Will you forgive me, Clara, for having deprived you of your ride to-day? + I am afraid I have but a bad excuse—” + </p> + <p> + “Then don’t make it, Basil; or wait till papa can arrange it for you, in a + proper parliamentary way, when he comes back from the House of Commons + to-night. See how I have been meddling with your papers; but they were in + such confusion I was really afraid some of these leaves might have been + lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither the leaves nor the writer deserve half the pains you have taken + with them; but I am really sorry for breaking our engagement. I met an old + college friend—there was business too, in the morning—we dined + together—he would take no denial.” + </p> + <p> + “Basil, how pale you look! Are you ill?” + </p> + <p> + “No; the heat has been a little too much for me—nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + “Has anything happened? I only ask, because if I can be of any use—if + you want me to stay at home—” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, love. I wish you all success and pleasure at the ball.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment she did not speak; but fixed her clear, kind eyes on me more + gravely and anxiously than usual. Was she searching my heart, and + discovering the new love rising, an usurper already, in the place where + the love of her had reigned before? + </p> + <p> + Love! love for a shopkeeper’s daughter! That thought came again, as she + looked at me! and, strangely mingled with it, a maxim I had often heard my + father repeat to Ralph—“Never forget that your station is not yours, + to do as you like with. It belongs to us, and belongs to your children. + You must keep it for them, as I have kept it for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” resumed Clara, in rather lower tones than before, “that I + would just look into your room before I went to the ball, and see that + everything was properly arranged for you, in case you had any idea of + writing tonight; I had just time to do this while my aunt, who is going + with me, was upstairs altering her toilette. But perhaps you don’t feel + inclined to write?” + </p> + <p> + “I will try at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I do anything more? Would you like my nosegay left in the room?—the + flowers smell so fresh! I can easily get another. Look at the roses, my + favourite white roses, that always remind me of my own garden at the dear + old Park!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Clara; but I think the nosegay is fitter for your hand than my + table.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Basil.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night.” + </p> + <p> + She walked to the door, then turned round, and smiled as if she were about + to speak again; but checked herself, and merely looked at me for an + instant. In that instant, however, the smile left her face, and the grave, + anxious expression came again. She went out softly. A few minutes + afterwards the roll of the carriage which took her and her companion to + the ball, died away heavily on my ear. I was left alone in the house—alone + for the night. + </p> + <p> + VIII. + </p> + <p> + My manuscript lay before me, set in order by Clara’s careful hand. I + slowly turned over the leaves one by one; but my eye only fell + mechanically on the writing. Yet one day since, and how much ambition, how + much hope, how many of my heart’s dearest sensations and my mind’s highest + thoughts dwelt in those poor paper leaves, in those little crabbed marks + of pen and ink! Now I could look on them indifferently—almost as a + stranger would have looked. The days of calm study, of steady toil of + thought, seemed departed for ever. Stirring ideas; store of knowledge + patiently heaped up; visions of better sights than this world can show, + falling freshly and sunnily over the pages of my first book; all these + were past and gone—withered up by the hot breath of the senses—doomed + by a paltry fate, whose germ was the accident of an idle day! + </p> + <p> + I hastily put the manuscript aside. My unexpected interview with Clara had + calmed the turbulent sensations of the evening: but the fatal influence of + the dark beauty remained with me still. How could I write? + </p> + <p> + I sat down at the open window. It was at the back of the house, and looked + out on a strip of garden—London garden—a close-shut dungeon + for nature, where stunted trees and drooping flowers seemed visibly pining + for the free air and sunlight of the country, in their sooty atmosphere, + amid their prison of high brick walls. But the place gave room for the air + to blow in it, and distanced the tumult of the busy streets. The moon was + up, shined round tenderly by a little border-work of pale yellow light. + Elsewhere, the awful void of night was starless; the dark lustre of space + shone without a cloud. + </p> + <p> + A presentiment arose within me, that in this still and solitary hour would + occur my decisive, my final struggle with myself. I felt that my heart’s + life or death was set on the hazard of the night. + </p> + <p> + This new love that was in me; this giant sensation of a day’s growth, was + first love. Hitherto, I had been heart-whole. I had known nothing of the + passion, which is the absorbing passion of humanity. No woman had ever + before stood between me and my ambitions, my occupations, my amusements. + No woman had ever before inspired me with the sensations which I now felt. + </p> + <p> + In trying to realise my position, there was this one question to consider; + was I still strong enough to resist the temptation which accident had + thrown in my way? I had this one incentive to resistance: the conviction + that, if I succumbed, as far as my family prospects were concerned, I + should be a ruined man. + </p> + <p> + I knew my father’s character well: I knew how far his affections and his + sympathies might prevail over his prejudices—even over his + principles—in some peculiar cases; and this very knowledge convinced + me that the consequences of a degrading marriage contracted by his son + (degrading in regard to rank), would be terrible: fatal to one, perhaps to + both. Every other irregularity—every other offence even—he + might sooner or later forgive. <i>This</i> irregularity, <i>this</i> + offence, never—never, though his heart broke in the struggle. I was + as sure of it, as I was of my own existence at that moment. + </p> + <p> + I loved her! All that I felt, all that I knew, was summed up in those few + words! Deteriorating as my passion was in its effect on the exercise of my + mental powers, and on my candour and sense of duty in my intercourse with + home, it was a pure feeling towards <i>her.</i> This is truth. If I lay on + my death-bed, at the present moment, and knew that, at the Judgment Day, I + should be tried by the truth or falsehood of the lines just written, I + could say with my last breath: So be it; let them remain. + </p> + <p> + But what mattered my love for her? However worthy of it she might be, I + had misplaced it, because chance—the same chance which might have + given her station and family—had placed her in a rank of life far—too + far—below mine. As the daughter of a “gentleman,” my father’s + welcome, my father’s affection, would have been bestowed on her, when I + took her home as my wife. As the daughter of a tradesman, my father’s + anger, my father’s misery, my own ruin perhaps besides, would be the fatal + dower that a marriage would confer on her. What made all this difference? + A social prejudice. Yes: but a prejudice which had been a principle—nay, + more, a religion—in our house, since my birth; and for centuries + before it. + </p> + <p> + (How strange that foresight of love which precipitates the future into the + present! Here was I thinking of her as my wife, before, perhaps, she had a + suspicion of the passion with which she had inspired me—vexing my + heart, wearying my thoughts, before I had even spoken to her, as if the + perilous discovery of our marriage were already at hand! I have thought + since how unnatural I should have considered this, if I had read it in a + book.) + </p> + <p> + How could I best crush the desire to see her, to speak to her, on the + morrow? Should I leave London, leave England, fly from the temptation, no + matter where, or at what sacrifice? Or should I take refuge in my books—the + calm, changeless old friends of my earliest fireside hours? Had I + resolution enough to wear my heart out by hard, serious, slaving study? If + I left London on the morrow, could I feel secure, in my own conscience, + that I should not return the day after! + </p> + <p> + While, throughout the hours of the night, I was thus vainly striving to + hold calm counsel with myself; the base thought never occurred to me, + which might have occurred to some other men, in my position: Why marry the + girl, because I love her? Why, with my money, my station, my + opportunities, obstinately connect love and marriage as one idea; and make + a dilemma and a danger where neither need exist? Had such a thought as + this, in the faintest, the most shadowy form, crossed my mind, I should + have shrunk from it, have shrunk from my self; with horror. Whatever fresh + degradations may be yet in store for me, this one consoling and + sanctifying remembrance must still be mine. My love for Margaret Sherwin + was worthy to be offered to the purest and perfectest woman that ever God + created. + </p> + <p> + The night advanced—the noises faintly reaching me from the streets, + sank and ceased—my lamp flickered and went out—I heard the + carriage return with Clara from the ball—the first cold clouds of + day rose and hid the waning orb of the moon—the air was cooled with + its morning freshness: the earth was purified with its morning dew—and + still I sat by my open window, striving with my burning love-thoughts of + Margaret; striving to think collectedly and usefully—abandoned to a + struggle ever renewing, yet never changing; and always hour after hour, a + struggle in vain. + </p> + <p> + At last I began to think less and less distinctly—a few moments + more, and I sank into a restless, feverish slumber. Then began another, + and a more perilous ordeal for me—the ordeal of dreams. Thoughts and + sensations which had been more and more weakly restrained with each + succeeding hour of wakefulness, now rioted within me in perfect liberation + from all control. + </p> + <p> + This is what I dreamed: + </p> + <p> + I stood on a wide plain. On one side, it was bounded by thick woods, whose + dark secret depths looked unfathomable to the eye: on the other, by hills, + ever rising higher and higher yet, until they were lost in bright, + beautifully white clouds, gleaming in refulgent sunlight. On the side + above the woods, the sky was dark and vaporous. It seemed as if some thick + exhalation had arisen from beneath the trees, and overspread the clear + firmament throughout this portion of the scene. + </p> + <p> + As I still stood on the plain and looked around, I saw a woman coming + towards me from the wood. Her stature was tall; her black hair flowed + about her unconfined; her robe was of the dun hue of the vapour and mist + which hung above the trees, and fell to her feet in dark thick folds. She + came on towards me swiftly and softly, passing over the ground like + cloud-shadows over the ripe corn-field or the calm water. + </p> + <p> + I looked to the other side, towards the hills; and there was another woman + descending from their bright summits; and her robe was white, and pure, + and glistening. Her face was illumined with a light, like the light of the + harvest-moon; and her footsteps, as she descended the hills, left a long + track of brightness, that sparkled far behind her, like the track of the + stars when the winter night is clear and cold. She came to the place where + the hills and the plain were joined together. Then she stopped, and I knew + that she was watching me from afar off. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, the woman from the dark wood still approached; never pausing on + her path, like the woman from the fair hills. And now I could see her face + plainly. Her eyes were lustrous and fascinating, as the eyes of a serpent—large, + dark and soft, as the eyes of the wild doe. Her lips were parted with a + languid smile; and she drew back the long hair, which lay over her cheeks, + her neck, her bosom, while I was gazing on her. + </p> + <p> + Then, I felt as if a light were shining on me from the other side. I + turned to look, and there was the woman from the hills beckoning me away + to ascend with her towards the bright clouds above. Her arm, as she held + it forth, shone fair, even against the fair hills; and from her + outstretched hand came long thin rays of trembling light, which penetrated + to where I stood, cooling and calming wherever they touched me. + </p> + <p> + But the woman from the woods still came nearer and nearer, until I could + feel her hot breath on my face. Her eyes looked into mine, and fascinated + them, as she held out her arms to embrace me. I touched her hand, and in + an instant the touch ran through me like fire, from head to foot. Then, + still looking intently on me with her wild bright eyes, she clasped her + supple arms round my neck, and drew me a few paces away with her towards + the wood. + </p> + <p> + I felt the rays of light that had touched me from the beckoning hand, + depart; and yet once more I looked towards the woman from the hills. She + was ascending again towards the bright clouds, and ever and anon she + stopped and turned round, wringing her hands and letting her head droop, + as if in bitter grief. The last time I saw her look towards me, she was + near the clouds. She covered her face with her robe, and knelt down where + she stood. After this I discerned no more of her. For now the woman from + the woods clasped me more closely than before, pressing her warm lips on + mine; and it was as if her long hair fell round us both, spreading over my + eyes like a veil, to hide from them the fair hill-tops, and the woman who + was walking onward to the bright clouds above. + </p> + <p> + I was drawn along in the arms of the dark woman, with my blood burning and + my breath failing me, until we entered the secret recesses that lay amid + the unfathomable depths of trees. There, she encircled me in the folds of + her dusky robe, and laid her cheek close to mine, and murmured a + mysterious music in my ear, amid the midnight silence and darkness of all + around us. And I had no thought of returning to the plain again; for I had + forgotten the woman from the fair hills, and had given myself up, heart, + and soul, and body, to the woman from the dark woods. + </p> + <p> + Here the dream ended, and I awoke. + </p> + <p> + It was broad daylight. The sun shone brilliantly, the sky was cloudless. I + looked at my watch; it had stopped. Shortly afterwards I heard the hall + clock strike six. + </p> + <p> + My dream was vividly impressed on my memory, especially the latter part of + it. Was it a warning of coming events, foreshadowed in the wild visions of + sleep? But to what purpose could this dream, or indeed any dream, tend? + Why had it remained incomplete, failing to show me the visionary + consequences of my visionary actions? What superstition to ask! What a + waste of attention to bestow it on such a trifle as a dream! + </p> + <p> + Still, this trifle had produced one abiding result. I knew it not then; + but I know it now. As I looked out on the reviving, re-assuring sunlight, + it was easy enough for me to dismiss as ridiculous from my mind, or rather + from my conscience, the tendency to see in the two shadowy forms of my + dream, the types of two real living beings, whose names almost trembled + into utterance on my lips; but I could not also dismiss from my heart the + love-images which that dream had set up there for the worship of the + senses. Those results of the night still remained within me, growing and + strengthening with every minute. + </p> + <p> + If I had been told beforehand how the mere sight of the morning would + reanimate and embolden me, I should have scouted the prediction as too + outrageous for consideration; yet so it was. The moody and boding + reflections, the fear and struggle of the hours of darkness were gone with + the daylight. The love-thoughts of Margaret alone remained, and now + remained unquestioned and unopposed. Were my convictions of a few hours + since, like the night-mists that fade before returning sunshine? I knew + not. But I was young; and each new morning is as much the new life of + youth, as the new life of Nature. + </p> + <p> + So I left my study and went out. Consequences might come how they would, + and when they would; I thought of them no more. It seemed as if I had cast + off every melancholy thought, in leaving my room; as if my heart had + sprung up more elastic than ever, after the burden that had been laid on + it during the night. Enjoyment for the present, hope for the future, and + chance and fortune to trust in to the very last! This was my creed, as I + walked into the street, determined to see Margaret again, and to tell her + of my love before the day was out. In the exhilaration of the fresh air + and the gay sunshine, I turned my steps towards Hollyoake Square, almost + as light-hearted as a boy let loose from school, joyously repeating + Shakespeare’s lines as I went: + </p> +<div class="poetry"><div class="poem"> + “Hope is a lover’s staff; walk hence with that,<br /> + And manage it against despairing thoughts.” + </div></div> + <p> + IX. + </p> + <p> + London was rousing everywhere into morning activity, as I passed through + the streets. The shutters were being removed from the windows of + public-houses: the drink-vampyres that suck the life of London, were + opening their eyes betimes to look abroad for the new day’s prey! Small + tobacco and provision-shops in poor neighbourhoods; dirty little + eating-houses, exhaling greasy-smelling steam, and displaying a leaf of + yesterday’s paper, stained and fly-blown, hanging in the windows—were + already plying, or making ready to ply, their daily trade. Here, a + labouring man, late for his work, hurried by; there, a hale old gentleman + started for his early walk before breakfast. Now a market-cart, already + unloaded, passed me on its way back to the country; now, a cab, laden with + luggage and carrying pale, sleepy-looking people, rattled by, bound for + the morning train or the morning steamboat. I saw the mighty vitality of + the great city renewing itself in every direction; and I felt an unwonted + interest in the sight. It was as if all things, on all sides, were + reflecting before me the aspect of my own heart. + </p> + <p> + But the quiet and torpor of the night still hung over Hollyoake Square. + That dreary neighbourhood seemed to vindicate its dreariness by being the + last to awaken even to a semblance of activity and life. Nothing was + stirring as yet at North Villa. I walked on, beyond the last houses, into + the sooty London fields; and tried to think of the course I ought to + pursue in order to see Margaret, and speak to her, before I turned + homeward again. After the lapse of more than half an hour, I returned to + the square, without plan or project; but resolved, nevertheless, to carry + my point. + </p> + <p> + The garden-gate of North Villa was now open. One of the female servants of + the house was standing at it, to breathe the fresh air, and look about + her, before the duties of the day began. I advanced; determined, if money + and persuasion could do it, to secure her services. + </p> + <p> + She was young (that was one chance in my favour!)—plump, florid, and + evidently not by any means careless about her personal appearance (that + gave me another!) As she saw me approaching her, she smiled; and passed + her apron hurriedly over her face—carefully polishing it for my + inspection, much as a broker polishes a piece of furniture when you stop + to look at it. + </p> + <p> + “Are you in Mr. Sherwin’s service?”—I asked, as I got to the garden + gate. + </p> + <p> + “As plain cook, Sir,” answered the girl, administering to her face a final + and furious rub of the apron. + </p> + <p> + “Should you be very much surprised if I asked you to do me a great + favour?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—really, Sir—you’re quite a stranger to me—I’m <i>sure</i> + I don’t know!” She stopped, and transferred the apron-rubbing to her arms. + </p> + <p> + “I hope we shall not be strangers long. Suppose I begin our acquaintance, + by telling you that you would look prettier in brighter cap-ribbons, and + asking you to buy some, just to see whether I am not right?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s very kind of you to say so, Sir; and thank you. But cap and ribbons + are the last things I can buy while I’m in <i>this</i> place. Master’s + master and missus too, here; and drives us half wild with the fuss he + makes about our caps and ribbons. He’s such an austerious man, that he + will have our caps as he likes ‘em. It’s bad enough when a missus meddles + with a poor servant’s ribbons; but to have master come down into the + kitchen, and—Well, it’s no use telling <i>you</i> of it, Sir—and—and + thank you, Sir, for what you’ve given me, all the same!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope this is not the last time I shall make you a present. And now I + must come to the favour I want to ask of you: can you keep a secret?” + </p> + <p> + “That I can, Sir! I’ve kep’ a many secrets since I’ve been out at + service.” + </p> + <p> + “Well: I want you to find me an opportunity of speaking to your young lady—” + </p> + <p> + “To Miss Margaret, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I want an opportunity of seeing Miss Margaret, and speaking to her + in private—and not a word must be said to her about it, beforehand.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh Lord, Sir! I couldn’t dare to do it!” + </p> + <p> + “Come! come! Can’t you guess why I want to see your young lady, and what I + want to say to her?” + </p> + <p> + The girl smiled, and shook her head archly. “Perhaps you’re in love with + Miss Margaret, Sir!—But I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t dare to do it!” + </p> + <p> + “Very well; but you can tell me at least, whether Miss Margaret ever goes + out to take a walk?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Sir; mostly every day.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you ever go out with her?—just to take care of her when no one + else can be spared?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t ask me—please, Sir, don’t!” She crumpled her apron between + her fingers, with a very piteous and perplexed air. “I don’t know you; and + Miss Margaret don’t know you, I’m sure—I couldn’t, Sir, I really + couldn’t!” + </p> + <p> + “Take a good look at me! Do you think I am likely to do you or your young + lady any harm? Am I too dangerous a man to be trusted? Would you believe + me on my promise?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir, I’m sure I would!—being so kind and so civil to <i>me,</i> + too!” (a fresh arrangement of the cap followed this speech.) + </p> + <p> + “Then suppose I promised, in the first place, not to tell Miss Margaret + that I had spoken to you about her at all. And suppose I promised, in the + second place, that, if you told me when you and Miss Margaret go out + together, I would only speak to her while she was in your sight, and would + leave her the moment you wished me to go away. Don’t you think you could + venture to help me, if I promised all that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sir, that would make a difference, to be sure. But then, it’s + master I’m so afraid of—couldn’t you speak to master first, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you were in Miss Margaret’s place, would you like to be made love + to, by your father’s authority, without your own wishes being consulted + first? would you like an offer of marriage, delivered like a message, by + means of your father? Come, tell me honestly, would you?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed, and shook her head very expressively. I knew the strength of + my last argument, and repeated it: “Suppose you were in Miss Margaret’s + place?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! don’t speak so loud,” resumed the girl in a confidential whisper. + “I’m sure you’re a gentleman. I should like to help you—if I could + only dare to do it, I should indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a good girl,” I said. “Now tell me, when does Miss Margaret go out + to-day; and who goes with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear! dear!—it’s very wrong to say it; but I must. She’ll go out + with me to market, this morning, at eleven o’clock. She’s done it for the + last week. Master don’t like it; but Missus begged and prayed she might; + for Missus says she won’t be fit to be married, if she knows nothing about + housekeeping, and prices, and what’s good meat, and what isn’t, and all + that, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you a thousand times! you have given me all the help I want. I’ll + be here before eleven, waiting for you to come out.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please don’t, Sir—I wish I hadn’t told you—I oughtn’t, + indeed I oughtn’t!” + </p> + <p> + “No fear—you shall not lose by what you have told me—I promise + all I said I would promise—good bye. And mind, not a word to Miss + Margaret till I see her!” + </p> + <p> + As I hurried away, I heard the girl run a few paces after me—then + stop—then return, and close the garden gate, softly. She had + evidently put herself once more in Miss Margaret’s place; and had given up + all idea of further resistance as she did so. + </p> + <p> + How should I occupy the hours until eleven o’clock? Deceit whispered:—Go + home; avoid even the chance of exciting suspicion, by breakfasting with + your family as usual. And as deceit counselled, so I acted. + </p> + <p> + I never remember Clara more kind, more ready with all those trifling + little cares and attentions which have so exquisite a grace, when offered + by a woman to a man, and especially by a sister to a brother, as when she + and I and my father assembled together at the breakfast-table. I now + recollect with shame how little I thought about her, or spoke to her on + that morning; with how little hesitation or self-reproach I excused myself + from accepting an engagement which she wished to make with me for that + day. My father was absorbed in some matter of business; to <i>him</i> she + could not speak. It was to me that she addressed all her wonted questions + and remarks of the morning. I hardly listened to them; I answered them + carelessly and briefly. The moment breakfast was over, without a word of + explanation I hastily left the house again. + </p> + <p> + As I descended the steps, I glanced by accident at the dining-room window. + Clara was looking after me from it. There was the same anxious expression + on her face which it had worn when she left me the evening before. She + smiled as our eyes met—a sad, faint smile that made her look unlike + herself. But it produced no impression on me then: I had no attention for + anything but my approaching interview with Margaret. My life throbbed and + burned within me, in that direction: it was all coldness, torpor, + insensibility, in every other. + </p> + <p> + I reached Hollyoake Square nearly an hour before the appointed time. In + the suspense and impatience of that long interval, it was impossible to be + a moment in repose. I walked incessantly up and down the square, and round + and round the neighbourhood, hearing each quarter chimed from a church + clock near, and mechanically quickening my pace the nearer the time came + for the hour to strike. At last, I heard the first peal of the eventful + eleven. Before the clock was silent, I had taken up my position within + view of the gate of North Villa. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes passed—ten—and no one appeared. In my impatience, + I could almost have rung the bell and entered the house, no matter who + might be there, or what might be the result. The first quarter struck; and + at that very moment I heard the door open, and saw Margaret, and the + servant with whom I had spoken, descending the steps. + </p> + <p> + They passed out slowly through the garden gate, and walked down the + square, away from where I was standing. The servant noticed me by one + significant look, as they went on. Her young mistress did not appear to + see me. At first, my agitation was so violent that I was perfectly + incapable of following them a single step. In a few moments I recovered + myself; and hastened to overtake them, before they arrived at a more + frequented part of the neighbourhood. + </p> + <p> + As I approached her side, Margaret turned suddenly and looked at me, with + an expression of anger and astonishment in her eyes. The next instant, her + lovely face became tinged all over with a deep, burning blush; her head + drooped a little; she hesitated for a moment; and then abruptly quickened + her pace. Did she remember me? The mere chance that she did, gave me + confidence: I— + </p> + <p> + —No! I cannot write down the words that I said to her. Recollecting + the end to which our fatal interview led, I recoil at the very thought of + exposing to others, or of preserving in any permanent form, the words in + which I first confessed my love. It may be pride—miserable, useless + pride—which animates me with this feeling: but I cannot overcome it. + Remembering what I do, I am ashamed to write, ashamed to recall, what I + said at my first interview with Margaret Sherwin. I can give no good + reason for the sensations which now influence me; I cannot analyse them; + and I would not if I could. + </p> + <p> + Let it be enough to say that I risked everything, and spoke to her. My + words, confused as they were, came hotly, eagerly, and eloquently from my + heart. In the space of a few minutes, I confessed to her all, and more + than all, that I have here painfully related in many pages. I made use of + my name and my rank in life—even now, my cheeks burn while I think + of it—to dazzle her girl’s pride, to make her listen to me for the + sake of my station, if she would not for the sake of my suit, however + honourably urged. Never before had I committed the meanness of trusting to + my social advantages, what I feared to trust to myself. It is true that + love soars higher than the other passions; but it can stoop lower as well. + </p> + <p> + Her answers to all that I urged were confused, commonplace, and chilling + enough. I had surprised her—frightened her—it was impossible + she could listen to such addresses from a total stranger—it was very + wrong of me to speak, and of her to stop and hear me—I should + remember what became me as a gentleman, and should not make such advances + to her again—I knew nothing of her—it was impossible I could + really care about her in so short a time—she must beg that I would + allow her to proceed unhindered. + </p> + <p> + Thus she spoke; sometimes standing still, sometimes moving hurriedly a few + steps forward. She might have expressed herself severely, even angrily; + but nothing she could have said would have counteracted the fascination + that her presence exercised over me. I saw her face, lovelier than ever in + its confusion, in its rapid changes of expression; I saw her eloquent eyes + once or twice raised to mine, then instantly withdrawn again—and so + long as I could look at her, I cared not what I listened to. She was only + speaking what she had been educated to speak; it was not in her words that + I sought the clue to her thoughts and sensations; but in the tone of her + voice, in the language of her eyes, in the whole expression of her face. + All these contained indications which reassured me. I tried everything + that respect, that the persuasion of love could urge, to win her consent + to our meeting again; but she only answered with repetitions of what she + had said before, walking onward rapidly while she spoke. The servant, who + had hitherto lingered a few paces behind, now advanced to her young + mistress’s side, with a significant look, as if to remind me of my + promise. Saying a few parting words, I let them proceed: at this first + interview, to have delayed them longer would have been risking too much. + </p> + <p> + As they walked away, the servant turned round, nodding her head and + smiling, as if to assure me that I had lost nothing by the forbearance + which I had exercised. Margaret neither lingered nor looked back. This + last proof of modesty and reserve, so far from discouraging, attracted me + to her more powerfully than ever. After a first interview, it was the most + becoming virtue she could have shown. All my love for her before, seemed + as nothing compared with my love for her now that she had left me, and + left me without a parting look. + </p> + <p> + What course should I next pursue? Could I expect that Margaret, after what + she had said, would go out again at the same hour on the morrow? No: she + would not so soon abandon the modesty and restraint that she had shown at + our first interview. How communicate with her? how manage most skilfully + to make good the first favourable impression which vanity whispered I had + already produced? I determined to write to her. + </p> + <p> + How different was the writing of that letter, to the writing of those + once-treasured pages of my romance, which I had now abandoned for ever! + How slowly I worked; how cautiously and diffidently I built up sentence + after sentence, and doubtingly set a stop here, and laboriously rounded + off a paragraph there, when I toiled in the service of ambition! Now, when + I had given myself up to the service of love, how rapidly the pen ran over + the paper; how much more freely and smoothly the desires of the heart + flowed into words, than the thoughts of the mind! Composition was an + instinct now, an art no longer. I could write eloquently, and yet write + without pausing for an expression or blotting a word—It was the slow + progress up the hill, in the service of ambition; it was the swift (too + swift) career down it, in the service of love! + </p> + <p> + There is no need to describe the contents of my letter to Margaret; they + comprised a mere recapitulation of what I had already said to her. I + insisted often and strongly on the honourable purpose of my suit; and + ended by entreating her to write an answer, and consent to allow me + another interview. + </p> + <p> + The letter was delivered by the servant. Another present, a little more + timely persuasion, and above all, the regard I had shown to my promise, + won the girl with all her heart to my interests. She was ready to help me + in every way, as long as her interference could be kept a secret from her + master. + </p> + <p> + I waited a day for the reply to my letter; but none came. The servant + could give me no explanation of this silence. Her young mistress had not + said one word to her about me, since the morning when we had met. Still + not discouraged, I wrote again. The letter contained some lover’s threats + this time, as well as lover’s entreaties; and it produced its effect—an + answer came. + </p> + <p> + It was very short—rather hurriedly and tremblingly written—and + simply said that the difference between my rank and hers made it her duty + to request of me, that neither by word nor by letter should I ever address + her again. + </p> + <p> + “Difference in rank,”—that was the only objection then! “Her duty”—it + was not from inclination that she refused me! So young a creature; and yet + so noble in self-sacrifice, so firm in her integrity! I resolved to + disobey her injunction, and see her again. My rank! What was my rank? + Something to cast at Margaret’s feet, for Margaret to trample on! + </p> + <p> + Once more I sought the aid of my faithful ally, the servant. After delays + which half maddened me with impatience, insignificant though they were, + she contrived to fulfil my wishes. One afternoon, while Mr. Sherwin was + away at business, and while his wife had gone out, I succeeded in gaining + admission to the garden at the back of the house, where Margaret was then + occupied in watering some flowers. + </p> + <p> + She started as she saw me, and attempted to return to the house. I took + her hand to detain her. She withdrew it, but neither abruptly nor angrily. + I seized the opportunity, while she hesitated whether to persist or not in + retiring; and repeated what I had already said to her at our first + interview (what is the language of love but a language of repetitions?). + She answered, as she had answered me in her letter: the difference in our + rank made it her duty to discourage me. + </p> + <p> + “But if this difference did not exist,” I said: “if we were both living in + the same rank, Margaret—” + </p> + <p> + She looked up quickly; then moved away a step or two, as I addressed her + by her Christian name. + </p> + <p> + “Are you offended with me for calling you Margaret so soon? I do not think + of you as Miss Sherwin, but as Margaret—are you offended with me for + speaking as I think?” + </p> + <p> + No: she ought not to be offended with me, or with anybody, for doing that. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose this difference in rank, which you so cruelly insist on, did not + exist, would you tell me not to hope, not to speak then, as coldly as you + tell me now?” + </p> + <p> + I must not ask her that—it was no use—the difference in rank + <i>did</i> exist. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I have met you too late?—perhaps you are already—” + </p> + <p> + “No! oh, no!”—she stopped abruptly, as the words passed her lips. + The same lovely blush which I had before seen spreading over her face, + rose on it now. She evidently felt that she had unguardedly said too much: + that she had given me an answer in a case where, according to every + established love-law of the female code, I had no right to expect one. Her + next words accused me—but in very low and broken tones—of + having committed an intrusion which she should hardly have expected from a + gentleman in my position. + </p> + <p> + “I will regain your better opinion,” I said, eagerly catching at the most + favourable interpretation of her last words, “by seeing you for the next + time, and for all times after, with your father’s full permission. I will + write to-day, and ask for a private interview with him. I will tell him + all I have told you: I will tell him that you take a rank in beauty and + goodness, which is the highest rank in the land—a far higher rank + than mine—the only rank I desire.” (A smile, which she vainly strove + to repress, stole charmingly to her lips.) “Yes, I will do this; I will + never leave him till his answer is favourable—and then what would be + yours? One word, Margaret; one word before I go—” + </p> + <p> + I attempted to take her hand a second time; but she broke from me, and + hurried into the house. + </p> + <p> + What more could I desire? What more could the modesty and timidity of a + young girl concede to me? + </p> + <p> + The moment I reached home, I wrote to Mr. Sherwin. The letter was + superscribed “Private;” and simply requested an interview with him on a + subject of importance, at any hour he might mention. Unwilling to trust + what I had written to the post, I sent my note by a messenger—not + one of our own servants, caution forbade that—and instructed the man + to wait for an answer: if Mr. Sherwin was out, to wait till he came home. + </p> + <p> + After a long delay—long to <i>me;</i> for my impatience would fain + have turned hours into minutes—I received a reply. It was written on + gilt-edged letter-paper, in a handwriting vulgarised by innumerable + flourishes. Mr. Sherwin presented his respectful compliments, and would be + happy to have the honour of seeing me at North Villa, if quite convenient, + at five o’clock to-morrow afternoon. + </p> + <p> + I folded up the letter carefully: it was almost as precious as a letter + from Margaret herself. That night I passed sleeplessly, revolving in my + mind every possible course that I could take at the interview of the + morrow. It would be a difficult and a delicate business. I knew nothing of + Mr. Sherwin’s character; yet I must trust him with a secret which I dared + not trust to my own father. Any proposals for paying addresses to his + daughter, coming from one in my position, might appear open to suspicion. + What could I say about marriage? A public, acknowledged marriage was + impossible: a private marriage might be a bold, if not fatal proposal. I + could come to no other conclusion, reflect as anxiously as I might, than + that it was best for me to speak candidly at all hazards. I could be + candid enough when it suited my purpose! + </p> + <p> + It was not till the next day, when the time approached for my interview + with Mr. Sherwin, that I thoroughly roused myself to face the plain + necessities of my position. Determined to try what impression appearances + could make on him, I took unusual pains with my dress; and more, I applied + to a friend whom I could rely on as likely to ask no questions—I + write this in shame and sorrow: I tell truth here, where it is hard + penance to tell it—I applied, I say, to a friend for the loan of one + of his carriages to take me to North Villa; fearing the risk of borrowing + my father’s carriage, or my sister’s—knowing the common weakness of + rank-worship and wealth-worship in men of Mr. Sherwin’s order, and meanly + determining to profit by it to the utmost. My friend’s carriage was + willingly lent me. By my directions, it took me up at the appointed hour, + at a shop where I was a regular customer. + </p> + <p> + X. + </p> + <p> + On my arrival at North Villa, I was shown into what I presumed was the + drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + Everything was oppressively new. The brilliantly-varnished door cracked + with a report like a pistol when it was opened; the paper on the walls, + with its gaudy pattern of birds, trellis-work, and flowers, in gold, red, + and green on a white ground, looked hardly dry yet; the showy + window-curtains of white and sky-blue, and the still showier carpet of red + and yellow, seemed as if they had come out of the shop yesterday; the + round rosewood table was in a painfully high state of polish; the + morocco-bound picture books that lay on it, looked as if they had never + been moved or opened since they had been bought; not one leaf even of the + music on the piano was dogs-eared or worn. Never was a richly furnished + room more thoroughly comfortless than this—the eye ached at looking + round it. There was no repose anywhere. The print of the Queen, hanging + lonely on the wall, in its heavy gilt frame, with a large crown at the + top, glared on you: the paper, the curtains, the carpet glared on you: the + books, the wax-flowers in glass-cases, the chairs in flaring + chintz-covers, the china plates on the door, the blue and pink glass vases + and cups ranged on the chimney-piece, the over-ornamented chiffoniers with + Tonbridge toys and long-necked smelling bottles on their upper shelves—all + glared on you. There was no look of shadow, shelter, secrecy, or + retirement in any one nook or corner of those four gaudy walls. All + surrounding objects seemed startlingly near to the eye; much nearer than + they really were. The room would have given a nervous man the headache, + before he had been in it a quarter of an hour. + </p> + <p> + I was not kept waiting long. Another violent crack from the new door, + announced the entrance of Mr. Sherwin himself. + </p> + <p> + He was a tall, thin man: rather round-shouldered; weak at the knees, and + trying to conceal the weakness in the breadth of his trowsers. He wore a + white cravat, and an absurdly high shirt collar. His complexion was + sallow; his eyes were small, black, bright, and incessantly in motion—indeed, + all his features were singularly mobile: they were affected by nervous + contractions and spasms which were constantly drawing up and down in all + directions the brow, the mouth, and the muscles of the cheek. His hair had + been black, but was now turning to a sort of iron-grey; it was very dry, + wiry, and plentiful, and part of it projected almost horizontally over his + forehead. He had a habit of stretching it in this direction, by irritably + combing it out, from time to time, with his fingers. His lips were thin + and colourless, the lines about them being numerous and strongly marked. + Had I seen him under ordinary circumstances, I should have set him down as + a little-minded man; a small tyrant in his own way over those dependent on + him; a pompous parasite to those above him—a great stickler for the + conventional respectabilities of life, and a great believer in his own + infallibility. But he was Margaret’s father; and I was determined to be + pleased with him. + </p> + <p> + He made me a low and rather a cringing bow—then looked to the + window, and seeing the carriage waiting for me at his door, made another + bow, and insisted on relieving me of my hat with his own hand. This done, + he coughed, and begged to know what he could do for me. + </p> + <p> + I felt some difficulty in opening my business to him. It was necessary to + speak, however, at once—I began with an apology. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid, Mr. Sherwin, that this intrusion on the part of a perfect + stranger—” + </p> + <p> + “Not entirely a stranger, Sir, if I may be allowed to say so.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “I had the great pleasure, Sir, and profit, and—and, indeed, + advantage—of being shown over your town residence last year, when + the family were absent from London. A very beautiful house—I happen + to be acquainted with the steward of your respected father: he was kind + enough to allow me to walk through the rooms. A treat; quite an + intellectual treat—the furniture and hangings, and so on, arranged + in such a chaste style—and the pictures, some of the finest pieces I + ever saw—I was delighted—quite delighted, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke in under-tones, laying great stress upon particular words that + were evidently favourites with him—such as, “indeed.” Not only his + eyes, but his whole face, seemed to be nervously blinking and winking all + the time he was addressing me, In the embarrassment and anxiety which I + then felt, this peculiarity fidgetted and bewildered me more than I can + describe. I would have given the world to have had his back turned, before + I spoke to him again. + </p> + <p> + “I am delighted to hear that my family and my name are not unknown to you, + Mr. Sherwin,” I resumed. “Under those circumstances, I shall feel less + hesitation and difficulty in making you acquainted with the object of my + visit.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so. May I offer you anything?—a glass of sherry, a—” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, thank you. In the first place, Mr. Sherwin, I have reasons for + wishing that this interview, whatever results it may lead to, may be + considered strictly confidential. I am sure I can depend on your favouring + me thus far?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly—most certainly—the strictest secrecy of course—pray + go on.” + </p> + <p> + He drew his chair a little nearer to me. Through all his blinking and + winking, I could see a latent expression of cunning and curiosity in his + eyes. My card was in his hand: he was nervously rolling and unrolling it, + without a moment’s cessation, in his anxiety to hear what I had to say. + </p> + <p> + “I must also beg you to suspend your judgment until you have heard me to + the end. You may be disposed to view—to view, I say, unfavourably at + first—in short, Mr. Sherwin, without further preface, the object of + my visit is connected with your daughter, with Miss Margaret Sherwin—” + </p> + <p> + “My daughter! Bless my soul—God bless my soul, I really can’t + imagine—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, half-breathless, bending forward towards me, and crumpling my + card between his fingers into the smallest possible dimensions. + </p> + <p> + “Rather more than a week ago,” I continued, “I accidentally met Miss + Sherwin in an omnibus, accompanied by a lady older than herself—” + </p> + <p> + “My wife; Mrs. Sherwin,” he said, impatiently motioning with his hand, as + if “Mrs. Sherwin” were some insignificant obstacle to the conversation, + which he wished to clear out of the way as fast as possible. + </p> + <p> + “You will not probably be surprised to hear that I was struck by Miss + Sherwin’s extreme beauty. The impression she made on me was something + more, however, than a mere momentary feeling of admiration. To speak + candidly, I felt—You have heard of such a thing as love at first + sight, Mr. Sherwin?” + </p> + <p> + “In books, Sir.” He tapped one of the morocco-bound volumes on the table, + and smiled—a curious smile, partly deferential and partly sarcastic. + </p> + <p> + “You would be inclined to laugh, I dare say, if I asked you to believe + that there is such a thing as love at first sight, <i>out</i> of books. + But, without dwelling further on that, it is my duty to confess to you, in + all candour and honesty, that the impression Miss Sherwin produced on me + was such as to make me desire the privilege of becoming acquainted with + her. In plain words, I discovered her place of residence by following her + to this house.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my soul this is the most extraordinary proceeding——!” + </p> + <p> + “Pray hear me out, Mr. Sherwin: you will not condemn my conduct, I think, + if you hear all I have to say.” + </p> + <p> + He muttered something unintelligible; his complexion turned yellower; he + dropped my card, which he had by this time crushed into fragments; and ran + his hand rapidly through his hair until he had stretched it out like a + penthouse over his forehead—blinking all the time, and regarding me + with a lowering, sinister expression of countenance. I saw that it was + useless to treat him as I should have treated a gentleman. He had + evidently put the meanest and the foulest construction upon my delicacy + and hesitation in speaking to him: so I altered my plan, and came to the + point abruptly—“came to business,” as he would have called it. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to have been plainer, Mr. Sherwin; I ought perhaps to have told + you at the outset, in so many words, that I came to—” (I was about + to say, “to ask your daughter’s hand in marriage;” but a thought of my + father moved darkly over my mind at that moment, and the words would not + pass my lips). + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sir! to what?” + </p> + <p> + The tone in which he said this was harsh enough to rouse me. It gave me + back my self-possession immediately. + </p> + <p> + “To ask your permission to pay my addresses to Miss Sherwin—or, to + be plainer still, if you like, to ask of you her hand in marriage.” + </p> + <p> + The words were spoken. Even if I could have done so, I would not have + recalled what I had just said; but still, I trembled in spite of myself as + I expressed in plain, blunt words what I had only rapturously thought + over, or delicately hinted at to Margaret, up to this time. + </p> + <p> + “God bless me!” cried Mr. Sherwin, suddenly sitting back bolt upright in + his chair, and staring at me in such surprise, that his restless features + were actually struck with immobility for the moment—“God bless me, + this is quite another story. Most gratifying, most astonishing—highly + flattered I am sure; highly indeed, my dear Sir! Don’t suppose, for one + moment, I ever doubted your honourable feeling. Young gentlemen in your + station of life do sometimes fail in respect towards the wives and + daughters of their—in short, of those who are not in their rank + exactly. But that’s not the question—quite a misunderstanding—extremely + stupid of me, to be sure. <i>Pray</i> let me offer you a glass of wine!” + </p> + <p> + “No wine, thank you, Mr. Sherwin. I must beg your attention a little + longer, while I state to you, in confidence, how I am situated with regard + to the proposals I have made. There are certain circumstances—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes?” + </p> + <p> + He bent forward again eagerly towards me, as he spoke; looking more + inquisitive and more cunning than ever. + </p> + <p> + “I have acknowledged to you, Mr. Sherwin, that I have found means to speak + to your daughter—to speak to her twice. I made my advances + honourably. She received them with a modesty and a reluctance worthy of + herself, worthy of any lady, the highest lady in the land.” (Mr. Sherwin + looked round reverentially to his print of the Queen; then looked back at + me, and bowed solemnly.) “Now, although in so many words she directly + discouraged me—it is her due that I should say this—still, I + think I may without vanity venture to hope that she did so as a matter of + duty, more than as a matter of inclination.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah—yes, yes! I understand. She would do nothing without my + authority, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt that was one reason why she received me as she did; but she had + another, which she communicated to me in the plainest terms—the + difference in our rank of life.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! she said that, did she? Exactly so—she saw a difficulty there? + Yes—yes! high principles, Sir—high principles, thank God!” + </p> + <p> + “I need hardly tell you, Mr. Sherwin, how deeply I feel the delicate sense + of honour which this objection shows on your daughter’s part. You will + easily imagine that it is no objection to <i>me,</i> personally. The + happiness of my whole life depends on Miss Sherwin; I desire no higher + honour, as I can conceive no greater happiness, than to be your daughter’s + husband. I told her this: I also told her that I would explain myself on + the subject to you. She made no objection; and I am, therefore, I think, + justified in considering that if you authorised the removal of scruples + which do her honour at present, she would not feel the delicacy she does + now at sanctioning my addresses.” + </p> + <p> + “Very proper—a very proper way of putting it. Practical, if I may be + allowed to say so. And now, my dear Sir, the next point is: how about your + own honoured family—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It is exactly there that the difficulty lies. My father, on whom I am + dependent as the younger son, has very strong prejudices—convictions + I ought perhaps to call them—on the subject of social inequalities.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so—most natural; most becoming, indeed, on the part of your + respected father. I honour his convictions, sir. Such estates, such + houses, such a family as his—connected, I believe, with the + nobility, especially on your late lamented mother’s side. My dear Sir, I + emphatically repeat it, your father’s convictions do him honour; I respect + them as much as I respect him; I do, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you can view my father’s ideas on social subjects in so + favourable a light, Mr. Sherwin. You will be less surprised to hear how + they are likely to affect me in the step I am now taking.” + </p> + <p> + “He disapproves of it, of course—strongly, perhaps. Well, though my + dear girl is worthy of any station; and a man like me, devoted to + mercantile interests, may hold his head up anywhere as one of the props of + this commercial country,” (he ran his fingers rapidly through his hair, + and tried to look independent), “still I am prepared to admit, under all + the circumstances—I say under all the circumstances—that his + disapproval is very natural, and was very much to be expected—very + much indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “He has expressed no disapproval, Mr. Sherwin.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t say so!” + </p> + <p> + “I have not given him an opportunity. My meeting with your daughter has + been kept a profound secret from him, and from every member of my family; + and a secret it must remain. I speak from my intimate knowledge of my + father, when I say that I hardly know of any means that he would not be + capable of employing to frustrate the purpose of this visit, if I had + mentioned it to him. He has been the kindest and best of fathers to me; + but I firmly believe, that if I waited for his consent, no entreaties of + mine, or of any one belonging to me, would induce him to give his sanction + to the marriage I have come to you to propose.” + </p> + <p> + “Bless my soul! this is carrying things rather far, though—dependent + as you are on him, and all that. Why, what on earth can we do—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “We must keep both the courtship and the marriage secret.” + </p> + <p> + “Secret! Good gracious, I don’t at all see my way—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, secret—a profound secret among ourselves, until I can divulge + my marriage to my father, with the best chance of—” + </p> + <p> + “But I tell you, Sir, I can’t see my way through it at all. Chance! what + chance would there be, after what you have told me?” + </p> + <p> + “There might be many chances. For instance, when the marriage was + solemnised, I might introduce your daughter to my father’s notice—without + disclosing who she was—and leave her, gradually and unsuspectedly, + to win his affection and respect (as with her beauty, elegance, and + amiability, she could not fail to do), while I waited until the occasion + was ripe for confessing everything. Then if I said to him, ‘This young + lady, who has so interested and delighted you, is my wife;’ do you think, + with that powerful argument in my favour, he could fail to give us his + pardon? If, on the other hand, I could only say, ‘This young lady is about + to become my wife,’ his prejudices would assuredly induce him to recall + his most favourable impressions, and refuse his consent. In short, Mr. + Sherwin, before marriage, it would be impossible to move him—after + marriage, when opposition could no longer be of any avail, it would be + quite a different thing: we might be sure of producing, sooner or later, + the most favourable results. This is why it would be absolutely necessary + to keep our union secret at first.” + </p> + <p> + I wondered then—I have since wondered more—how it was that I + contrived to speak thus, so smoothly and so unhesitatingly, when my + conscience was giving the lie all the while to every word I uttered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; I see—oh, yes, I see!” said Mr. Sherwin, rattling a bunch + of keys in his pocket, with an expression of considerable perplexity; “but + this is a ticklish business, you know—a very queer and ticklish + business indeed. To have a gentleman of your birth and breeding for a + son-in-law, is of course—but then there is the money question. + Suppose you failed with your father after all—<i>my</i> money is out + in my speculations—<i>I</i> can do nothing. Upon my word, you have + placed me in a position that I never was placed in before.” + </p> + <p> + “I have influential friends, Mr. Sherwin, in many directions—there + are appointments, good appointments, which would be open to me, if I + pushed my interests. I might provide in this way against the chance of + failure.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!—well—yes. There’s something in that, certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “I can only assure you that my attachment to Miss Sherwin is not of a + nature to be overcome by any pecuniary considerations. I speak in all our + interests, when I say that a private marriage gives us a chance for the + future, as opportunities arise of gradually disclosing it. My offer to you + may be made under some disadvantages and difficulties, perhaps; for, with + the exception of a very small independence, left me by my mother, I have + no certain prospects. But I really think my proposals have some + compensating advantages to recommend them—” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly! most decidedly so! I am not insensible, my dear Sir, to the + great advantage, and honour, and so forth. But there is something so + unusual about the whole affair. What would be my feelings, if your father + should not come round, and my dear girl was disowned by the family? Well, + well! that could hardly happen, I think, with her accomplishments and + education, and manners too, so distinguished—though perhaps I ought + not to say so. Her schooling alone was a hundred a-year, Sir, without + including extras—” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure, Mr. Sherwin—” + </p> + <p> + “—A school, Sir, where it was a rule to take in no thing lower than + the daughter of a professional man—they only waived the rule in my + case—the most genteel school, perhaps, in all London! A + drawing-room-deportment day once every week—the girls taught how to + enter a room and leave a room with dignity and ease—a model of a + carriage door and steps, in the back drawing-room, to practise the girls + (with the footman of the establishment in attendance) in getting into a + carriage and getting out again, in a lady-like manner! No duchess has had + a better education than my Margaret!—” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to assure you, Mr. Sherwin—” + </p> + <p> + “And then, her knowledge of languages—her French, and Italian, and + German, not discontinued in holidays, or after she left school (she has + only just left it); but all kept up and improved every evening, by the + kind attention of Mr. Mannion—” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask who Mr. Mannion is?” The tone in which I put this question, + cooled his enthusiasm about his daughter’s education immediately. He + answered in his former tones, and with one of his former bows: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Mannion is my confidential clerk, Sir—a most superior person, + most highly talented, and well read, and all that.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he a young man?” + </p> + <p> + “Young! Oh, dear no! Mr. Mannion is forty, or a year or two more, if he’s + a day—an admirable man of business, as well as a great scholar. He’s + at Lyons now, buying silks for me. When he comes back I shall be delighted + to introduce—-” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, but I think we are wandering away from the point, a + little.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg <i>yours</i>—so we are. Well, my dear Sir, I must be allowed + a day or two—say two days—to ascertain what my daughter’s + feelings are, and to consider your proposals, which have taken me very + much by surprise, as you may in fact see. But I assure you I am most + flattered, most honoured, most anxious—“. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will consider my anxieties, Mr. Sherwin, and let me know the + result of your deliberations as soon as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Without fail, depend upon it. Let me see: shall we say the second day + from this, at the same time, if you can favour me with a visit?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “And between that time and this, you will engage not to hold any + communication with my daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “I promise not, Mr. Sherwin—because I believe that your answer will + be favourable.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well—well! lovers, they say, should never despair. A little + consideration, and a little talk with my dear girl—really now, won’t + you change your mind and have a glass of sherry? (No again?) Very well, + then, the day after tomorrow, at five o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + With a louder crack than ever, the brand-new drawing-room door was opened + to let me out. The noise was instantly succeeded by the rustling of a silk + dress, and the banging of another door, at the opposite end of the + passage. Had anybody been listening? Where was Margaret? + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sherwin stood at the garden-gate to watch my departure, and to make + his farewell bow. Thick as was the atmosphere of illusion in which I now + lived, I shuddered involuntarily as I returned his parting salute, and + thought of him as my father-in-law! + </p> + <p> + XI. + </p> + <p> + The nearer I approached to our own door, the more reluctance I felt to + pass the short interval between my first and second interview with Mr. + Sherwin, at home. When I entered the house, this reluctance increased to + something almost like dread. I felt unwilling and unfit to meet the eyes + of my nearest and dearest relatives. It was a relief to me to hear that my + father was not at home. My sister was in the house: the servant said she + had just gone into the library, and inquired whether he should tell her + that I had come in. I desired him not to disturb her, as it was my + intention to go out again immediately. + </p> + <p> + I went into my study, and wrote a short note there to Clara; merely + telling her that I should be absent in the country for two days. I had + sealed and laid it on the table for the servant to deliver, and was about + to leave the room, when I heard the library door open. I instantly drew + back, and half-closed my own door again. Clara had got the book she + wanted, and was taking it up to her own sitting-room. I waited till she + was out of sight, and then left the house. It was the first time I had + ever avoided my sister—my sister, who had never in her life asked a + question, or uttered a word that could annoy me; my sister, who had + confided all her own little secrets to my keeping, ever since we had been + children. As I thought on what I had done, I felt a sense of humiliation + which was almost punishment enough for the meanness of which I had been + guilty. + </p> + <p> + I went round to the stables, and had my horse saddled immediately. No idea + of proceeding in any particular direction occurred to me. I simply felt + resolved to pass my two days’ ordeal of suspense away from home—far + enough away to keep me faithful to my promise not to see Margaret. Soon + after I started, I left my horse to his own guidance, and gave myself up + to my thoughts and recollections, as one by one they rose within me. The + animal took the direction which he had been oftenest used to take during + my residence in London—the northern road. + </p> + <p> + It was not until I had ridden half a mile beyond the suburbs that I looked + round me, and discovered towards what part of the country I was + proceeding. I drew the rein directly, and turned my horse’s head back + again, towards the south. To follow the favourite road which I had so + often followed with Clara; to stop perhaps at some place where I had often + stopped with her, was more than I had the courage or the insensibility to + do at that moment. + </p> + <p> + I rode as far as Ewell, and stopped there: the darkness had overtaken me, + and it was useless to tire my horse by going on any greater distance. The + next morning, I was up almost with sunrise; and passed the greater part of + the day in walking about among villages, lanes, and fields, just as chance + led me. During the night, many thoughts that I had banished for the last + week had returned—those thoughts of evil omen under which the mind + seems to ache, just as the body aches under a dull, heavy pain, to which + we can assign no particular place or cause. Absent from Margaret, I had no + resource against the oppression that now overcame me. I could only + endeavour to alleviate it by keeping incessantly in action; by walking or + riding, hour after hour, in the vain attempt to quiet the mind by wearying + out the body. Apprehension of the failure of my application to Mr. Sherwin + had nothing to do with the vague gloom which now darkened my thoughts; + they kept too near home for that. Besides, what I had observed of + Margaret’s father, especially during the latter part of my interview with + him, showed me plainly enough that he was trying to conceal, under + exaggerated surprise and assumed hesitation, his secret desire to profit + at once by my offer; which, whatever conditions might clog it, was + infinitely more advantageous in a social point of view, than any he could + have hoped for. It was not his delay in accepting my proposals, but the + burden of deceit, the fetters of concealment forced on me by the proposals + themselves, which now hung heavy on my heart. + </p> + <p> + That evening I left Ewell, and rode towards home again, as far as + Richmond, where I remained for the night and the forepart of the next day. + I reached London in the afternoon; and got to North Villa—without + going home first—about five o’clock. + </p> + <p> + The oppression was still on my spirits. Even the sight of the house where + Margaret lived failed to invigorate or arouse me. + </p> + <p> + On this occasion, when I was shown into the drawing-room, both Mr. and + Mrs. Sherwin were awaiting me there. On the table was the sherry which had + been so perseveringly pressed on me at the last interview, and by it a new + pound cake. Mrs. Sherwin was cutting the cake as I came in, while her + husband watched the process with critical eyes. The poor woman’s weak + white fingers trembled as they moved the knife under conjugal inspection. + </p> + <p> + “Most happy to see you again—most happy indeed, my dear Sir,” said + Mr. Sherwin, advancing with hospitable smile and outstretched hand. “Allow + me to introduce my better half, Mrs. S.” + </p> + <p> + His wife rose in a hurry, and curtseyed, leaving the knife sticking in the + cake; upon which Mr. Sherwin, with a stern look at her, ostentatiously + pulled it out, and set it down rather violently on the dish. + </p> + <p> + Poor Mrs. Sherwin! I had hardly noticed her on the day when she got into + the omnibus with her daughter—it was as if I now saw her for the + first time. There is a natural communicativeness about women’s emotions. A + happy woman imperceptibly diffuses her happiness around her; she has an + influence that is something akin to the influence of a sunshiny day. So, + again, the melancholy of a melancholy woman is invariably, though + silently, infectious; and Mrs. Sherwin was one of this latter order. Her + pale, sickly, moist-looking skin; her large, mild, watery, light-blue + eyes; the restless timidity of her expression; the mixture of useless + hesitation and involuntary rapidity in every one of her actions—all + furnished the same significant betrayal of a life of incessant fear and + restraint; of a disposition full of modest generosities and meek + sympathies, which had been crushed down past rousing to self-assertion, + past ever seeing the light. There, in that mild, wan face of hers—in + those painful startings and hurryings when she moved; in that tremulous, + faint utterance when she spoke—<i>there,</i> I could see one of + those ghastly heart-tragedies laid open before me, which are acted and + re-acted, scene by scene, and year by year, in the secret theatre of home; + tragedies which are ever shadowed by the slow falling of the black curtain + that drops lower and lower every day—that drops, to hide all at + last, from the hand of death. + </p> + <p> + “We have had very beautiful weather lately, Sir,” said Mrs. Sherwin, + almost inaudibly; looking as she spoke, with anxious eyes towards her + husband, to see if she was justified in uttering even those piteously + common-place words. “Very beautiful weather to be sure,” continued the + poor woman, as timidly as if she had become a little child again, and had + been ordered to say her first lesson in a stranger’s presence. + </p> + <p> + “Delightful weather, Mrs. Sherwin. I have been enjoying it for the last + two days in the country—in a part of Surrey (the neighbourhood of + Ewell) that I had not seen before.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. Mr. Sherwin coughed; it was evidently a warning + matrimonial peal that he had often rung before—for Mrs. Sherwin + started, and looked up at him directly. + </p> + <p> + “As the lady of the house, Mrs. S., it strikes me that you might offer a + visitor, like this gentleman, some cake and wine, without making any + particular hole in your manners!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear me! I beg your pardon! I’m very sorry, I’m sure”—and she + poured out a glass of wine, with such a trembling hand that the decanter + tinkled all the while against the glass. Though I wanted nothing, I ate + and drank something immediately, in common consideration for Mrs. + Sherwin’s embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sherwin filled himself a glass—held it up admiringly to the + light—said, “Your good health, Sir, your very good health;” and + drank the wine with the air of a connoisseur, and a most expressive + smacking of the lips. His wife (to whom he offered nothing) looked at him + all the time with the most reverential attention. + </p> + <p> + “You are taking nothing yourself, Mrs. Sherwin,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Sherwin, Sir,” interposed her husband, “never drinks wine, and can’t + digest cake. A bad stomach—a very bad stomach. Have another glass + yourself. Won’t you, indeed? This sherry stands me in six shillings a + bottle—ought to be first-rate wine at that price: and so it is. + Well, if you won’t have any more, we will proceed to business. Ha! ha! + business as <i>I</i> call it; pleasure I hope it will be to <i>you</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sherwin coughed—a very weak, small cough, half-stifled in its + birth. + </p> + <p> + “There you are again!” he said, turning fiercely towards her—“Coughing + again! Six months of the doctor—a six months’ bill to come out of my + pocket—and no good done—no good, Mrs. S.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am much better, thank you—it was only a little—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sir, the evening after you left me, I had what you may call an + explanation with my dear girl. She was naturally a little confused and—and + embarrassed, indeed. A very serious thing of course, to decide at her age, + and at so short a notice, on a point involving the happiness of her whole + life to come.” + </p> + <p> + Here Mrs. Sherwin put her handkerchief to her eyes—quite + noiselessly; for she had doubtless acquired by long practice the habit of + weeping in silence. Her husband’s quick glance turned on her, however, + immediately, with anything but an expression of sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “Good God, Mrs. S.! what’s the use of going on in that way?” he said, + indignantly. “What is there to cry about? Margaret isn’t ill, and isn’t + unhappy—what on earth’s the matter now? Upon my soul this is a most + annoying circumstance: and before a visitor too! You had better leave me + to discuss the matter alone—you always <i>were</i> in the way of + business, and it’s my opinion you always will be.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sherwin prepared, without a word of remonstrance, to leave the room. + I sincerely felt for her; but could say nothing. In the impulse of the + moment, I rose to open the door for her; and immediately repented having + done so. The action added so much to her embarrassment that she kicked her + foot against a chair, and uttered a suppressed exclamation of pain as she + went out. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sherwin helped himself to a second glass of wine, without taking the + smallest notice of this. + </p> + <p> + “I hope Mrs. Sherwin has not hurt herself?” I said. “Oh dear no! not worth + a moment’s thought—awkwardness and nervousness, nothing else—she + always was nervous—the doctors (all humbugs) can do nothing with her—it’s + very sad, very sad indeed; but there’s no help for it.” + </p> + <p> + By this time (in spite of all my efforts to preserve some respect for him, + as Margaret’s father) he had sunk to his proper place in my estimation. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear Sir,” he resumed, “to go back to where I was interrupted by + Mrs. S. Let me see: I was saying that my dear girl was a little confused, + and so forth. As a matter of course, I put before her all the advantages + which such a connection as yours promised—and at the same time, + mentioned some of the little embarrassing circumstances—the private + marriage, you know, and all that—besides telling her of certain + restrictions in reference to the marriage, if it came off, which I should + feel it my duty as a father to impose; and which I shall proceed, in + short, to explain to you. As a man of the world, my dear Sir, you know as + well as I do, that young ladies don’t give very straightforward answers on + the subject of their prepossessions in favour of young gentlemen. But I + got enough out of her to show me that you had made pretty good use of your + time—no occasion to despond, you know—I leave <i>you</i> to + make her speak plain; it’s more in your line than mine, more a good deal. + And now let us come to the business part of the transaction. All I have to + say is this:—if you agree to my proposals, then I agree to yours. I + think that’s fair enough—Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite fair, Mr. Sherwin.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so. Now, in the first place, my daughter is too young to be married + yet. She was only seventeen last birthday.” + </p> + <p> + “You astonish me! I should have imagined her three years older at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody thinks her older than she is—everybody, my dear Sir—and + she certainly looks it. She’s more formed, more developed I may say, than + most girls at her age. However, that’s not the point. The plain fact is, + she’s too young to be married now—too young in a moral point of + view; too young in an educational point of view; too young altogether. + Well: the upshot of this is, that I could not give my consent to + Margaret’s marrying, until another year is out—say a year from this + time. One year’s courtship for the finishing off of her education, and the + formation of her constitution—you understand me, for the formation + of her constitution.” + </p> + <p> + A year to wait! At first, this seemed a long trial to endure, a trial that + ought not to be imposed on me. But the next moment, the delay appeared in + a different light. Would it not be the dearest of privileges to be able to + see Margaret, perhaps every day, perhaps for hours at a time? Would it not + be happiness enough to observe each development of her character, to watch + her first maiden love for me, advancing nearer and nearer towards + confidence and maturity the oftener we met? As I thought on this, I + answered Mr. Sherwin without further hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “It will be some trial,” I said, “to my patience, though none to my + constancy, none to the strength of my affection—I will wait the + year.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly so,” rejoined Mr. Sherwin; “such candour and such reasonableness + were to be expected from one who is quite the gentleman. And now comes my + grand difficulty in this business—in fact, the little stipulation I + have to make.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, and ran his fingers through his hair, in all directions; his + features fidgetting and distorting themselves ominously, while he looked + at me. + </p> + <p> + “Pray explain yourself, Mr. Sherwin. Your silence gives me some uneasiness + at this particular moment, I assure you.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so—I understand. Now, you must promise me not to be huffed—offended, + I should say—at what I am going to propose.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, it may seem odd; but under all the circumstances—that + is to say, as far as the case concerns you personally—I want you and + my dear girl to be married at once, and yet not to be married exactly, for + another year. I don’t know whether you understand me?” + </p> + <p> + “I must confess I do not.” + </p> + <p> + He coughed rather uneasily; turned to the table, and poured out another + glass of sherry—his hand trembling a little as he did so. He drank + off the wine at a draught; cleared his throat three or four times after + it; and then spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “Well, to be still plainer, this is how the matter stands: If you were a + party in our rank of life, coming to court Margaret with your father’s + full approval and permission when once you had consented to the year’s + engagement, everything would be done and settled; the bargain would have + been struck on both sides; and there would be an end of it. But, situated + as you are, I can’t stop here safely—I mean, I can’t end the + agreement exactly in this way.” + </p> + <p> + He evidently felt that he got fluent on wine; and helped himself, at this + juncture, to another glass. + </p> + <p> + “You will see what I am driving at, my dear Sir, directly,” he continued. + “Suppose now, you came courting my daughter for a year, as we settled; and + suppose your father found it out—we should keep it a profound secret + of course: but still, secrets are sometimes found out, nobody knows how. + Suppose, I say, your father got scent of the thing, and the match was + broken off; where do you think Margaret’s reputation would be? If it + happened with somebody in her own station, we might explain it all, and be + believed: but happening with somebody in yours, what would the world say? + Would the world believe you had ever intended to marry her? That’s the + point—that’s the point precisely.” + </p> + <p> + “But the case could not happen—I am astonished you can imagine it + possible. I have told you already, I am of age.” + </p> + <p> + “Properly urged—very properly, indeed. But you also told me, if you + remember, when I first had the pleasure of seeing you, that your father, + if he knew of this match, would stick at nothing to oppose it—<i>at + nothing</i>—I recollect you said so. Now, knowing this, my dear Sir—though + I have the most perfect confidence in <i>your</i> honour, and <i>your</i> + resolution to fulfil your engagement—I can’t have confidence in your + being prepared beforehand to oppose all your father might do if he found + us out; because you can’t tell yourself what he might be up to, or what + influence he might set to work over you. This sort of mess is not very + probable, you will say; but if it’s at all possible—and there’s a + year for it to be possible in—by George, Sir, I must guard against + accidents, for my daughter’s sake—I must indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “In Heaven’s name, Mr. Sherwin, pass over all these impossible + difficulties of yours! and let me hear what you have finally to propose.” + </p> + <p> + “Gently, my dear Sir! gently, gently, gently! I propose to begin with: + that you should marry my daughter—privately marry her—in a + week’s time. Now, pray compose yourself!” (I was looking at him in + speechless astonishment.) “Take it easy; pray take it easy! Supposing, + then, you marry her in this way, I make one stipulation. I require you to + give me your word of honour to leave her at the church door; and for the + space of one year never to attempt to see her, except in the presence of a + third party. At the end of that time, I will engage to give her to you, as + your wife in fact, as well as in name. There! what do you say to that—eh?” + </p> + <p> + I was too astounded, too overwhelmed, to say anything at that moment; Mr. + Sherwin went on: + </p> + <p> + “This plan of mine, you see, reconciles everything. If any accident <i>does</i> + happen, and we are discovered, why your father can do nothing to stop the + match, because the match will have been already made. And, at the same + time, I secure a year’s delay, for the formation of her constitution, and + the finishing of her accomplishments, and so forth. Besides, what an + opportunity this gives of sailing as near the wind as you choose, in + breaking the thing, bit by bit, to your father, without fear of + consequences, in case he should run rough after all. Upon my honour, my + dear Sir, I think I deserve some credit for hitting on this plan—it + makes everything so right and straight, and suits of course the wishes of + all parties! I need hardly say that you shall have every facility for + seeing Margaret, under the restrictions—under the restrictions, you + understand. People may talk about your visits; but having got the + certificate, and knowing it’s all safe and settled, I shan’t care for + that. Well, what do you say? take time to think, if you wish it—only + remember that I have the most perfect confidence in your honour, and that + I act from a fatherly feeling for the interests of my dear girl!” He + stopped, out of breath from the extraordinary volubility of his long + harangue. + </p> + <p> + Some men more experienced in the world, less mastered by love than I was, + would, in my position, have recognised this proposal an unfair trial of + self-restraint—perhaps, something like an unfair humiliation as + well. Others have detected the selfish motives which suggested it: the + mean distrust of my honour, integrity, and firmness of purpose which it + implied; and the equally mean anxiety on Sherwin’s part to clench his + profitable bargain at once, for fear it might be repented of. I discerned + nothing of this. As soon as I had recovered from the natural astonishment + of the first few moments, I only saw in the strange plan proposed to me, a + certainty of assuring—no matter with what sacrifice, what hazard, or + what delay—the ultimate triumph of my love. When Mr. Sherwin had + ceased speaking, I replied at once: + </p> + <p> + “I accept your conditions—I accept them with all my heart.” + </p> + <p> + He was hardly prepared for so complete and so sudden an acquiescence in + his proposal, and looked absolutely startled by it, at first. But soon + resuming his self-possession—his wily, “business-like” + self-possession—he started up, and shook me vehemently by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “Delighted—most delighted, my dear Sir, to find how soon we + understand each other, and that we pull together so well. We must have + another glass; hang it, we really must! a toast, you know; a toast you + can’t help drinking—your wife! Ha! ha!—I had you there!—my + dear, dear Margaret, God bless her!” + </p> + <p> + “We may consider all difficulties finally settled then,” I said, anxious + to close my interview with Mr. Sherwin as speedily as possible. + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly so. Done, and double done, I may say. There will be a little + insurance on your life, that I shall ask you to effect for dear Margaret’s + sake; and perhaps, a memorandum of agreement, engaging to settle a certain + proportion of any property you may become possessed of, on her and her + children. You see I am looking forward to my grandfather days already! But + this can wait for a future occasion—say in a day or two.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I presume there will be no objection to my seeing Miss Sherwin now?” + </p> + <p> + “None whatever—-at once, if you like. This way, my dear Sir; this + way,” and he led me across the passage, into the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + This apartment was furnished with less luxury, but with more bad taste (if + possible) than the room we had just left. Near the window sat Margaret—it + was the same window at which I had seen her, on the evening when I + wandered into the square, after our meeting in the omnibus. The cage with + the canary-bird hung in the same place. I just noticed—with a + momentary surprise—that Mrs. Sherwin was sitting far away from her + daughter, at the other end of the room; and then placed myself by + Margaret’s side. She was dressed in pale yellow—a colour which gave + new splendour to her dark complexion and magnificently dark hair. Once + more, all my doubts, all my self-upbraidings vanished, and gave place to + the exquisite sense of happiness, the glow of joy and hope and love which + seemed to rush over my heart, the moment I looked at her. + </p> + <p> + After staying in the room about five minutes, Mr. Sherwin whispered to his + wife, and left us. Mrs. Sherwin still kept her place; but she said + nothing, and hardly turned to look round at us more than once or twice. + Perhaps she was occupied by her own thoughts; perhaps, from a motive of + delicacy, she abstained even from an appearance of watching her daughter + or watching me. Whatever feelings influenced her, I cared not to speculate + on them. It was enough that I had the privilege of speaking to Margaret + uninterruptedly; of declaring my love at last, without hesitation and + without reserve. + </p> + <p> + How much I had to say to her, and how short a time seemed to be left me + that evening to say it in! How short a time to tell her all the thoughts + of the past which she had created in me; all the self-sacrifice to which I + had cheerfully consented for her sake; all the anticipations of future + happiness which were concentrated in her, which drew their very breath of + life, only from the prospect of her rewarding love! She spoke but little; + yet even that little it was a new delight to hear. She smiled now; she let + me take her hand, and made no attempt to withdraw it. The evening had + closed in; the darkness was stealing fast upon us; the still, dead-still + figure of Mrs. Sherwin, always in the same place and the same attitude, + grew fainter and fainter to the eye, across the distance of the room—but + no thought of time, no thought of home ever once crossed my mind. I could + have sat at the window with Margaret the long night through; without an + idea of numbering the hours as they passed. + </p> + <p> + Ere long, however, Mr. Sherwin entered the room again, and effectually + roused me by approaching and speaking to us. I saw that I had stayed long + enough, and that we were not to be left together again, that night. So I + rose and took my leave, having first fixed a time for seeing Margaret on + the morrow. Mr. Sherwin accompanied me with great ceremony to the outer + door. Just as I was leaving him, he touched me on the arm, and said in his + most confidential tones: + </p> + <p> + “Come an hour earlier, to-morrow; and we’ll go and get the licence + together. No objection to that—eh? And the marriage, shall we say + this day week? Just as <i>you</i> like, you know—don’t let me seem + to dictate. Ah! no objection to that, either, I see, and no objection on + Margaret’s side, I’ll warrant! With respect to consents, in the marrying + part of the business, there’s complete mutuality—isn’t there? Good + night: God bless you!” + </p> + <p> + XII. + </p> + <p> + That night I went home with none of the reluctance or the apprehension + which I had felt on the last occasion, when I approached our own door. The + assurance of success contained in the events of the afternoon, gave me a + trust in my own self-possession—a confidence in my own capacity to + parry all dangerous questions—which I had not experienced before. I + cared not how soon, or for how long a time, I might find myself in company + with Clara or my father. It was well for the preservation of my secret + that I was in this frame of mind; for, on opening my study door, I was + astonished to see both of them in my room. + </p> + <p> + Clara was measuring one of my over-crowded book-shelves, with a piece of + string; and was apparently just about to compare the length of it with a + vacant space on the wall close by, when I came in. Seeing me, she stopped; + and looked round significantly at my father, who was standing near her, + with a file of papers in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “You may well feel surprised, Basil, at this invasion of your territory,” + he said, with peculiar kindness of manner—“you must, however, apply + there, to the prime minister of the household,” pointing to Clara, “for an + explanation. I am only the instrument of a domestic conspiracy on your + sister’s part.” + </p> + <p> + Clara seemed doubtful whether she should speak. It was the first time I + had ever seen such an expression in her face, when she looked into mine. + </p> + <p> + “We are discovered, papa,” she said, after a momentary silence, “and we + must explain: but you know I always leave as many explanations as I can to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said my father smiling; “my task in this instance will be an + easy one. I was intercepted, Basil, on my way to my own room by your + sister, and taken in here to advise about a new set of bookcases for you, + when I ought to have been attending to my own money matters. Clara’s idea + was to have had these new bookcases made in secret, and put up as a + surprise, some day when you were not at home. However, as you have caught + her in the act of measuring spaces, with all the skill of an experienced + carpenter, and all the impetuosity of an arbitrary young lady who rules + supreme over everybody, further concealment is out of the question. We + must make a virtue of necessity, and confess everything.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Clara! This was her only return for ten days’ utter neglect—and + she had been half afraid to tell me of it herself. I approached and + thanked her; not very gratefully, I am afraid, for I felt too confused to + speak freely. It seemed like a fatality. The more evil I was doing in + secret, evil to family ties and family principles, the more good was + unconsciously returned to me by my family, through my sister’s hands. + </p> + <p> + “I made no objection, of course, to the bookcase plan,” continued my + father. “More room is really wanted for the volumes on volumes that you + have collected about you; but I certainly suggested a little delay in the + execution of the project. The bookcases will, at all events, not be + required here for five months to come. This day week we return to the + country.” + </p> + <p> + I could not repress a start of astonishment and dismay. Here was a + difficulty which I ought to have provided for; but which I had most + unaccountably never once thought of, although it was now the period of the + year at which on all former occasions we had been accustomed to leave + London. This day week too! The very day fixed by Mr. Sherwin for my + marriage! + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid, Sir, I shall not be able to go with you and Clara so soon as + you propose. It was my wish to remain in London some time longer.” I said + this in a low voice, without venturing to look at my sister. But I could + not help hearing her exclamation as I spoke, and the tone in which she + uttered it. + </p> + <p> + My father moved nearer to me a step or two, and looked in my face + intently, with the firm, penetrating expression which peculiarly + characterized him. + </p> + <p> + “This seems an extraordinary resolution,” he said, his tones and manner + altering ominously while he spoke. “I thought your sudden absence for the + last two days rather odd; but this plan of remaining in London by yourself + is really incomprehensible. What can you have to do?” + </p> + <p> + An excuse—no! not an excuse; let me call things by their right names + in these pages—a <i>lie</i> was rising to my lips; but my father + checked the utterance of it. He detected my embarrassment immediately, + anxiously as I strove to conceal it. + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” he said coldly, while the red flush which meant so much when it + rose on <i>his</i> cheek, began to appear there for the first time. “Stop! + If you must make excuses, Basil, I must ask no questions. You have a + secret which you wish to keep from me; and I beg you <i>will</i> keep it. + I have never been accustomed to treat my sons as I would not treat any + other gentlemen with whom I may happen to be associated. If they have + private affairs, I cannot interfere with those affairs. My trust in their + honour is my only guarantee against their deceiving me; but in the + intercourse of gentlemen that is guarantee enough. Remain here as long as + you like: we shall be happy to see you in the country, when you are able + to leave town.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to Clara. “I suppose, my love, you want me no longer. While I + settle my own matters of business, you can arrange about the bookcases + with your brother. Whatever you wish, I shall be glad to do.” And he left + the room without speaking to me, or looking at me again. I sank into a + chair, feeling disgraced in my own estimation by the last words he had + spoken to me. His trust in my honour was his only guarantee against my + deceiving him. As I thought over that declaration, every syllable of it + seemed to sear my conscience; to brand Hypocrite on my heart. + </p> + <p> + I turned towards my sister. She was standing at a little distance from me, + silent and pale, mechanically twisting the measuring-string, which she + still held between her trembling fingers; and fixing her eyes upon me so + lovingly, so mournfully, that my fortitude gave way when I looked at her. + At that instant, I seemed to forget everything that had passed since the + day when I first met Margaret, and to be restored once more to my old way + of life and my old home-sympathies. My head drooped on my breast, and I + felt the hot tears forcing themselves into my eyes. + </p> + <p> + Clara stepped quietly to my side; and sitting down by me in silence, put + her arm round my neck. + </p> + <p> + When I was calmer, she said gently: + </p> + <p> + “I have been very anxious about you, Basil; and perhaps I have allowed + that anxiety to appear more than I ought. Perhaps I have been accustomed + to exact too much from you—you have been too ready to please me. But + I have been used to it so long; and I have nobody else that I can speak to + as I can to you. Papa is very kind; but he can’t be what you are to me + exactly; and Ralph does not live with us now, and cared little about me, I + am afraid, when he did. I have friends, but friends are not—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped again; her voice was failing her. For a moment, she struggled + to keep her self-possession—struggled as only women can—and + succeeded in the effort. She pressed her arm closer round my neck; but her + tones were steadier and clearer when she resumed: + </p> + <p> + “It will not be very easy for me to give up our country rides and walks + together, and the evening talk that we always had at dusk in the old + library at the park. But I think I can resign all this, and go away alone + with papa, for the first time, without making you melancholy by anything I + say or do at parting, if you will only promise that when you are in any + difficulty you will let me be of some use. I think I could always be of + use, because I should always feel an interest in anything that concerned + you. I don’t want to intrude on your secret; but if that secret should + ever bring you trouble or distress (which I hope and pray it may not), I + want you to have confidence in my being able to help you, in some way, + through any mischances. Let me go into the country, Basil, knowing that + you can still put trust in me, even though a time should come when you can + put trust in no one else—let me know this: <i>do</i> let me!” + </p> + <p> + I gave her the assurance she desired—gave it with my whole heart. + She seemed to have recovered all her old influence over me by the few + simple words she had spoken. The thought crossed my mind, whether I ought + not in common gratitude to confide my secret to her at once, knowing as I + did, that it would be safe in her keeping, however the disclosure might + startle or pain her, I believe I should have told her all, in another + minute, but for a mere accident—the trifling interruption caused by + a knock at the door. + </p> + <p> + It came from one of the servants. My father desired to see Clara on some + matter connected with their impending departure for the country. She was + unfit enough to obey such a summons at such a time; but with her usual + courage in disciplining her own feelings into subserviency to the wishes + of any one whom she loved, she determined to obey immediately the message + which had been delivered to her. A few moments of silence; a slight + trembling soon repressed; a parting kiss for me; these few farewell words + of encouragement at the door; “Don’t grieve about what papa has said; you + have made <i>me</i> feel happy about you, Basil; I will make <i>him</i> + feel happy too,” and Clara was gone. + </p> + <p> + With those few minutes of interruption, the time for the disclosure of my + secret had passed by. As soon as my sister was out of the room, my former + reluctance to trust it to home-keeping returned, and remained unchanged + throughout the whole of the long year’s probation which I had engaged to + pass. But this mattered little. As events turned out, if I had told Clara + all, the end would have come in the same way, the fatality would have been + accomplished by the same means. + </p> + <p> + I went out shortly after my sister had left me. I could give myself to no + occupation at home, for the rest of that night; and I knew that it would + be useless to attempt to sleep just then. As I walked through the streets, + bitter thoughts against my father rose in my mind—bitter thoughts + against his inexorable family pride, which imposed on me the concealment + and secrecy, under the oppression of which I had already suffered so much—bitter + thoughts against those social tyrannies, which take no account of human + sympathy and human love, and which my father now impersonated, as it were, + to my ideas. Gradually these reflections merged in others that were + better. I thought of Clara again; consoling myself with the belief, that, + however my father might receive the news of my marriage, I might count + upon my sister as certain to love my wife and be kind to her, for my sake. + This thought led my heart back to Margaret—led it gently and + happily. I went home, calmed and reassured again—at least for the + rest of the night. + </p> + <p> + The events of that week, so fraught with importance for the future of my + life, passed with ominous rapidity. + </p> + <p> + The marriage license was procured; all remaining preliminaries with Mr. + Sherwin were adjusted; I saw Margaret every day, and gave myself up more + and more unreservedly to the charm that she exercised over me, at each + succeeding interview. At home, the bustle of approaching departure; the + farewell visitings; the multitudinous minor arrangements preceding a + journey to the country, seemed to hurry the hours on faster and faster, as + the parting day for Clara, and the marriage day for me, drew near. + Incessant interruptions prevented any more lengthened or private + conversations with my sister; and my father was hardly ever accessible for + more than five minutes together, even to those who specially wished to + speak with him. Nothing arose to embarrass or alarm me now, out of my + intercourse with home. + </p> + <p> + The day came. I had not slept during the night that preceded it; so I rose + early to look out on the morning. + </p> + <p> + It is strange how frequently that instinctive belief in omens and + predestinations, which we flippantly term Superstition, asserts its + natural prerogative even over minds trained to repel it, at the moment of + some great event in our lives. I believe this has happened to many more + men than ever confessed it; and it happened to me. At any former period of + my life, I should have laughed at the bare imputation of a “superstitious” + feeling ever having risen in my mind. But now, as I looked on the sky, and + saw the black clouds that overspread the whole firmament, and the heavy + rain that poured down from them, an irrepressible sinking of the heart + came over me. For the last ten days the sun had shone almost + uninterruptedly—with my marriage-day came the cloud, the mist and + the rain. I tried to laugh myself out of the forebodings which this + suggested, and tried in vain. + </p> + <p> + The departure for the country was to take place at an early hour. We all + breakfasted together; the meal was hurried over comfortlessly and + silently. My father was either writing notes, or examining the steward’s + accounts, almost the whole time; and Clara was evidently incapable of + uttering a single word, without risking the loss of her self-possession. + The silence was so complete, while we sat together at the table, that the + fall of the rain outside (which had grown softer and thicker as the + morning advanced), and the quick, quiet tread of the servants, as they + moved about the room, were audible with a painful distinctness. The + oppression of our last family breakfast in London, for that year, had an + influence of wretchedness which I cannot describe—which I can never + forget. + </p> + <p> + At last the hour of starting came. Clara seemed afraid to trust herself + even to look at me now. She hurriedly drew down her veil the moment the + carriage was announced. My father shook hands with me rather coldly. I had + hoped he would have said something at parting; but he only bade me + farewell in the simplest and shortest manner. I had rather he would have + spoken to me in anger than restrained himself as he did, to what the + commonest forms of courtesy required. There was but one more slight, after + this, that he could cast on me; and he did not spare it. While my sister + was taking leave of me, he waited at the door of the room to lead her down + stairs, as if he knew by intuition that this was the last little parting + attention which I had hoped to show her myself. + </p> + <p> + Clara whispered (in such low, trembling tones that I could hardly hear + her): + </p> + <p> + “Think of what you promised in your study, Basil, whenever you think of <i>me:</i> + I will write often.” + </p> + <p> + As she raised her veil for a moment, and kissed me, I felt on my own cheek + the tears that were falling fast over hers. I followed her and my father + down stairs. When they reached the street, she gave me her hand—it + was cold and powerless. I knew that the fortitude she had promised to + show, was giving way, in spite of all her efforts to preserve it; so I let + her hurry into the carriage without detaining her by any last words. The + next instant she and my father were driven rapidly from the door. + </p> + <p> + When I re-entered the house, my watch showed me that I had still an hour + to wait, before it was time to go to North Villa. + </p> + <p> + Between the different emotions produced by my impressions of the scene I + had just passed through, and my anticipations of the scene that was yet to + come, I suffered in that one hour as much mental conflict as most men + suffer in a life. It seemed as if I were living out all my feelings in + this short interval of delay, and must die at heart when it was over. My + restlessness was a torture to me; and yet I could not overcome it. I + wandered through the house from room to room, stopping nowhere. I took + down book after book from the library, opened them to read, and put them + back on the shelves the next instant. Over and over again I walked to the + window to occupy myself with what was passing in the street; and each time + I could not stay there for one minute together. I went into the + picture-gallery, looked along the walls, and yet knew not what I was + looking at. At last I wandered into my father’s study—the only room + I had not yet visited. + </p> + <p> + A portrait of my mother hung over the fireplace: my eyes turned towards + it, and for the first time I came to a long pause. The picture had an + influence that quieted me; but what influence I hardly knew. Perhaps it + led my spirit up to the spirit that had gone from us—perhaps those + secret voices from the unknown world, which only the soul can listen to, + were loosed at that moment, and spoke within me. While I sat looking up at + the portrait, I grew strangely and suddenly calm before it. My memory flew + back to a long illness that I had suffered from, as a child, when my + little cradle-couch was placed by my mother’s bedside, and she used to sit + by me in the dull evenings and hush me to sleep. The remembrance of this + brought with it a dread imagining that she might now be hushing my spirit, + from her place among the angels of God. A stillness and awe crept over me; + and I hid my face in my hands. + </p> + <p> + The striking of the hour from a clock in the room, startled me back to the + outer world. I left the house and went at once to North Villa. + </p> + <p> + Margaret and her father and mother were in the drawing-room when I entered + it. I saw immediately that neither of the two latter had passed the + morning calmly. The impending event of the day had exercised its agitating + influence over them, as well as over me. Mrs. Sherwin’s face was pale to + her very lips: not a word escaped her. Mr. Sherwin endeavoured to assume + the self-possession which he was evidently far from feeling, by walking + briskly up and down the room, and talking incessantly—asking the + most common-place questions, and making the most common-place jokes. + Margaret, to my surprise, showed fewer symptoms of agitation than either + of her parents. Except when the colour came and went occasionally on her + cheek, I could detect no outward evidences of emotion in her at all. + </p> + <p> + The church was near at hand. As we proceeded to it, the rain fell heavily, + and the mist of the morning was thickening to a fog. We had to wait in the + vestry for the officiating clergyman. All the gloom and dampness of the + day seemed to be collected in this room—a dark, cold, melancholy + place, with one window which opened on a burial-ground steaming in the + wet. The rain pattered monotonously on the pavement outside. While Mr. + Sherwin exchanged remarks on the weather with the clerk, (a tall, lean + man, arrayed in a black gown), I sat silent, near Mrs. Sherwin and + Margaret, looking with mechanical attention at the white surplices which + hung before me in a half-opened cupboard—at the bottle of water and + tumbler, and the long-shaped books, bound in brown leather, which were on + the table. I was incapable of speaking—incapable even of thinking—during + that interval of expectation. + </p> + <p> + At length the clergyman arrived, and we went into the church—the + church, with its desolate array of empty pews, and its chill, heavy, + week-day atmosphere. As we ranged ourselves round the altar, a confusion + overspread all my faculties. My sense of the place I was in, and even of + the ceremony in which I took part, grew more and more vague and doubtful + every minute. My attention wandered throughout the whole service. I + stammered and made mistakes in uttering the responses. Once or twice I + detected myself in feeling impatient at the slow progress of the ceremony—it + seemed to be doubly, trebly longer than its usual length. Mixed up with + this impression was another, wild and monstrous as if it had been produced + by a dream—an impression that my father had discovered my secret, + and was watching me from some hidden place in the church; watching through + the service, to denounce and abandon me publicly at the end. This morbid + fancy grew and grew on me until the termination of the ceremony, until we + had left the church and returned to the vestry once more. + </p> + <p> + The fees were paid; we wrote our names in the books and on the + certificate; the clergyman quietly wished me happiness; the clerk solemnly + imitated him; the pew-opener smiled and curtseyed; Mr. Sherwin made + congratulatory speeches, kissed his daughter, shook hands with me, frowned + a private rebuke at his wife for shedding tears, and, finally, led the way + with Margaret out of the vestry. The rain was still falling, as they got + into the carriage. The fog was still thickening, as I stood alone under + the portico of the church, and tried to realise to myself that I was + married. + </p> + <p> + <i>Married!</i> The son of the proudest man in England, the inheritor of a + name written on the roll of Battle Abbey, wedded to a linen-draper’s + daughter! And what a marriage! What a condition weighed on it! What a + probation was now to follow it! Why had I consented so easily to Mr. + Sherwin’s proposals? Would he not have given way, if I had only been + resolute enough to insist on my own conditions? + </p> + <p> + How useless to inquire! I had made the engagement and must abide by it—abide + by it cheerfully until the year was over, and she was mine for ever. This + must be my all-sufficing thought for the future. No more reflections on + consequences, no more forebodings about the effect of the disclosure of my + secret on my family—the leap into a new life had been taken, and, + lead where it might, it was a leap that could never be retraced! + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sherwin had insisted, with the immovable obstinacy which characterises + all feeble-minded people in the management of their important affairs, + that the first clause in our agreement (the leaving my wife at the + church-door) should be performed to the letter. As a due compensation for + this, I was to dine at North Villa that day. How should I employ the + interval that was to elapse before the dinner-hour? + </p> + <p> + I went home, and had my horse saddled. I was in no mood for remaining in + an empty house, in no mood for calling on any of my friends—I was + fit for nothing but a gallop through the rain. All my wearing and + depressing emotions of the morning, had now merged into a wild excitement + of body and mind. When the horse was brought round, I saw with delight + that the groom could hardly hold him. “Keep him well in hand, Sir,” said + the man, “he’s not been out for three days.” I was just in the humour for + such a ride as the caution promised me. + </p> + <p> + And what a ride it was, when I fairly got out of London; and the afternoon + brightening of the foggy atmosphere, showed the smooth, empty high road + before me! The dashing through the rain that still fell; the feel of the + long, powerful, regular stride of the horse under me; the thrill of that + physical sympathy which establishes itself between the man and the steed; + the whirling past carts and waggons, saluted by the frantic barking of + dogs inside them; the flying by roadside alehouses, with the cheering of + boys and half-drunken men sounding for an instant behind me, then lost in + the distance—this was indeed to occupy, to hurry on, to annihilate + the tardy hours of solitude on my wedding day, exactly as my heart + desired! + </p> + <p> + I got home wet through; but with my body in a glow from the exercise, with + my spirits boiling up at fever heat. When I arrived at North Villa, the + change in my manner astonished every one. At dinner, I required no + pressing now to partake of the sherry which Mr. Sherwin was so fond of + extolling, nor of the port which he brought out afterwards, with a + preliminary account of the vintage-date of the wine, and the price of each + bottle. My spirits, factitious as they were, never flagged. Every time I + looked at Margaret, the sight of her stimulated them afresh. She seemed + pre-occupied, and was unusually silent during dinner; but her beauty was + just that voluptuous beauty which is loveliest in repose. I had never felt + its influence so powerful over me as I felt it then. + </p> + <p> + In the drawing-room, Margaret’s manner grew more familiar, more confident + towards me than it had ever been before. She spoke to me in warmer tones, + looked at me with warmer looks. A hundred little incidents marked our + wedding-evening—trifles that love treasures up—which still + remain in my memory. One among them, at least, will never depart from it: + I first kissed her on that evening. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sherwin had gone out of the room; Mrs. Sherwin was at the other end of + it, watering some plants at the window; Margaret, by her father’s desire, + was showing me some rare prints. She handed me a magnifying glass, through + which I was to look at a particular part of one of the engravings, that + was considered a master-piece of delicate workmanship. Instead of applying + the magnifying test to the print, for which I cared nothing, I laughingly + applied it to Margaret’s face. Her lovely lustrous black eye seemed to + flash into mine through the glass; her warm, quick breathing played on my + cheek—it was but for an instant, and in that instant I kissed her + for the first time. What sensations the kiss gave me then!—what + remembrances it has left me now! + </p> + <p> + It was one more proof how tenderly, how purely I loved her, that, before + this time, I had feared to take the first love-privilege which I had + longed to assert, and might well have asserted, before. Men may not + understand this; women, I believe, will. + </p> + <p> + The hour of departure arrived; the inexorable hour which was to separate + me from my wife on my wedding evening. Shall I confess what I felt, on the + first performance of my ill-considered promise to Mr. Sherwin? No: I kept + this a secret from Margaret; I will keep it a secret here. + </p> + <p> + I took leave of her as hurriedly and abruptly as possible—I could + not trust myself to quit her in any other way. She had contrived to slip + aside into the darkest part of the room, so that I only saw her face dimly + at parting. + </p> + <p> + I went home at once. When I lay down to sleep—then the ordeal which + I had been unconsciously preparing for myself throughout the day, began to + try me. Every nerve in my body, strung up to the extremest point of + tension since the morning, now at last gave way. I felt my limbs + quivering, till the bed shook under me. I was possessed by a gloom and + horror, caused by no thought, and producing no thought: the thinking + faculty seemed paralysed within me, altogether. The physical and mental + reaction, after the fever and agitation of the day, was so sudden and + severe, that the faintest noise from the street now terrified—yes, + literally terrified me. The whistling of the wind—which had risen + since sunset—made me start up in bed, with my heart throbbing, and + my blood all chill. When no sounds were audible, then I listened for them + to come—listened breathlessly, without daring to move. At last, the + agony of nervous prostration grew more than I could bear—grew worse + even than the child’s horror of walking in the darkness, and sleeping + alone on the bed-room floor, which had overcome me, almost from the first + moment when I laid down. I groped my way to the table and lit the candle + again; then wrapped my dressing-gown round me, and sat shuddering near the + light, to watch the weary hours out till morning. + </p> + <p> + And this was my wedding-night! This was how the day ended which had begun + by my marriage with Margaret Sherwin! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II. + </h2> + <p> + I. + </p> + <p> + AN epoch in my narrative has now arrived. Up to the time of my marriage, I + have appeared as an active agent in the different events I have described. + After that period, and—with one or two exceptional cases—throughout + the whole year of my probation, my position changed with the change in my + life, and became a passive one. + </p> + <p> + During this interval year, certain events happened, some of which, at the + time, excited my curiosity, but none my apprehension—some affected + me with a temporary disappointment, but none with even a momentary + suspicion. I can now look back on them, as so many timely warnings which I + treated with fatal neglect. It is in these events that the history of the + long year through which I waited to claim my wife as my own, is really + comprised. They marked the lapse of time broadly and significantly; and to + them I must now confine myself, as exclusively as may be, in the present + portion of my narrative. + </p> + <p> + It will be first necessary, however, that I should describe what was the + nature of my intercourse with Margaret, during the probationary period + which followed our marriage. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sherwin’s anxiety was to make my visits to North Villa as few as + possible: he evidently feared the consequences of my seeing his daughter + too often. But on this point, I was resolute enough in asserting my own + interests, to overpower any resistance on his part. I required him to + concede to me the right of seeing Margaret every day—leaving all + arrangements of time to depend on his own convenience. After the due + number of objections, he reluctantly acquiesced in my demand. I was bound + by no engagement whatever, limiting the number of my visits to Margaret; + and I let him see at the outset, that I was now ready in my turn, to + impose conditions on him, as he had already imposed them on me. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, it was settled that Margaret and I were to meet every day. I + usually saw her in the evening. When any alteration in the hour of my + visit took place, that alteration was produced by the necessity (which we + all recognised alike) of avoiding a meeting with any of Mr. Sherwin’s + friends. + </p> + <p> + Those portions of the day or the evening which I spent with Margaret, were + seldom passed altogether in the Elysian idleness of love. Not content with + only enumerating his daughter’s school-accomplishments to me at our first + interview, Mr. Sherwin boastfully referred to them again and again, on + many subsequent occasions; and even obliged Margaret to display before me, + some of her knowledge of languages—which he never forgot to remind + us had been lavishly paid for out of his own pocket. It was at one of + these exhibitions that the idea occurred to me of making a new pleasure + for myself out of Margaret’s society, by teaching her really to appreciate + and enjoy the literature which she had evidently hitherto only studied as + a task. My fancy revelled by anticipation in all the delights of such an + employment as this. It would be like acting the story of Abelard and + Heloise over again—reviving all the poetry and romance in which + those immortal love-studies of old had begun, with none of the guilt and + none of the misery that had darkened their end. + </p> + <p> + I had a definite purpose, besides, in wishing to assume the direction of + Margaret’s studies. Whenever the secret of my marriage was revealed, my + pride was concerned in being able to show my wife to every one, as the + all-sufficient excuse for any imprudence I might have committed for her + sake. I was determined that my father, especially, should have no other + argument against her than the one ungracious argument of her birth—that + he should see her, fitted by the beauty of her mind, as well as by all her + other beauties, for the highest station that society could offer. The + thought of this gave me fresh ardour in my project; I assumed my new + duties without delay, and continued them with a happiness which never once + suffered even a momentary decrease. + </p> + <p> + Of all the pleasures which a man finds in the society of a woman whom he + loves, are there any superior, are there many equal, to the pleasure of + reading out of the same book with her? On what other occasion do the sweet + familiarities of the sweetest of all companionships last so long without + cloying, and pass and re-pass so naturally, so delicately, so + inexhaustibly between you and her? When is your face so constantly close + to hers as it is then?—when can your hair mingle with hers, your + cheek touch hers, your eyes meet hers, so often as they can then? That is, + of all times, the only time when you can breathe with her breath for hours + together; feel every little warming of the colour on her cheek marking its + own changes on the temperature of yours; follow every slight fluttering of + her bosom, every faint gradation of her sighs, as if <i>her</i> heart was + beating, <i>her</i> life glowing, within yours. Surely it is then—if + ever—that we realize, almost revive, in ourselves, the love of the + first two of our race, when angels walked with them on the same garden + paths, and their hearts were pure from the pollution of the fatal tree! + </p> + <p> + Evening after evening passed away—one more happily than another—in + what Margaret and I called our lessons. Never were lessons of literature + so like lessons of love. We read oftenest the lighter Italian poets—we + studied the poetry of love, written in the language of love. But, as for + the steady, utilitarian purpose I had proposed to myself of practically + improving Margaret’s intellect, that was a purpose which insensibly and + deceitfully abandoned me as completely as if it had never existed. The + little serious teaching I tried with her at first, led to very poor + results. Perhaps, the lover interfered too much with the tutor; perhaps, I + had over-estimated the fertility of the faculties I designed to cultivate—but + I cared not, and thought not to inquire where the fault lay, then. I gave + myself up unreservedly to the exquisite sensations which the mere act of + looking on the same page with Margaret procured for me; and neither + detected, nor wished to detect, that it was I who read the difficult + passages, and left only a few even of the very easiest to be attempted by + her. + </p> + <p> + Happily for my patience under the trial imposed on me by the terms on + which Mr. Sherwin’s restrictions, and my promise to obey them, obliged me + to live with Margaret, it was Mrs. Sherwin who was generally selected to + remain in the room with us. By no one could such ungrateful duties of + supervision as those imposed on her, have been more delicately and more + considerately performed. + </p> + <p> + She always kept far enough away to be out of hearing when we whispered to + each other. We rarely detected her even in looking at us. She had a way of + sitting for hours together in the same part of the room, without ever + changing her position, without occupation of any kind, without uttering a + word, or breathing a sigh. I soon discovered that she was not lost in + thought, at these periods (as I had at first supposed): but lost in a + strange lethargy of body and mind; a comfortless, waking trance, into + which she fell from sheer physical weakness—it was like the vacancy + and feebleness of a first convalescence, after a long illness. She never + changed: never looked better, never worse. I often spoke to her: I tried + hard to show my sympathy, and win her confidence and friendship. The poor + lady was always thankful, always spoke to me gratefully and kindly, but + very briefly. She never told me what were her sufferings or her sorrows. + The story of that lonely, lingering life was an impenetrable mystery for + her own family—for her husband and her daughter, as well as for me. + It was a secret between her and God. + </p> + <p> + With Mrs. Sherwin as the guardian to watch over Margaret, it may easily be + imagined that I felt none of the heavier oppressions of restraint. Her + presence, as the third person appointed to remain with us, was not enough + to repress the little endearments to which each evening’s lesson gave + rise; but was just sufficiently perceptible to invest them with the + character of stolen endearments, and to make them all the more precious on + that very account. Mrs. Sherwin never knew, I never thoroughly knew myself + till later, how much of the secret of my patience under my year’s + probation lay in her conduct, while she was sitting in the room with + Margaret and me. + </p> + <p> + In this solitude where I now write—in the change of life and of all + life’s hopes and enjoyments which has come over me—when I look back + to those evenings at North Villa, I shudder as I look. At this moment, I + see the room again—as in a dream—with the little round table, + the reading lamp, and the open books. Margaret and I are sitting together: + her hand is in mine; my heart is with hers. Love, and Youth, and Beauty—the + mortal Trinity of this world’s worship—are there, in that quiet + softly-lit room; but not alone. Away in the dim light behind, is a + solitary figure, ever mournful and ever still. It is a woman’s form; but + how wasted and how weak!—a woman’s face; but how ghastly and + changeless, with those eyes that are vacant, those lips that are + motionless, those cheeks that the blood never tinges, that the freshness + of health and happiness shall never visit again! Woeful, warning figure of + dumb sorrow and patient pain, to fill the background of a picture of Love, + and Beauty, and Youth! + </p> + <p> + I am straying from my task. Let me return to my narrative: its course + begins to darken before me apace, while I now write. + </p> + <p> + The partial restraint and embarrassment, caused at first by the strange + terms on which my wife and I were living together, gradually vanished + before the frequency of my visits to North Villa. We soon began to speak + with all the ease, all the unpremeditated frankness of a long intimacy. + Margaret’s powers of conversation were generally only employed to lead me + to exert mine. She was never tired of inducing me to speak of my family. + She listened with every appearance of interest, while I talked of my + father, my sister, or my elder brother; but whenever she questioned me + directly about any of them, her inquiries invariably led away from their + characters and dispositions, to their personal appearance, their every-day + habits, their dress, their intercourse with the gay world, the things they + spent their money on, and other topics of a similar nature. + </p> + <p> + For instance; she always listened, and listened attentively, to what I + told her of my father’s character, and of the principles which regulated + his life. She showed every disposition to profit by the instructions I + gave her beforehand, about how she should treat his peculiarities when she + was introduced to him. But, on all these occasions, what really interested + her most, was to hear how many servants waited on him; how often he went + to Court; how many lords and ladies he knew; what he said or did to his + servants, when they committed mistakes; whether he was ever angry with his + children for asking him for money; and whether he limited my sister to any + given number of dresses in the course of the year? + </p> + <p> + Again; whenever our conversation turned on Clara, if I began by describing + her kindness, her gentleness and goodness, her simple winning manners—I + was sure to be led insensibly into a digression about her height, figure, + complexion, and style of dress. The latter subject especially interested + Margaret; she could question me on it, over and over again. What was + Clara’s usual morning dress? How did she wear her hair? What was her + evening dress? Did she make a difference between a dinner party and a + ball? What colours did she prefer? What dressmaker did she employ? Did she + wear much jewellery? Which did she like best in her hair, and which were + most fashionable, flowers or pearls? How many new dresses did she have in + a year; and was there more than one maid especially to attend on her? + </p> + <p> + Then, again: Had she a carriage of her own? What ladies took care of her + when she went out? Did she like dancing? What were the fashionable dances + at noblemen’s houses? Did young ladies in the great world practise the + pianoforte much? How many offers had my sister had? Did she go to Court, + as well as my father? What did she talk about to gentlemen, and what did + gentlemen talk about to her? If she were speaking to a duke, how often + would she say “your Grace” to him? and would a duke get her a chair, or an + ice, and wait on her just as gentlemen without titles waited on ladies, + when they met them in society? + </p> + <p> + My replies to these and hundreds of other questions like them, were + received by Margaret with the most eager attention. On the favourite + subject of Clara’s dresses, my answers were an unending source of + amusement and pleasure to her. She especially enjoyed overcoming the + difficulties of interpreting aright my clumsy, circumlocutory phrases in + attempting to describe shawls, gowns, and bonnets; and taught me the exact + millinery language which I ought to have made use of with an arch + expression of triumph and a burlesque earnestness of manner, that always + enchanted me. At that time, every word she uttered, no matter how + frivolous, was the sweetest of all music to my ears. It was only by the + stern test of after-events that I learnt to analyse her conversation. + Sometimes, when I was away from her, I might think of leading her girlish + curiosity to higher things; but when we met again, the thought vanished; + and it became delight enough for me simply to hear her speak, without once + caring or considering what she spoke of. + </p> + <p> + Those were the days when I lived happy and unreflecting in the broad + sunshine of joy which love showered round me—my eyes were dazzled; + my mind lay asleep under it. Once or twice, a cloud came threatening, with + chill and shadowy influence; but it passed away, and then the sunshine + returned to me, the same sunshine that it was before. + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + The first change that passed over the calm uniformity of the life at North + Villa, came in this manner: + </p> + <p> + One evening, on entering the drawing-room, I missed Mrs. Sherwin; and + found to my great disappointment that her husband was apparently settled + there for the evening. He looked a little flurried, and was more restless + than usual. His first words, as we met, informed me of an event in which + he appeared to take the deepest interest. + </p> + <p> + “News, my dear sir!” he said. “Mr. Mannion has come back—at least + two days before I expected him!” + </p> + <p> + At first, I felt inclined to ask who Mr. Mannion was, and what consequence + it could possibly be to me that he had come back. But immediately + afterwards, I remembered that this Mr. Mannion’s name had been mentioned + during my first conversation with Mr. Sherwin; and then I recalled to mind + the description I had heard of him, as “confidential clerk;” as forty + years of age; and as an educated man, who had made his information of some + use to Margaret in keeping up the knowledge she had acquired at school. I + knew no more than this about him, and I felt no curiosity to discover more + from Mr. Sherwin. + </p> + <p> + Margaret and I sat down as usual with our books about us. + </p> + <p> + There had been something a little hurried and abrupt in her manner of + receiving me, when I came in. When we began to read, her attention + wandered incessantly; she looked round several times towards the door. Mr. + Sherwin walked about the room without intermission, except when he once + paused on his restless course, to tell me that Mr. Mannion was coming that + evening; and that he hoped I should have no objection to be introduced to + a person who was “quite like one of the family, and well enough read to be + sure to please a great reader like me.” I asked myself rather impatiently, + who was this Mr. Mannion, that his arrival at his employer’s house should + make a sensation? When I whispered something of this to Margaret, she + smiled rather uneasily, and said nothing. + </p> + <p> + At last the bell was rung. Margaret started a little at the sound. Mr. + Sherwin sat down; composing himself into rather an elaborate attitude—the + door opened, and Mr. Mannion came in. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sherwin received his clerk with the assumed superiority of the master + in his words; but his tones and manner flatly contradicted them. Margaret + rose hastily, and then as hastily sat down again, while the visitor very + respectfully took her hand, and made the usual inquiries. After this, he + was introduced to me; and then Margaret was sent away to summon her mother + down stairs. While she was out of the room, there was nothing to distract + my attention from Mr. Mannion. I looked at him with a curiosity and + interest, Which I could hardly account for at first. + </p> + <p> + If extraordinary regularity of feature were alone sufficient to make a + handsome man, then this confidential clerk of Mr. Sherwin’s was assuredly + one of the handsomest men I ever beheld. Viewed separately from the head + (which was rather large, both in front and behind) his face exhibited, + throughout, an almost perfect symmetry of proportion. His bald forehead + was smooth and massive as marble; his high brow and thin eyelids had the + firmness and immobility of marble, and seemed as cold; his + delicately-formed lips, when he was not speaking, closed habitually, as + changelessly still as if no breath of life ever passed them. There was not + a wrinkle or line anywhere on his face. But for the baldness in front, and + the greyness of the hair at the back and sides of his head, it would have + been impossible from his appearance to have guessed his age, even within + ten years of what it really was. + </p> + <p> + Such was his countenance in point of form; but in that which is the + outward assertion of our immortality—in expression—it was, as + I now beheld it, an utter void. Never had I before seen any human face + which baffled all inquiry like his. No mask could have been made + expressionless enough to resemble it; and yet it looked like a mask. It + told you nothing of his thoughts, when he spoke: nothing of his + disposition, when he was silent. His cold grey eyes gave you no help in + trying to study him. They never varied from the steady, straightforward + look, which was exactly the same for Margaret as it was for me; for Mrs. + Sherwin as for Mr. Sherwin—exactly the same whether he spoke or + whether he listened; whether he talked of indifferent, or of important + matters. Who was he? What was he? His name and calling were poor replies + to those questions. Was he naturally cold and unimpressible at heart? or + had some fierce passion, some terrible sorrow, ravaged the life within + him, and left it dead for ever after? Impossible to conjecture! There was + the impenetrable face before you, wholly inexpressive—so + inexpressive that it did not even look vacant—a mystery for your + eyes and your mind to dwell on—hiding something; but whether vice or + virtue you could not tell. + </p> + <p> + He was dressed as unobtrusively as possible, entirely in black; and was + rather above the middle height. His manner was the only part of him that + betrayed anything to the observation of others. Viewed in connection with + his station, his demeanour (unobtrusive though it was) proclaimed itself + as above his position in the world. He had all the quietness and + self-possession of a gentleman. He maintained his respectful bearing, + without the slightest appearance of cringing; and displayed a decision, + both in word and action, that could never be mistaken for obstinacy or + over-confidence. Before I had been in his company five minutes, his manner + assured me that he must have descended to the position he now occupied. + </p> + <p> + On his introduction to me, he bowed without saying anything. When he spoke + to Mr. Sherwin, his voice was as void of expression as his face: it was + rather low in tone, but singularly distinct in utterance. He spoke + deliberately, but with no emphasis on particular words, and without + hesitation in choosing his terms. + </p> + <p> + When Mrs. Sherwin came down, I watched her conduct towards him. She could + not repress a slight nervous shrinking, when he approached and placed a + chair for her. In answering his inquiries after her health, she never once + looked at him; but fixed her eyes all the time on Margaret and me, with a + sad, anxious expression, wholly indescribable, which often recurred to my + memory after that day. She always looked more or less frightened, poor + thing, in her husband’s presence; but she seemed positively awe-struck + before Mr. Mannion. + </p> + <p> + In truth, my first observation of this so-called clerk, at North Villa, + was enough to convince me that he was master there—master in his own + quiet, unobtrusive way. That man’s character, of whatever elements it + might be composed, was a character that ruled. I could not see this in his + face, or detect it in his words; but I could discover it in the looks and + manners of his employer and his employer’s family, as he now sat at the + same table with them. Margaret’s eyes avoided his countenance much less + frequently than the eyes of her parents; but then he rarely looked at her + in return—rarely looked at her at all, except when common courtesy + obliged him to do so. + </p> + <p> + If any one had told me beforehand, that I should suspend my ordinary + evening’s occupation with my young wife, for the sake of observing the + very man who had interrupted it, and that man only Mr. Sherwin’s clerk, I + should have laughed at the idea. Yet so it was. Our books lay neglected on + the table—neglected by me, perhaps by Margaret too, for Mr. Mannion. + </p> + <p> + His conversation, on this occasion at least, baffled all curiosity as + completely as his face. I tried to lead him to talk. He just answered me, + and that was all; speaking with great respect of manner and phrase, very + intelligibly, but very briefly. Mr. Sherwin—after referring to the + business expedition on which he had been absent, for the purchase of silks + at Lyons—asked him some questions about France and the French, which + evidently proceeded from the most ludicrous ignorance both of the country + and the people. Mr. Mannion just set him right; and did no more. There was + not the smallest inflection of sarcasm in his voice, not the slightest + look of sarcasm in his eye, while he spoke. When we talked among + ourselves, he did not join in the conversation; but sat quietly waiting + until he might be pointedly and personally addressed again. At these times + a suspicion crossed my mind that he might really be studying my character, + as I was vainly trying to study his; and I often turned suddenly round on + him, to see whether he was looking at me. This was never the case. His + hard, chill grey eyes were not on me, and not on Margaret: they rested + most frequently on Mrs. Sherwin, who always shrank before them. + </p> + <p> + After staying little more than half an hour, he rose to go away. While Mr. + Sherwin was vainly pressing him to remain longer, I walked to the round + table at the other end of the room, on which the book was placed that + Margaret and I had intended to read during the evening. I was standing by + the table when he came to take leave of me. He just glanced at the volume + under my hand, and said in tones too low to be heard at the other end of + the room: + </p> + <p> + “I hope my arrival has not interrupted any occupation to-night, Sir. Mr. + Sherwin, aware of the interest I must feel in whatever concerns the family + of an employer whom I have served for years, has informed me in confidence—a + confidence which I know how to respect and preserve—of your marriage + with his daughter, and of the peculiar circumstances under which the + marriage has been contracted. I may at least venture to congratulate the + young lady on a change of life which must procure her happiness, having + begun already by procuring the increase of her mental resources and + pleasures.” He bowed, and pointed to the book on the table. + </p> + <p> + “I believe, Mr. Mannion,” I said, “that you have been of great assistance + in laying a foundation for the studies to which I presume you refer.” + </p> + <p> + “I endeavoured to make myself useful in that way, Sir, as in all others, + when my employer desired it.” He bowed again, as he said this; and then + went out, followed by Mr. Sherwin, who held a short colloquy with him in + the hall. + </p> + <p> + What had he said to me? Only a few civil words, spoken in a very + respectful manner. There had been nothing in his tones, nothing in his + looks, to give any peculiar significance to what he uttered. Still, the + moment his back was turned, I found myself speculating whether his words + contained any hidden meaning; trying to recall something in his voice or + manner which might guide me in discovering the real sense he attached to + what he said. It seemed as if the most powerful whet to my curiosity, were + supplied by my own experience of the impossibility of penetrating beneath + the unassailable surface which this man presented to me. + </p> + <p> + I questioned Margaret about him. She could not tell me more than I knew + already. He had always been very kind and useful; he was a clever man, and + could talk a great deal sometimes, when he chose; and he had taught her + more of foreign languages and foreign literature in a month, than she had + learned at school in a year. While she was telling me this, I hardly + noticed that she spoke in a very hurried manner, and busied herself in + arranging the books and work that lay on the table. My attention was more + closely directed to Mrs. Sherwin. To my surprise, I saw her eagerly lean + forward while Margaret was speaking, and fix her eyes on her daughter with + a look of penetrating scrutiny, of which I could never have supposed a + person usually so feeble and unenergetic to be capable. I thought of + transferring to her my questionings on the subject of Mr. Mannion; but at + that moment her husband entered the room, and I addressed myself for + further enlightenment to him. + </p> + <p> + “Aha!”—cried Mr. Sherwin, rubbing his hands triumphantly—“I + knew Mannion would please you. I told you so, my dear Sir, if you + remember, before he came. Curious looking person—isn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + “So curious, that I may safely say I never saw a face in the slightest + degree resembling his in my life. Your clerk, Mr. Sherwin, is a complete + walking mystery that I want to solve. Margaret cannot give me much help, I + am afraid. When you came in, I was about to apply to Mrs. Sherwin for a + little assistance.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t do any such thing! You’ll be quite in the wrong box there. Mrs. S. + is as sulky as a bear, whenever Mannion and she are in company together. + Considering her behaviour to him, I wonder he can be so civil to her as he + is.” + </p> + <p> + “What can you tell me about him yourself, Mr. Sherwin?” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you there’s not a house of business in London has such a + managing man as he is: he’s my factotum—my right hand, in short; and + my left too, for the matter of that. He understands my ways of doing + business; and, in fact, carries things out in first-rate style. Why, he’d + be worth his weight in gold, only for the knack he has of keeping the + young men in the shop in order. Poor devils! they don’t know how he does + it; but there’s a particular look of Mr. Mannion’s that’s as bad as + transportation and hanging to them, whenever they see it. I’ll pledge you + my word of honour he’s never had a day’s illness, or made a single + mistake, since he’s been with me. He’s a quiet, steady-going, regular + dragon at his work—he is! And then, so obliging in other things. + I’ve only got to say to him: ‘Here’s Margaret at home for the holidays;’ + or, ‘Here’s Margaret a little out of sorts, and going to be nursed at home + for the half-year—what’s to be done about keeping up her lessons? I + can’t pay for a governess (bad lot, governesses!) and school too.’—I’ve + only got to say that; and up gets Mannion from his books and his fireside + at home, in the evening—which begins to be something, you know, to a + man of his time of life—and turns tutor for me, gratis; and a + first-rate tutor, too! That’s what I call having a treasure! And yet, + though he’s been with us for years, Mrs. S. there won’t take to him!—I + defy her or anybody else to say why, or wherefore!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know how he was employed before he came to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! now you’ve hit it—that’s where you’re right in saying he’s a + mystery. What he did before I knew him, is more than I can tell—a + good deal more. He came to me with a capital recommendation and security, + from a gentleman whom I knew to be of the highest respectability. I had a + vacancy in the back office, and tried him, and found out what he was + worth, in no time—I flatter myself I’ve a knack at that with + everybody. Well: before I got used to his curious-looking face, and his + quiet ways, I wanted badly enough to know something about him, and who his + connections were. First, I asked his friend who had recommended him—the + friend wasn’t at liberty to answer for anything but his perfect + trustworthiness. Then I asked Mannion himself point-blank about it, one + day. He just told me that he had reasons for keeping his family affairs to + himself—nothing more—but you know the way he has with him; + and, damn it, he put the stopper on me, from that time to this. I wasn’t + going to risk losing the best clerk that ever man had, by worrying him + about his secrets. They didn’t interfere with business, and didn’t + interfere with me; so I put my curiosity in my pocket. I know nothing + about him, but that he’s my right-hand man, and the honestest fellow that + ever stood in shoes. He may be the Great Mogul himself, in disguise, for + anything I care! In short, you may be able to find out all about him, my + dear Sir; but I can’t.” + </p> + <p> + “There does not seem much chance for me, Mr. Sherwin, after what you have + said.” + </p> + <p> + “Well: I’m not so sure of that—plenty of chances here, you know. + You’ll see him often enough: he lives near, and drops in constantly of + evenings. We settle business matters that won’t come into business hours, + in my private snuggery up stairs. In fact, he’s one of the family; treat + him as such, and get anything out of him you can—the more the + better, as far as regards that. Ah! Mrs. S., you may stare, Ma’am; but I + say again, he’s one of the family; may be, he’ll be my partner some of + these days—you’ll have to get used to him then, whether you like it + or not.” + </p> + <p> + “One more question: is he married or single?” + </p> + <p> + “Single, to be sure—a regular old bachelor, if ever there was one + yet.” + </p> + <p> + During the whole time we had been speaking, Mrs. Sherwin had looked at us + with far more earnestness and attention than I had ever seen her display + before. Even her languid faculties seemed susceptible of active curiosity + on the subject of Mr. Mannion—the more so, perhaps, from her very + dislike of him. Margaret had moved her chair into the background, while + her father was talking; and was apparently little interested in the topic + under discussion. In the first interval of silence, she complained of + headache, and asked leave to retire to her room. + </p> + <p> + After she left us, I took my departure: for Mr. Sherwin evidently had + nothing more to tell me about his clerk that was worth hearing. On my way + home, Mr. Mannion occupied no small share of my thoughts. The idea of + trying to penetrate the mystery connected with him was an idea that + pleased me; there was a promise of future excitement in it of no ordinary + kind. I determined to have a little private conversation with Margaret + about him; and to make her an ally in my new project. If there really had + been some romance connected with Mr. Mannion’s early life—if that + strange and striking face of his was indeed a sealed book which contained + a secret story, what a triumph and a pleasure, if Margaret and I should + succeed in discovering it together! + </p> + <p> + When I woke the next morning, I could hardly believe that this tradesman’s + clerk had so interested my curiosity that he had actually shared my + thoughts with my young wife, during the evening before. And yet, when I + next saw him, he produced exactly the same impression on me again. + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + Some weeks passed away; Margaret and I resumed our usual employments and + amusements; the life at North Villa ran on as smoothly and obscurely as + usual—and still I remained ignorant of Mr. Mannion’s history and Mr. + Mannion’s character. He came frequently to the house, in the evening; but + was generally closeted with Mr. Sherwin, and seldom accepted his + employer’s constant invitation to him to join the party in the + drawing-room. At those rare intervals when we did see him, his appearance + and behaviour were exactly the same as on the night when I had met him for + the first time; he spoke just as seldom, and resisted just as resolutely + and respectfully the many attempts made on my part to lead him into + conversation and familiarity. If he had really been trying to excite my + interest, he could not have succeeded more effectually. I felt towards him + much as a man feels in a labyrinth, when every fresh failure in gaining + the centre, only produces fresh obstinacy in renewing the effort to arrive + at it. + </p> + <p> + From Margaret I gained no sympathy for my newly-aroused curiosity. She + appeared, much to my surprise, to care little about Mr. Mannion; and + always changed the conversation, if it related to him, whenever it + depended upon her to continue the topic or not. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Sherwin’s conduct was far from resembling her daughter’s, when I + spoke to her on the same subject. She always listened intently to what I + said; but her answers were invariably brief, confused, and sometimes + absolutely incomprehensible. It was only after great difficulty that I + induced her to confess her dislike of Mr. Mannion. Whence it proceeded she + could never tell. Did she suspect anything? In answering this question, + she always stammered, trembled, and looked away from me. “How could she + suspect anything? If she did suspect, it would be very wrong without good + reason: but she ought not to suspect, and did not, of course.” + </p> + <p> + I never obtained any replies from her more intelligible than these. + Attributing their confusion to the nervous agitation which more or less + affected her when she spoke on any subject, I soon ceased making any + efforts to induce her to explain herself; and determined to search for the + clue to Mr. Mannion’s character, without seeking assistance from any one. + </p> + <p> + Accident at length gave me an opportunity of knowing something of his + habits and opinions; and so far, therefore, of knowing something about the + man himself. + </p> + <p> + One night, I met him in the hall at North Villa, about to leave the house + at the same time that I was, after a business-consultation in private with + Mr. Sherwin. We went out together. The sky was unusually black; the night + atmosphere unusually oppressive and still. The roll of distant thunder + sounded faint and dreary all about us. The sheet lightning, flashing quick + and low in the horizon, made the dark firmament look like a thick veil, + rising and falling incessantly, over a heaven of dazzling light behind it. + Such few foot-passengers as passed us, passed running—for heavy, + warning drops were falling already from the sky. We quickened our pace; + but before we had walked more than two hundred yards, the rain came down, + furious and drenching; and the thunder began to peal fearfully, right over + our heads. + </p> + <p> + “My house is close by,” said my companion, just as quietly and + deliberately as usual—“pray step in, Sir, until the storm is over.” + </p> + <p> + I followed him down a bye street; he opened a door with his own key; and + the next instant I was sheltered under Mr. Mannion’s roof. + </p> + <p> + He led me at once into a room on the ground floor. The fire was blazing in + the grate; an arm-chair, with a reading easel attached, was placed by it; + the lamp was ready lit; the tea-things were placed on the table; the dark, + thick curtains were drawn close over the window; and, as if to complete + the picture of comfort before me, a large black cat lay on the rug, + basking luxuriously in the heat of the fire. While Mr. Mannion went out to + give some directions, as he said, to his servant, I had an opportunity of + examining the apartment more in detail. To study the appearance of a man’s + dwelling-room, is very often nearly equivalent to studying his own + character. + </p> + <p> + The personal contrast between Mr. Sherwin and his clerk was remarkable + enough, but the contrast between the dimensions and furnishing of the + rooms they lived in, was to the full as extraordinary. The apartment I now + surveyed was less than half the size of the sitting-room at North Villa. + The paper on the walls was of a dark red; the curtains were of the same + colour; the carpet was brown, and if it bore any pattern, that pattern was + too quiet and unpretending to be visible by candlelight. One wall was + entirely occupied by rows of dark mahogany shelves, completely filled with + books, most of them cheap editions of the classical works of ancient and + modern literature. The opposite wall was thickly hung with engravings in + maple-wood frames from the works of modern painters, English and French. + All the minor articles of furniture were of the plainest and neatest order—even + the white china tea-pot and tea-cup on the table, had neither pattern nor + colouring of any kind. What a contrast was this room to the drawing-room + at North Villa! + </p> + <p> + On his return, Mr. Mannion found me looking at his tea-equipage. “I am + afraid, Sir, I must confess myself an epicure and a prodigal in two + things,” he said; “an epicure in tea, and a prodigal (at least for a + person in my situation) in books. However, I receive a liberal salary, and + can satisfy my tastes, such as they are, and save money too. What can I + offer you, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + Seeing the preparations on the table, I asked for tea. While he was + speaking to me, there was one peculiarity about him that I observed. + Almost all men, when they stand on their own hearths, in their own homes, + instinctively alter more or less from their out-of-door manner: the + stiffest people expand, the coldest thaw a little, by their own firesides. + It was not so with Mr. Mannion. He was exactly the same man at his own + house that he was at Mr. Sherwin’s. + </p> + <p> + There was no need for him to have told me that he was an epicure in tea; + the manner in which he made it would have betrayed that to anybody. He put + in nearly treble the quantity which would generally be considered + sufficient for two persons; and almost immediately after he had filled the + tea-pot with boiling water, began to pour from it into the cups—thus + preserving all the aroma and delicacy of flavour in the herb, without the + alloy of any of the coarser part of its strength. When we had finished our + first cups, there was no pouring of dregs into a basin, or of fresh water + on the leaves. A middle-aged female servant, neat and quiet, came up and + took away the tray, bringing it to us again with the tea-pot and tea-cups + clean and empty, to receive a fresh infusion from fresh leaves. These were + trifles to notice; but I thought of other tradesmen’s clerks who were + drinking their gin-and-water jovially, at home or at a tavern, and found + Mr. Mannion a more exasperating mystery to me than ever. + </p> + <p> + The conversation between us turned at first on trivial subjects, and was + but ill sustained on my part—there were peculiarities in my present + position which made me thoughtful. Once, our talk ceased altogether; and, + just at that moment, the storm began to rise to its height. Hail mingled + with the rain, and rattled heavily against the window. The thunder, + bursting louder and louder with each successive peal, seemed to shake the + house to its foundations. As I listened to the fearful crashing and + roaring that seemed to fill the whole measureless void of upper air, and + then looked round on the calm, dead-calm face of the man beside me—without + one human emotion of any kind even faintly pictured on it—I felt + strange, unutterable sensations creeping over me; our silence grew + oppressive and sinister; I began to wish, I hardly knew why, for some + third person in the room—for somebody else to look at and to speak + to. + </p> + <p> + He was the first to resume the conversation. I should have imagined it + impossible for any man, in the midst of such thunder as now raged above + our heads, to think or talk of anything but the storm. And yet, when he + spoke, it was merely on a subject connected with his introduction to me at + North Villa. His attention seemed as far from being attracted or impressed + by the mighty elemental tumult without, as if the tranquillity of the + night were uninvaded by the slightest murmur of sound. + </p> + <p> + “May I inquire, Sir,” he began, “whether I am right in apprehending that + my conduct towards you, since we first met at Mr. Sherwin’s house, may + have appeared strange, and even discourteous, in your eyes?” + </p> + <p> + “In what respect, Mr. Mannion?” I asked, a little startled by the + abruptness of the question. + </p> + <p> + “I am perfectly sensible, Sir, that you have kindly set me the example, on + many occasions, in trying to better our acquaintance. When such advances + are made by one in your station to one in mine, they ought to be + immediately and gratefully responded to.” + </p> + <p> + Why did he pause? Was he about to tell me he had discovered that my + advances sprang from curiosity to know more about him than he was willing + to reveal? I waited for him to proceed. + </p> + <p> + “I have only failed,” he continued, “in the courtesy and gratitude you had + a right to expect from me, because, knowing how you were situated with Mr. + Sherwin’s daughter, I thought any intrusion on my part, while you were + with the young lady, might not be so acceptable as you, Sir, in your + kindness, were willing to lead me to believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me assure you,” I answered; relieved to find myself unsuspected, and + really impressed by his delicacy—“let me assure you that I fully + appreciate the consideration you have shown—” + </p> + <p> + Just as the last words passed my lips, the thunder pealed awfully over the + house. I said no more: the sound silenced me. + </p> + <p> + “As my explanation has satisfied you, Sir,” he went on; his clear and + deliberate utterance rising discordantly audible above the long, retiring + roll of the last burst of thunder—“may I feel justified in speaking + on the subject of your present position in my employer’s house, with some + freedom? I mean, if I may say so without offence, with the freedom of a + friend.” + </p> + <p> + I begged he would use all the freedom he wished; feeling really desirous + that he should do so, apart from any purpose of leading him to talk + unreservedly on the chance of hearing him talk of himself. The profound + respect of manner and phrase which he had hitherto testified—observed + by a man of his age, to a man of mine—made me feel ill at ease. He + was most probably my equal in acquirements: he had the manners and tastes + of a gentleman, and might have the birth too, for aught I knew to the + contrary. The difference between us was only in our worldly positions. I + had not enough of my father’s pride of caste to think that this difference + alone, made it right that a man whose years nearly doubled mine, whose + knowledge perhaps surpassed mine, should speak to me as Mr. Mannion had + spoken up to this time. + </p> + <p> + “I may tell you then,” he resumed, “that while I am anxious to commit no + untimely intrusion on your hours at North Villa, I am at the same time + desirous of being something more than merely inoffensive towards you. I + should wish to be positively useful, as far as I can. In my opinion Mr. + Sherwin has held you to rather a hard engagement—he is trying your + discretion a little too severely I think, at your years and in your + situation. Feeling thus, it is my sincere wish to render what connection + and influence I have with the family, useful in making the probation you + have still to pass through, as easy as possible. I have more means of + doing this, Sir, than you might at first imagine.” + </p> + <p> + His offer took me a little by surprise. I felt with a sort of shame, that + candour and warmth of feeling were what I had not expected from him. My + attention insensibly wandered away from the storm, to attach itself more + and more closely to him, as he went on: + </p> + <p> + “I am perfectly sensible,” he resumed, “that such a proposition as I now + make to you, proceeding from one little better than a stranger, may cause + surprise and even suspicion, at first. I can only explain it, by asking + you to remember that I have known the young lady since childhood; and + that, having assisted in forming her mind and developing her character, I + feel towards her almost as a second father, and am therefore naturally + interested in the gentleman who has chosen her for a wife.” + </p> + <p> + Was there a tremor at last in that changeless voice, as he spoke? I + thought so; and looked anxiously to catch the answering gleam of + expression, which might now, for the first time, be softening his iron + features, animating the blank stillness of his countenance. If any such + expression had been visible, I was too late to detect it. Just as I looked + at him he stooped down to poke the fire. When he turned towards me again, + his face was the same impenetrable face, his eye the same hard, steady, + inexpressive eye as before. + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” he continued, “a man must have some object in life for his + sympathies to be employed on. I have neither wife nor child; and no near + relations to think of—I have nothing but my routine of business in + the day, and my books here by my lonely fireside, at night. Our life is + not much; but it was made for a little more than this. My former pupil at + North Villa is my pupil no longer. I can’t help feeling that it would be + an object in existence for me to occupy myself with her happiness and + yours; to have two young people, in the heyday of youth and first love, + looking towards me occasionally for the promotion of some of their + pleasures—no matter how trifling. All this will seem odd and + incomprehensible to <i>you.</i> If you were of my age, Sir, and in my + position, you would understand it.” + </p> + <p> + Was it possible that he could speak thus, without his voice faltering, or + his eye softening in the slightest degree? Yes: I looked at him and + listened to him intently; but here was not the faintest change in his face + or his tones—there was nothing to show outwardly whether he felt + what he said, or whether he did not. His words had painted such a picture + of forlornness on my mind, that I had mechanically half raised my hand to + take his, while he was addressing me; but the sight of him when he ceased, + checked the impulse almost as soon as it was formed. He did not appear to + have noticed either my involuntary gesture, or its immediate repression; + and went on speaking. + </p> + <p> + “I have said perhaps more than I ought,” he resumed. “If I have not + succeeded in making you understand my explanation as I could wish, we will + change the subject, and not return to it again, until you have known me + for a much longer time.” + </p> + <p> + “On no account change the subject, Mr. Mannion,” I said; unwilling to let + it be implied that I would not put trust in him. “I am deeply sensible of + the kindness of your offer, and the interest you take in Margaret and me. + We shall both, I am sure, accept your good offices—” + </p> + <p> + I stopped. The storm had decreased a little in violence: but my attention + was now struck by the wind, which had risen as the thunder and rain had + partially lulled. How drearily it was moaning down the street! It seemed, + at that moment, to be wailing over <i>me;</i> to be wailing over <i>him;</i> + to be wailing over all mortal things! The strange sensations I then felt, + moved me to listen in silence; but I checked them, and spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “If I have not answered you as I should,” I continued, “you must attribute + it partly to the storm, which I confess rather discomposes my ideas; and + partly to a little surprise—a very foolish surprise, I own—that + you should still be able to feel so strong a sympathy with interests which + are generally only considered of importance to the young.” + </p> + <p> + “It is only in their sympathies, that men of my years can, and do, live + their youth over again,” he said. “You may be surprised to hear a + tradesman’s clerk talk in this manner; but I was not always what I am now. + I have gathered knowledge, and suffered in the gathering. I have grown old + before my time—my forty years are like the fifty of other men—” + </p> + <p> + My heart beat quicker—was he, unasked, about to disclose the mystery + which evidently hung over his early life? No: he dropped the subject at + once, when he continued. I longed to ask him to resume it, but could not. + I feared the same repulse which Mr. Sherwin had received: and remained + silent. + </p> + <p> + “What I was,” he proceeded, “matters little; the question is what can I do + for you? Any aid I can give, may be poor enough; but it may be of some use + notwithstanding. For instance, the other day, if I mistake not, you were a + little hurt at Mr. Sherwin’s taking his daughter to a party to which the + family had been invited. This was very natural. You could not be there to + watch over her in your real character, without disclosing a secret which + must be kept safe; and you could not know what young men she might meet, + who would imagine her to be Miss Sherwin still, and would regulate their + conduct accordingly. Now, I think I might be of use here. I have some + influence—perhaps in strict truth I ought to say great influence—with + my employer; and, if you wished it, I would use that influence to back + yours, in inducing him to forego, for the future, any intention of taking + his daughter into society, except when you desire it. Again: I think I am + not wrong in assuming that you infinitely prefer the company of Mrs. + Sherwin to that of Mr. Sherwin, during your interviews with the young + lady?” + </p> + <p> + How he had found that out? At any rate, he was right; and I told him so + candidly. + </p> + <p> + “The preference is on many accounts a very natural one,” he said; “but if + you suffered it to appear to Mr. Sherwin, it might, for obvious reasons, + produce a most unfavourable effect. I might interfere in the matter, + however, without suspicion; I should have many opportunities of keeping + him away from the room, in the evening, which I could use if you wished + it. And more than that, if you wanted longer and more frequent + communication with North Villa than you now enjoy, I might be able to + effect this also. I do not mention what I could do in these, and in other + matters, in any disparagement, Sir, of the influence which you have with + Mr. Sherwin, in your own right; but because I know that in what concerns + your intercourse with his daughter, my employer <i>has</i> asked, and <i>will</i> + ask my advice, from the habit of doing so in other things. I have hitherto + declined giving him this advice in your affairs; but I will give it, and + in your favour and the young lady’s, if you and she choose.” + </p> + <p> + I thanked him—but not in such warm terms as I should have employed, + if I had seen even the faintest smile on his face, or had heard any change + in his steady, deliberate tones, as he spoke. While his words attracted, + his immovable looks repelled me, in spite of myself. + </p> + <p> + “I must again beg you”—he proceeded—“to remember what I have + already said, in your estimate of the motives of my offer. If I still + appear to be interfering officiously in your affairs, you have only to + think that I have presumed impertinently on the freedom you have allowed + me, and to treat me no longer on the terms of to-night. I shall not + complain of your conduct, and shall try hard not to consider you unjust to + me, if you do.” + </p> + <p> + Such an appeal as this was not to be resisted: I answered him at once and + unreservedly. What right had I to draw bad inferences from a man’s face, + voice, and manner, merely because they impressed me, as out of the common? + Did I know how much share the influence of natural infirmity, or the + outward traces of unknown sorrow and suffering, might have had in + producing the external peculiarities which had struck me? He would have + every right to upbraid me as unjust—and that in the strongest terms—unless + I spoke out fairly in reply. + </p> + <p> + “I am quite incapable, Mr. Mannion,” I said, “of viewing your offer with + any other than grateful feelings. You will find I shall prove this by + employing your good offices for Margaret and myself in perfect faith, and + sooner perhaps than you may imagine.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed and said a few cordial words, which I heard but imperfectly—for, + as I addressed him, a blast of wind fiercer than usual, rushed down the + street, shaking the window shutter violently as it passed, and dying away + in a low, melancholy, dirging swell, like a spirit-cry of lamentation and + despair. + </p> + <p> + When he spoke again, after a momentary silence, it was to make some change + in the conversation. He talked of Margaret—dwelling in terms of high + praise rather on her moral than on her personal qualities. He spoke of Mr. + Sherwin, referring to solid and attractive points in his character which I + had not detected. What he said of Mrs. Sherwin appeared to be equally + dictated by compassion and respect—he even hinted at her coolness + towards himself, considerately attributing it to the involuntary caprice + of settled nervousness and ill-health. His language, in touching on these + subjects, was just as unaffected, just as devoid of any peculiarities, as + I had hitherto found it when occupied by other topics. + </p> + <p> + It was growing late. The thunder still rumbled at long intervals, with a + dull, distant sound; and the wind showed no symptoms of subsiding. But the + pattering of the rain against the window ceased to be audible. There was + little excuse for staying longer; and I wished to find none. I had + acquired quite knowledge enough of Mr. Mannion to assure me, that any + attempt on my part at extracting from him, in spite of his reserve, the + secrets which might be connected with his early life, would prove + perfectly fruitless. If I must judge him at all, I must judge him by the + experience of the present, and not by the history of the past. I had heard + good, and good only, of him from the shrewd master who knew him best, and + had tried him longest. He had shown the greatest delicacy towards my + feelings, and the strongest desire to do me service—it would be a + mean return for those acts of courtesy, to let curiosity tempt me to pry + into his private affairs. + </p> + <p> + I rose to go. He made no effort to detain me; but, after unbarring the + shutter and looking out of the window, simply remarked that the rain had + almost entirely ceased, and that my umbrella would be quite sufficient + protection against all that remained. He followed me into the passage to + light me out. As I turned round upon his door-step to thank him for his + hospitality, and to bid him good night, the thought came across me, that + my manner must have appeared cold and repelling to him—especially + when he was offering his services to my acceptance. If I had really + produced this impression, he was my inferior in station, and it would be + cruel to leave it. I tried to set myself right at parting. + </p> + <p> + “Let me assure you again,” I said, “that it will not be my fault if + Margaret and I do not thankfully employ your good offices, as the good + offices of a well-wisher and a friend.” + </p> + <p> + The lightning was still in the sky, though it only appeared at long + intervals. Strangely enough, at the moment when I addressed him, a flash + came, and seemed to pass right over his face. It gave such a hideously + livid hue, such a spectral look of ghastliness and distortion to his + features, that he absolutely seemed to be glaring and grinning on me like + a fiend, in the one instant of its duration. For the moment, it required + all my knowledge of the settled calmness of his countenance, to convince + me that my eyes must have been only dazzled by an optical illusion + produced by the lightning. + </p> + <p> + When the darkness had come again, I bade him good night—first + mechanically repeating what I had just said, almost in the same words. + </p> + <p> + I walked home thoughtful. That night had given me much matter to think of. + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + About the time of my introduction to Mr. Mannion—or, to speak more + correctly, both before and after that period—certain peculiarities + in Margaret’s character and conduct, which came to my knowledge by pure + accident, gave me a little uneasiness and even a little displeasure. + Neither of these feelings lasted very long, it is true; for the incidents + which gave rise to them were of a trifling nature in themselves. While I + now write, however, these domestic occurrences are all vividly present to + my recollection. I will mention two of them as instances. Subsequent + events, yet to be related, will show that they are not out of place at + this part of my narrative. + </p> + <p> + One lovely autumn morning, I called rather before the appointed time at + North Villa. As the servant opened the front garden-gate, the idea + occurred to me of giving Margaret a surprise, by entering the drawing room + unexpectedly, with a nosegay gathered for her from her own flower-bed. + Telling the servant not to announce me, I went round to the back garden, + by a gate which opened into it at the side of the house. The progress of + my flower-gathering led me on to the lawn under one of the drawing-room + windows, which was left a little open. The voices of my wife and her + mother reached me from the room. It was this part of their conversation + which I unintentionally overheard:— + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, mamma, I must and will have the dress, whether papa chooses + or not.” + </p> + <p> + This was spoken loudly and resolutely; in such tones as I had never heard + from Margaret before. + </p> + <p> + “Pray—pray, my dear, don’t talk so,” answered the weak, faltering + voice of Mrs. Sherwin; “you know you have had more than your year’s + allowance of dresses already.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t be allowanced. <i>His</i> sister isn’t allowanced: why should I + be?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear love, surely there is some difference—” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure there isn’t, now I am his wife. I shall ride some day in my + carriage, just as his sister does. <i>He</i> gives me my way in + everything; and so ought you.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t <i>me,</i> Margaret: if I could do anything, I’m sure I would; + but I really couldn’t ask your papa for another new dress, after his + having given you so many this year, already.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s the way it always is with you, mamma—you can’t do this, and + you can’t do that—you are so excessively tiresome! But I will have + the dress, I’m determined. He says his sister wears light blue crape of an + evening; and I’ll have light blue crape, too—see if I don’t! I’ll + get it somehow from the shop, myself. Papa never takes any notice, I’m + sure, what I have on; and he needn’t find out anything about what’s gone + out of the shop, until they ‘take stock,’ or whatever it is he calls it. + And then, if he flies into one of his passions—” + </p> + <p> + “My dear! my dear! you really ought not to talk so of your papa—it + is very wrong, Margaret, indeed—what would Mr. Basil say if he heard + you?” + </p> + <p> + I determined to go in at once, and tell Margaret that I had heard her—resolving, + at the same time, to exert some firmness, and remonstrate with her, for + her own good, on much of what she had said, which had really surprised and + displeased me. On my unexpected entrance, Mrs. Sherwin started, and looked + more timid than ever. Margaret, however, came forward to meet me with her + wonted smile, and held out her hand with her wonted grace. I said nothing + until we had got into our accustomed corner, and were talking together in + whispers as usual. Then I began my remonstrance—very tenderly, and + in the lowest possible tones. She took precisely the right way to stop me + in full career, in spite of all my resolution. Her beautiful eyes filled + with tears directly—the first I had ever seen in them: caused, too, + by what I had said!—and she murmured a few plaintive words about the + cruelty of being angry with her for only wanting to please me by being + dressed as my sister was, which upset every intention I had formed but the + moment before. I involuntarily devoted myself to soothing her for the rest + of the morning. Need I say how the matter ended? I never mentioned the + subject more; and I made her a present of the new dress. + </p> + <p> + Some weeks after the little home-breeze which I have just related, had + died away into a perfect calm, I was accidentally witness of another + domestic dilemma in which Margaret bore a principal share. On this + occasion, as I walked up to the house (in the morning again), I found the + front door open. A pail was on the steps—the servant had evidently + been washing them, had been interrupted in her work, and had forgotten to + close the door when she left it. The nature of the interruption I soon + discovered as I entered the hall. + </p> + <p> + “For God’s sake, Miss!” cried the housemaid’s voice, from the dining-room, + “for God’s sake, put down the poker! Missus will be here directly; and + it’s <i>her</i> cat!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll kill the vile brute! I’ll kill the hateful cat! I don’t care whose + it is!—my poor dear, dear, dear bird!” The voice was Margaret’s. At + first, its tones were tones of fury; they were afterwards broken by + hysterical sobs. + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing,” continued the servant, soothingly, “I’m sorry for it, and + for you too, Miss! But, oh! do please to remember it was you left the cage + on the table, in the cat’s reach—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue, you wretch! How dare you hold me?—let me go!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you mustn’t—you mustn’t indeed! It’s missus’s cat, recollect—poor + missus’s, who’s always ill, and hasn’t got nothing else to amuse her.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care! The cat has killed my bird, and the cat shall be killed for + doing it!—it shall!—it shall!!—it shall!!! I’ll call in + the first boy from the street to catch it, and hang it! Let me go! I <i>will</i> + go!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll let the cat go first, Miss, as sure as my name’s Susan!” + </p> + <p> + The next instant, the door was suddenly opened, and puss sprang past me, + out of harm’s way, closely followed by the servant, who stared breathless + and aghast at seeing me in the hall. I went into the dining-room + immediately. + </p> + <p> + On the floor lay a bird-cage, with the poor canary dead inside (it was the + same canary that I had seen my wife playing with, on the evening of the + day when I first met her). The bird’s head had been nearly dragged through + the bent wires of the cage, by the murderous claws of the cat. Near the + fire-place, with the poker she had just dropped on the floor by her side, + stood Margaret. Never had I seen her look so beautiful as she now + appeared, in the fury of passion which possessed her. Her large black eyes + were flashing grandly through her tears—the blood was glowing + crimson in her cheeks—her lips were parted as she gasped for breath. + One of her hands was clenched, and rested on the mantel-piece; the other + was pressed tight over her bosom, with the fingers convulsively clasping + her dress. Grieved as I was at the paroxysm of passion into which she had + allowed herself to be betrayed, I could not repress an involuntary feeling + of admiration when my eyes first rested on her. Even anger itself looked + lovely in that lovely face! + </p> + <p> + She never moved when she saw me. As I approached her, she dropped down on + her knees by the cage, sobbing with frightful violence, and pouring forth + a perfect torrent of ejaculations of vengeance against the cat. Mrs. + Sherwin came down; and by her total want of tact and presence of mind, + made matters worse. In brief, the scene ended by a fit of hysterics. + </p> + <p> + To speak to Margaret on that day, as I wished to speak to her, was + impossible. To approach the subject of the canary’s death afterwards, was + useless. If I only hinted in the gentlest way, and with the strongest + sympathy for the loss of the bird, at the distress and astonishment she + had caused me by the extremities to which she had allowed her passion to + hurry her, a burst of tears was sure to be her only reply—just the + reply, of all others, which was best calculated to silence me. If I had + been her husband in fact, as well as in name; if I had been her father, + her brother, or her friend, I should have let her first emotions have + their way, and then have expostulated with her afterwards. But I was her + lover still; and, to my eyes, Margaret’s tears made virtues even of + Margaret’s faults. + </p> + <p> + Such occurrences as these, happening but at rare intervals, formed the + only interruptions to the generally even and happy tenour of our + intercourse. Weeks and weeks glided away, and not a hasty or a hard word + passed between us. Neither, after one preliminary difference had been + adjusted, did any subsequent disagreement take place between Mr. Sherwin + and me. This last element in the domestic tranquillity of North Villa was, + however, less attributable to his forbearance, or to mine, than to the + private interference of Mr. Mannion. + </p> + <p> + For some days after my interview with the managing clerk, at his own + house, I had abstained from calling his offered services into requisition. + I was not conscious of any reason for this course of conduct. All that had + been said, all that had happened during the night of the storm, had + produced a powerful, though vague impression on me. Strange as it may + appear, I could not determine whether my brief but extraordinary + experience of my new friend had attracted me towards him, or repelled me + from him. I felt an unwillingness to lay myself under an obligation to + him, which was not the result of pride, or false delicacy, or sullenness, + or suspicion—it was an inexplicable unwillingness, that sprang from + the fear of encountering some heavy responsibility; but of what nature I + could not imagine. I delayed and held back, by instinct; and, on his side, + Mr. Mannion made no further advances. He maintained the same manner, and + continued the same habits, during his intercourse with the family at North + Villa, which I had observed as characterising him before I took shelter + from the storm, in his house. He never referred again to the conversation + of that evening, when we now met. + </p> + <p> + Margaret’s behaviour, when I mentioned to her Mr. Mannion’s willingness to + be useful to us both, rather increased than diminished the vague + uncertainties which perplexed me, on the subject of accepting or rejecting + his overtures. + </p> + <p> + I could not induce her to show the smallest interest about him. Neither + his house, his personal appearance, his peculiar habits, or his secrecy in + relation to his early life—nothing, in short, connected with him—appeared + to excite her attention or curiosity in the slightest degree. On the + evening of his return from the continent, she had certainly shown some + symptoms of interest in his arrival at North Villa, and some appearance of + attention to him, when he joined our party. Now, she seemed completely and + incomprehensibly changed on this point. Her manner became almost petulant, + if I persisted long in making Mr. Mannion a topic of conversation—it + was as if she resented his sharing my thoughts with her in the slightest + degree. As to the difficult question whether we should engage him in our + interests or not, that was a matter which she always seemed to think too + trifling to be discussed between us at all. + </p> + <p> + Ere long, however, circumstances decided me as to the course I should take + with Mr. Mannion. + </p> + <p> + A ball was given by one of Mr. Sherwin’s rich commercial friends, to which + he announced his intention of taking Margaret. Besides the jealousy which + I felt—naturally enough, in my peculiar situation—at the idea + of my wife going out as Miss Sherwin, and dancing in the character of a + young unmarried lady with any young gentlemen who were introduced to her, + I had also the strongest possible desire to keep Margaret out of the + society of her own class, until my year’s probation was over, and I could + hope to instal her permanently in the society of my class. I had privately + mentioned to her my ideas on this subject, and found that she fully agreed + with them. She was not wanting in ambition to ascend to the highest degree + in the social scale; and had already begun to look with indifference on + the society which was offered to her by those in her own rank. + </p> + <p> + To Mr. Sherwin I could confide nothing of this. I could only object, + generally, to his taking Margaret out, when neither she nor I desired it. + He declared that she liked parties—that all girls did—that she + only pretended to dislike them, to please me—and that he had made no + engagement to keep her moping at home a whole year on my account. In the + case of the particular ball now under discussion, he was determined to + have his own way; and he bluntly told me as much. + </p> + <p> + Irritated by his obstinacy and gross want of consideration for my + defenceless position, I forgot all doubts and scruples; and privately + applied to Mr. Mannion to exert the influence which he had promised to + use, if I wished it, in my behalf. + </p> + <p> + The result was as immediate as it was conclusive. The very next evening, + Mr. Sherwin came to us with a note which he had just written, and informed + me that it was an excuse for Margaret’s non-appearance at the ball. He + never mentioned Mr. Mannion’s name, but sulkily and shortly said, that he + had reconsidered the matter, and had altered his first decision for + reasons of his own. + </p> + <p> + Having once taken a first step in the new direction, I soon followed it + up, without hesitation, by taking many others. Whenever I wished to call + oftener than once a-day at North Villa, I had but to tell Mr. Mannion, and + the next morning I found the permission immediately accorded to me by the + ruling power. The same secret machinery enabled me to regulate Mr. + Sherwin’s incomings and outgoings, just as I chose, when Margaret and I + were together in the evening. I could feel almost certain, now, of never + having any one with us, but Mrs. Sherwin, unless I desired it—which, + as may be easily imagined, was seldom enough. + </p> + <p> + My new ally’s ready interference for my advantage was exerted quietly, + easily, and as a matter of course. I never knew how, or when, he + influenced his employer, and Mr. Sherwin on his part, never breathed a + word of that influence to me. He accorded any extra privilege I might + demand, as if he acted entirely under his own will, little suspecting how + well I knew what was the real motive power which directed him. + </p> + <p> + I was the more easily reconciled to employing the services of Mr. Mannion, + by the great delicacy with which he performed them. He did not allow me to + think—he did not appear to think himself—that he was obliging + me in the smallest degree. He affected no sudden intimacy with me; his + manners never altered; he still persisted in not joining us in the + evening, but at my express invitation; and if I referred in any way to the + advantages I derived from his devotion to my interests, he always replied + in his brief undemonstrative way, that he considered himself the favoured + person, in being permitted to make his services of some use to Margaret + and me. + </p> + <p> + I had told Mr. Mannion, when I was leaving him on the night of the storm, + that I would treat his offers as the offers of a friend; and I had now + made good my words, much sooner and much more unreservedly than I had ever + intended, when we parted at his own house-door. + </p> + <p> + V. + </p> + <p> + The autumn was now over; the winter—a cold, gloomy winter—had + fairly come. Five months had nearly elapsed since Clara and my father had + departed for the country. What communication did I hold with them, during + that interval? + </p> + <p> + No personal communication with either—written communication only + with my sister. Clara’s letters to me were frequent. They studiously + avoided anything like a reproach for my long absence; and were confined + almost exclusively to such details of country life as the writer thought + likely to interest me. Their tone was as affectionate—nay, more + affectionate, if possible—than usual; but Clara’s gaiety and quiet + humour, as a correspondent, were gone. My conscience taught me only too + easily and too plainly how to account for this change—my conscience + told me who had altered the tone of my sister’s letters, by altering all + the favourite purposes and favourite pleasures of her country life. + </p> + <p> + I was selfishly enough devoted to my own passions and my own interests, at + this period of my life; but I was not so totally dead to every one of the + influences which had guided me since childhood, as to lose all thought of + Clara and my father, and the ancient house that was associated with my + earliest and happiest recollections. Sometimes, even in Margaret’s beloved + presence, a thought of Clara put away from me all other thoughts. And, + sometimes, in the lonely London house, I dreamed—with the strangest + sleeping oblivion of my marriage, and of all the new interests which it + had crowded into my life—of country rides with my sister, and of + quiet conversations in the old gothic library at the Hall. Under such + influences as these, I twice resolved to make amends for my long absence, + by joining my father and my sister in the country, even though it were + only for a few days—and, each time, I failed in my resolution. On + the second occasion, I had actually mustered firmness enough to get as far + as the railway station; and only at the last moment faltered and hung + back. The struggle that it cost me to part for any length of time from + Margaret, I had overcome; but the apprehension, as vivid as it was vague, + that something—I knew not what—might happen to her in my + absence, turned my steps backward at starting. I felt heartily ashamed of + my own weakness; but I yielded to it nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + At last, a letter arrived from Clara, containing a summons to the country, + which I could not disobey. + </p> + <p> + “I have never asked you,” she wrote, “to come and see us for my sake; for + I would not interfere with any of your interests or any of your plans; but + I now ask you to come here for your own sake—just for one week, and + no more, unless you like to remain longer. You remember papa telling you, + in your room in London, that he believed you kept some secret from him. I + am afraid this is preying on his mind: your long absence is making him + uneasy about you. He does not say so; but he never sends any message, when + I write; and if I speak about you, he always changes the subject directly. + Pray come here, and show yourself for a few days—no questions will + be asked, you may be sure. It will do so much good; and will prevent—what + I hope and pray may never happen—a serious estrangement between papa + and you. Recollect, Basil, in a month or six weeks we shall come back to + town; and then the opportunity will be gone.” + </p> + <p> + As I read these lines, I determined to start for the country at once, + while the effect of them was still fresh on my mind. Margaret, when I took + leave of her, only said that she should like to be going with me—“it + would be such a sight for her, to see a grand country house like ours!” + Mr. Sherwin laughed as coarsely as usual, at the difficulties I made about + only leaving his daughter for a week. Mrs. Sherwin very earnestly, and + very inaccountably as I then thought, recommended me not to be away any + longer than I had proposed. Mr. Mannion privately assured me, that I might + depend on him in my absence from North Villa, exactly as I had always + depended on him, during my presence there. It was strange that his parting + words should be the only words which soothed and satisfied me on taking + leave of London. + </p> + <p> + The winter afternoon was growing dim with the evening darkness, as I drove + up to the Hall. Snow on the ground, in the country, has always a cheerful + look to me. I could have wished to see it on the day of my arrival at + home; but there had been a thaw for the last week—mud and water were + all about me—a drizzling rain was falling—a raw, damp wind was + blowing—a fog was rising, as the evening stole on—and the + ancient leafless elms in the park avenue groaned and creaked above my head + drearily, as I approached the house. + </p> + <p> + My father received me with more ceremony than I liked. I had known, from a + boy, what it meant when he chose to be only polite to his own son. What + construction he had put on my long absence and my persistence in keeping + my secret from him, I could not tell; but it was evident that I had lost + my usual place in his estimation, and lost it past regaining merely by a + week’s visit. The estrangement between us, which my sister had feared, had + begun already. + </p> + <p> + I had been chilled by the desolate aspect of nature, as I approached the + Hall; my father’s reception of me, when I entered the house, increased the + comfortless and melancholy impressions produced on my mind; it required + all the affectionate warmth of Clara’s welcome, all the pleasure of + hearing her whisper her thanks, as she kissed me, for my readiness in + following her advice, to restore my equanimity. But even then, when the + first hurry and excitement of meeting had passed away, in spite of her + kind words and looks, there was something in her face which depressed me. + She seemed thinner, and her constitutional paleness was more marked than + usual. Cares and anxieties had evidently oppressed her—was I the + cause of them? + </p> + <p> + The dinner that evening proceeded very heavily and gloomily. My father + only talked on general and commonplace topics, as if a mere acquaintance + had been present. When my sister left us, he too quitted the room, to see + some one who had arrived on business. I had no heart for the company of + the wine bottles, so I followed Clara. + </p> + <p> + At first, we only spoke of her occupations since she had been in the + country; I was unwilling, and she forbore, to touch on my long stay in + London, or on my father’s evident displeasure at my protracted absence. + There was a little restraint between us, which neither had the courage to + break through. Before long, however, an accident, trifling enough in + itself, obliged me to be more candid; and enabled her to speak + unreservedly on the subject nearest to her heart. + </p> + <p> + I was seated opposite to Clara, at the fire-place, and was playing with a + favourite dog which had followed me into the room. While I was stooping + towards the animal, a locket containing some of Margaret’s hair, fell out + of its place in my waistcoat, and swung towards my sister by the string + which attached it round my neck. I instantly hid it again; but not before + Clara, with a woman’s quickness, had detected the trinket as something + new, and drawn the right inference, as to the use to which I devoted it. + </p> + <p> + An expression of surprise and pleasure passed over her face; she rose, and + putting her hands on my shoulders, as if to keep me still in the place I + occupied, looked at me intently. + </p> + <p> + “Basil!” she exclaimed, “if that is all the secret you have been keeping + from us, how glad I am! When I see a new locket drop out of my brother’s + waistcoat—” she continued, observing that I was too confused to + speak—“and when I find him colouring very deeply, and hiding it + again in a great hurry, I should be no true woman if I did not make my own + discoveries, and begin to talk about them directly.” + </p> + <p> + I made an effort—a very poor one—to laugh the thing off. Her + expression grew serious and thoughtful, while she still fixed her eyes on + me. She took my hand gently, and whispered in my ear: “Are you going to be + married, Basil? Shall I love my new sister almost as much as I love you?” + </p> + <p> + At that moment the servant came in with tea. The interruption gave me a + minute for consideration. Should I tell her all? Impulse answered, yes—reflection, + no. If I disclosed my real situation, I knew that I must introduce Clara + to Margaret. This would necessitate taking her privately to Mr. Sherwin’s + house, and exposing to her the humiliating terms of dependence and + prohibition on which I lived with my own wife. A strange medley of + feelings, in which pride was uppermost, forbade me to do that. Then again, + to involve my sister in my secret, would be to involve her with me in any + consequences which might be produced by its disclosure to my father. The + mere idea of making her a partaker in responsibilities which I alone ought + to bear, was not to be entertained for a moment. As soon as we were left + together again, I said to her: + </p> + <p> + “Will you not think the worse of me, Clara, if I leave you to draw your + own conclusions from what you have seen? only asking you to keep strict + silence on the subject to every one. I can’t speak yet, love, as I wish to + speak: you will know why, some day, and say that my reserve was right. In + the meantime, can you be satisfied with the assurance, that when the time + comes for making my secret known, you shall be the first to know it—the + first I put trust in?” + </p> + <p> + “As you have not starved my curiosity altogether,” said Clara, smiling, + “but have given it a little hope to feed on for the present, I think, + woman though I am, I can promise all you wish. Seriously, Basil,” she + continued, “that telltale locket of yours has so pleasantly brightened + some very gloomy thoughts of mine about you, that I can now live happily + on expectation, without once mentioning your secret again, till you give + me leave to do so.” + </p> + <p> + Here my father entered the room, and we said no more. His manner towards + me had not altered since dinner; and it remained the same during the week + of my stay at the Hall. One morning, when we were alone, I took courage, + and determined to try the dangerous ground a little, with a view towards + my guidance for the future; but I had no sooner begun by some reference to + my stay in London, and some apology for it, than he stopped me at once. + </p> + <p> + “I told you,” he said, gravely and coldly, “some months ago, that I had + too much faith in your honour to intrude on affairs which you choose to + keep private. Until you have perfect confidence in me, and can speak with + complete candour, I will hear nothing. You have not that confidence now—you + speak hesitatingly—your eyes do not meet mine fairly and boldly. I + tell you again, I will hear nothing which begins with such common-place + excuses as you have just addressed to me. Excuses lead to prevarications, + and prevarications to—what I will not insult you by imagining + possible in <i>your</i> case. You are of age, and must know your own + responsibilities and mine. Choose at once, between saying nothing, and + saying all.” + </p> + <p> + He waited a moment after he had spoken, and then quitted the room. If he + could only have known how I suffered, at that instant, under the base + necessities of concealment, I might have confessed everything; and he must + have pitied, though he might not have forgiven me. + </p> + <p> + This was my first and last attempt at venturing towards the revelation of + my secret to my father, by hints and half-admissions. As to boldly + confessing it, I persuaded myself into a sophistical conviction that such + a course could do no good, but might do much harm. When the wedded + happiness I had already waited for, and was to wait for still, through so + many months, came at last, was it not best to enjoy my married life in + convenient secrecy, as long as I could?—best, to abstain from + disclosing my secret to my father, until necessity absolutely obliged, or + circumstances absolutely invited me to do so? My inclinations conveniently + decided the question in the affirmative; and a decision of any kind, right + or wrong, was enough to tranquillise me at that time. + </p> + <p> + So far as my father was concerned, my journey to the country did no good. + I might have returned to London the day after my arrival at the Hall, + without altering his opinion of me—but I stayed the whole week + nevertheless, for Clara’s sake. + </p> + <p> + In spite of the pleasure afforded by my sister’s society, my visit was a + painful one. The selfish longing to be back with Margaret, which I could + not wholly repress; my father’s coldness; and the winter gloom and rain + which confined us almost incessantly within doors, all tended in their + different degrees to prevent my living at ease in the Hall. But, besides + these causes of embarrassment, I had the additional mortification of + feeling, for the first time, as a stranger in my own home. + </p> + <p> + Nothing in the house looked to me what it used to look in former years. + The rooms, the old servants, the walks and views, the domestic animals, + all appeared to have altered, or to have lost something, since I had seen + them last. Particular rooms that I had once been fond of occupying, were + favourites no longer: particular habits that I had hitherto always + practised in the country, I could only succeed in resuming by an effort + which vexed and fretted me. It was as if my life had run into a new + channel since my last autumn and winter at the Hall, and now refused to + flow back at my bidding into its old course. Home seemed home no longer, + except in name. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the week was over, my father and I parted exactly as we had + met. When I took leave of Clara, she refrained from making any allusion to + the shortness of my stay; and merely said that we should soon meet again + in London. She evidently saw that my visit had weighed a little on my + spirits, and was determined to give to our short farewell as happy and + hopeful a character as possible. We now thoroughly understood each other; + and that was some consolation on leaving her. + </p> + <p> + Immediately on my return to London I repaired to North Villa. + </p> + <p> + Nothing, I was told, had happened in my absence, but I remarked some + change in Margaret. She looked pale and nervous, and was more silent than + I had ever known her to be before, when we met. She accounted for this, in + answer to my inquiries, by saying that confinement to the house, in + consequence of the raw, wintry weather, had a little affected her; and + then changed the subject. In other directions, household aspects had not + deviated from their accustomed monotony. As usual, Mrs. Sherwin was at her + post in the drawing-room; and her husband was reading the evening paper, + over his renowned old port, in the dining-room. After the first five + minutes of my arrival, I adapted myself again to my old way of life at Mr. + Sherwin’s, as easily as if I had never interrupted it for a single day. + Henceforth, wherever my young wife was, there, and there only, would it be + home for <i>me!</i> + </p> + <p> + Late in the evening, Mr. Mannion arrived with some business letters for + Mr. Sherwin’s inspection. I sent for him into the hall to see me, as I was + going away. His hand was never a warm one; but as I now took it, on + greeting him, it was so deadly cold that it literally chilled mine for the + moment. He only congratulated me, in the usual terms, on my safe return; + and said that nothing had taken place in my absence—but in his + utterance of those few words, I discovered, for the first time, a change + in his voice: his tones were lower, and his articulation quicker than + usual. This, joined to the extraordinary coldness of his hand, made me + inquire whether he was unwell. Yes, he too had been ill while I was away—harassed + with hard work, he said. Then apologising for leaving me abruptly, on + account of the letters he had brought with him, he returned to Mr. + Sherwin, in the dining-room, with a greater appearance of hurry in his + manner than I had ever remarked in it on any former occasion. + </p> + <p> + I had left Margaret and Mr. Mannion both well—I returned, and found + them both ill. Surely this was something that had taken place in my + absence, though they all said that nothing had happened. But trifling + illnesses seemed to be little regarded at North Villa—perhaps, + because serious illness was perpetually present there, in the person of + Mrs. Sherwin. + </p> + <p> + VI. + </p> + <p> + About six weeks after I had left the Hall, my father and Clara returned to + London for the season. + </p> + <p> + It is not my intention to delay over my life either at home or at North + Villa, during the spring and summer. This would be merely to repeat much + of what has been already related. It is better to proceed at once to the + closing period of my probation; to a period which it taxes my resolution + severely to write of at all. A few weeks more of toil at my narrative, and + the penance of this poor task-work will be over. + </p> +<p class="c"> + * * * * * * +</p> + <p> + Imagine then, that the final day of my long year of expectation has + arrived; and that on the morrow, Margaret, for whose sake I have + sacrificed and suffered so much, is at last really to be mine. + </p> + <p> + On the eve of the great change in my life that was now to take place, the + relative positions in which I, and the different persons with whom I was + associated, stood towards each other, may be sketched thus:— + </p> + <p> + My father’s coldness of manner had not altered since his return to London. + On my side, I carefully abstained from uttering a word before him, which + bore the smallest reference to my real situation. Although when we met, we + outwardly preserved the usual relations of parent and child, the + estrangement between us had now become complete. + </p> + <p> + Clara did not fail to perceive this, and grieved over it in secret. Other + and happier feelings, however, became awakened within her, when I + privately hinted that the time for disclosing my secret to my sister was + not far off. She grew almost as much agitated as I was, though by very + different expectations—she could think of nothing else but the + explanation and the surprise in store for her. Sometimes, I almost feared + to keep her any longer in suspense; and half regretted having said + anything on the subject of the new and absorbing interest of my life, + before the period when I could easily have said all. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sherwin and I had not latterly met on the most cordial terms. He was + dissatisfied with me for not having boldly approached the subject of my + marriage in my father’s presence; and considered my reasons for still + keeping it secret, as dictated by morbid apprehension, and as showing a + total want of proper firmness. On the other hand, he was obliged to set + against this omission on my part, the readiness I had shown in meeting his + wishes on all remaining points. My life was insured in Margaret’s favour; + and I had arranged to be called to the bar immediately, so as to qualify + myself in good time for every possible place within place-hunting range. + My assiduity in making these preparations for securing Margaret’s + prospects and mine against any evil chances that might happen, failed in + producing the favourable effect on Mr. Sherwin, which they must assuredly + have produced on a less selfish man. But they obliged him, at least, to + stop short at occasional grumblings about my reserve with my father, and + to maintain towards me a sort of sulky politeness, which was, after all, + less offensive than the usual infliction of his cordiality, with its + unfailing accompaniment of dull stories and duller jokes. + </p> + <p> + During the spring and summer, Mrs. Sherwin appeared to grow feebler and + feebler, from continued ill-health. Occasionally, her words and actions—especially + in her intercourse with me—suggested fears that her mind was + beginning to give way, as well as her body. For instance, on one occasion, + when Margaret had left the room for a minute or two, she suddenly hurried + up to me, whispering with eager looks and anxious tones:—“Watch over + your wife—mind you watch over her, and keep all bad people from her! + <i>I’ve</i> tried to do it—mind <i>you</i> do it, too!” I asked + immediately for an explanation of this extraordinary injunction; but she + only answered by muttering something about a mother’s anxieties, and then + returned hastily to her place. It was impossible to induce her to be more + explicit, try how I might. + </p> + <p> + Margaret once or twice occasioned me much perplexity and distress, by + certain inconsistencies and variations in her manner, which began to + appear shortly after my return to North Villa from the country. At one + time, she would become, on a sudden, strangely sullen and silent—at + another, irritable and capricious. Then, again, she would abruptly change + to the most affectionate warmth of speech and demeanour, anxiously + anticipating every wish I could form, eagerly showing her gratitude for + the slightest attentions I paid her. These unaccountable alterations of + manner vexed and irritated me indescribably. I loved Margaret too well to + be able to look philosophically on the imperfections of her character; I + knew of no cause given by me for the frequent changes in her conduct, and, + if they only proceeded from coquetry, then coquetry, as I once told her, + was the last female accomplishment that could charm me in any woman whom I + really loved. However, these causes of annoyance and regret—her + caprices, and my remonstrances—all passed happily away, as the term + of my engagement with Mr. Sherwin approached its end, Margaret’s better + and lovelier manner returned. Occasionally, she might betray some symptoms + of confusion, some evidences of unusual thoughtfulness—but I + remembered how near was the day of the emancipation of our love, and + looked on her embarrassment as a fresh charm, a new ornament to the beauty + of my maiden wife. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mannion continued—as far as attention to my interests went—to + be the same ready and reliable friend as ever; but he was, in some other + respects, an altered man. The illness of which he had complained months + back, when I returned to London, seemed to have increased. His face was + still the same impenetrable face which had so powerfully impressed me when + I first saw him, but his manner, hitherto so quiet and self-possessed, had + now grown abrupt and variable. Sometimes, when he joined us in the + drawing-room at North Villa, he would suddenly stop before we had + exchanged more than three or four words, murmur something, in a voice + unlike his usual voice, about an attack of spasm and giddiness, and leave + the room. These fits of illness had something in their nature of the same + secrecy which distinguished everything else connected with him: they + produced no external signs of distortion, no unusual paleness in his face—you + could not guess what pain he was suffering, or where he was suffering it. + Latterly, I abstained from ever asking him to join us; for the effect on + Margaret of his sudden attacks of illness was, naturally, such as to + discompose her seriously for the remainder of the evening. Whenever I saw + him accidentally, at later periods of the year, the influence of the + genial summer season appeared to produce no alteration for the better in + him. I remarked that his cold hand, which had chilled me when I took it on + the raw winter night of my return from the country, was as cold as ever, + on the warm summer days which preceded the close of my engagement at North + Villa. + </p> + <p> + Such was the posture of affairs at home, and at Mr. Sherwin’s, when I went + to see Margaret for the last time in my old character, on the last night + which yet remained to separate us from each other. + </p> + <p> + I had been all day preparing for our reception, on the morrow, in a + cottage which I had taken for a month, in a retired part of the country, + at some distance from London. One month’s unalloyed happiness with + Margaret, away from the world and all worldly considerations, was the Eden + upon earth towards which my dearest hope and anticipations had pointed for + a whole year past—and now, now at last, those aspirations were to be + realized! All my arrangements at the cottage were completed in time to + allow me to return home, just before our usual late dinner hour. During + the meal, I provided for my month’s absence from London, by informing my + father that I proposed visiting one of my country friends. He heard me as + coldly and indifferently as usual; and, as I anticipated, did not even ask + to what friend’s house I was going. After dinner, I privately informed + Clara that on the morrow, before starting, I would, in accordance with my + promise, make her the depositary of my long-treasured secret—which, + as yet, was not to be divulged to any one besides. This done, I hurried + away, between nine and ten o’clock, for a last half-hour’s visit to North + Villa; hardly able to realise my own situation, or to comprehend the + fulness and exaltation of my own joy. + </p> + <p> + A disappointment was in store for me. Margaret was not in the house; she + had gone out to an evening party, given by a maiden aunt of hers, who was + known to be very rich, and was, accordingly, a person to be courted and + humoured by the family. + </p> + <p> + I was angry as well as disappointed at what had taken place. To send + Margaret out, on this evening of all others, showed a want of + consideration towards both of us, which revolted me. Mr. and Mrs. Sherwin + were in the room when I entered; and to <i>him</i> I spoke my opinion on + the subject, in no very conciliatory terms. He was suffering from a bad + attack of headache, and a worse attack of ill-temper, and answered as + irritably as he dared. + </p> + <p> + “My good Sir!” he said, in sharp, querulous tones, “do, for once, allow me + to know what’s best. You’ll have it all <i>your</i> way to-morrow—just + let me have <i>mine,</i> for the last time, to-night. I’m sure you’ve been + humoured often enough about keeping Margaret away from parties—and + we should have humoured you this time, too; but a second letter came from + the old lady, saying she should be affronted if Margaret wasn’t one of her + guests. I couldn’t go and talk her over, because of this infernal headache + of mine—Hang it! it’s your interest that Margaret should keep in + with her aunt; she’ll have all the old girl’s money, if she only plays her + cards decently well. That’s why I sent her to the party—her going + will be worth some thousands to both of you one of these days. She’ll be + back by half-past twelve, or before. Mannion was asked; and though he’s + all out of sorts, he’s gone to take care of her, and bring her back. I’ll + warrant she comes home in good time, when <i>he’s</i> with her. So you see + there’s nothing to make a fuss about, after all.” + </p> + <p> + It was certainly a relief to hear that Mr. Mannion was taking care of + Margaret. He was, in my opinion, much fitter for such a trust than her own + father. Of all the good services he had done for me, I thought this the + best—but it would have been even better still, if he had prevented + Margaret from going to the party. + </p> + <p> + “I must say again,” resumed Mr. Sherwin, still more irritably, finding I + did not at once answer him, “there’s nothing that any reasonable being + need make a fuss about. I’ve been doing everything for Margaret’s + interests and yours—and she’ll be back by twelve—and Mr. + Mannion takes care of her—and I don’t know what you would have—and + it’s devilish hard, so ill as I am too, to cut up rough with me like this—devilish + hard!” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry for your illness, Mr. Sherwin; and I don’t doubt your good + intentions, or the advantage of Mr. Mannion’s protection for Margaret; but + I feel disappointed, nevertheless, that she should have gone out + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “I said she oughtn’t to go at all, whatever her aunt wrote—<i>I</i> + said that.” + </p> + <p> + This bold speech actually proceeded from Mrs. Sherwin! I had never before + heard her utter an opinion in her husband’s presence—such an + outburst from <i>her,</i> was perfectly inexplicable. She pronounced the + words with desperate rapidity, and unwonted power of tone, fixing her eyes + all the while on me with a very strange expression. + </p> + <p> + “Damn it, Mrs. S.!” roared her husband in a fury, “will you hold your + tongue? What the devil do you mean by giving <i>your</i> opinion, when + nobody wants it? Upon my soul I begin to think you’re getting a little + cracked. You’ve been meddling and bothering lately, so that I don’t know + what the deuce has come to you! I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Basil,” he + continued, turning snappishly round upon me, “you had better stop that + fidgetty temper of yours, by going to the party yourself. The old lady + told me she wanted gentlemen; and would be glad to see any friends of mine + I liked to send her. You have only to mention my name: Mannion will do the + civil in the way of introduction. There! there’s an envelope with the + address to it—they won’t know who you are, or what you are, at + Margaret’s aunt’s—you’ve got your black dress things on, all right + and ready—for Heaven’s sake, go to the party yourself, and then I + hope you’ll be satisfied!” + </p> + <p> + Here he stopped; and vented the rest of his ill-humour by ringing the bell + violently for “his arrow-root,” and abusing the servant when she brought + it. + </p> + <p> + I hesitated about accepting his proposal. While I was in doubt, Mrs. + Sherwin took the opportunity, when her husband’s eye was off her, of + nodding her head at me significantly. She evidently wished me to join + Margaret at the party—but why? What did her behaviour mean? + </p> + <p> + It was useless to inquire. Long bodily suffering and weakness had but too + palpably produced a corresponding feebleness in her intellect. What should + I do? I was resolved to see Margaret that night; but to wait for her + between two and three hours, in company with her father and mother at + North Villa, was an infliction not to be endured. I determined to go to + the party. No one there would know anything about me. They would be all + people who lived in a different world from mine; and whose manners and + habits I might find some amusement in studying. At any rate, I should + spend an hour or two with Margaret, and could make it my own charge to see + her safely home. Without further hesitation, therefore I took up the + envelope with the address on it, and bade Mr. and Mrs. Sherwin good-night. + </p> + <p> + It struck ten as I left North Villa. The moonlight which was just + beginning to shine brilliantly on my arrival there, now appeared but at + rare intervals; for the clouds were spreading thicker and thicker over the + whole surface of the sky, as the night advanced. + </p> + <p> + VII. + </p> + <p> + The address to which I was now proceeding, led me some distance away from + Mr. Sherwin’s place of abode, in the direction of the populous + neighbourhood which lies on the western side of the Edgeware Road. The + house of Margaret’s aunt was plainly enough indicated to me, as soon as I + entered the street where it stood, by the glare of light from the windows, + the sound of dance music, and the nondescript group of cabmen and linkmen, + with their little train of idlers in attendance, assembled outside the + door. It was evidently a very large party. I hesitated about going in. + </p> + <p> + My sensations were not those which fit a man for exchanging conventional + civilities with perfect strangers; I felt that I showed outwardly the + fever of joy and expectation within me. Could I preserve my assumed + character of a mere friend of the family, in Margaret’s presence?—and + on this night too, of all others? It was far more probable that my + behaviour, if I went to the party, would betray everything to everybody + assembled. I determined to walk about in the neighbourhood of the house, + until twelve o’clock; and then to go into the hall, and send up my card to + Mr. Mannion, with a message on it, intimating that I was waiting below to + accompany him to North Villa with Margaret. + </p> + <p> + I crossed the street, and looked up again at the house from the pavement + opposite. Then lingered a little, listening to the music as it reached me + through the windows, and imagining to myself Margaret’s occupation at that + moment. After this, I turned away; and set forth eastward on my walk, + careless in which direction I traced my steps. + </p> + <p> + I felt little impatience, and no sense of fatigue; for in less than two + hours more I knew that I should see my wife again. Until then, the present + had no existence for me—I lived in the past and future. I wandered + indifferently along lonely bye-streets, and crowded thoroughfares. Of all + the sights which attend a night-walk in a great city, not one attracted my + notice. Uninformed and unobservant, neither saddened nor startled, I + passed through the glittering highways of London. All sounds were silent + to me save the love-music of my own thoughts; all sights had vanished + before the bright form that moved through my bridal dream. Where was my + world, at that moment? Narrowed to the cottage in the country which was to + receive us on the morrow. Where were the beings in the world? All merged + in one—Margaret. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, my thoughts glided back, dreamily and voluptuously, to the day + when I first met her. Sometimes, I recalled the summer evenings when we + sat and read together out of the same book; and, once more, it was as if I + breathed with the breath, and hoped with the hopes, and longed with the + old longings of those days. But oftenest it was with the morrow that my + mind was occupied. The first dream of all young men—the dream of + living rapturously with the woman they love, in a secret retirement kept + sacred from friends and from strangers alike, was now my dream; to be + realised in a few hours, to be realised with my waking on the morning + which was already at hand! + </p> + <p> + For the last quarter of an hour of my walk, I must have been unconsciously + retracing my steps towards the house of Margaret’s aunt. I came in sight + of it again, just as the sound of the neighbouring church clocks, striking + eleven, roused me from my abstraction. More cabs were in the street; more + people were gathered about the door, by this time. Was all this bustle, + the bustle of arrival or of departure? Was the party about to break up, at + an hour when parties usually begin? I determined to go nearer to the + house, and ascertain whether the music had ceased, or not. + </p> + <p> + I had approached close enough to hear the notes of the harp and pianoforte + still sounding as gaily as ever, when the house-door was suddenly flung + open for the departure of a lady and gentleman. The light from the + hall-lamps fell on their faces; and showed me Margaret and Mr. Mannion. + </p> + <p> + Going home already! An hour and a half before it was time to return! Why? + </p> + <p> + There could be but one reason. Margaret was thinking of me, and of what I + should feel if I called at North Villa, and had to wait for her till past + midnight. I ran forward to speak to them, as they descended the steps; but + exactly at the same moment, my voice was overpowered, and my further + progress barred, by a scuffle on the pavement among the people who stood + between us. One man said that his pocket had been picked; others roared to + him that they had caught the thief. There was a fight—the police + came up—I was surrounded on all sides by a shouting, struggling mob + that seemed to have gathered in an instant. + </p> + <p> + Before I could force myself out of the crowd, and escape into the road, + Margaret and Mr. Mannion had hurried into a cab. I just saw the vehicle + driving off rapidly, as I got free. An empty cab was standing near me—I + jumped into it directly—and told the man to overtake them. After + having waited my time so patiently, to let a mere accident stop me from + going home with them, as I had resolved, was not to be thought of for a + moment. I was hot and angry, after my contest with the crowd; and could + have flogged on the miserable cab-horse with my own hand, rather than have + failed in my purpose. + </p> + <p> + We were just getting closer behind them: I had just put my head out of the + window to call to them, and to bid the man who was driving me, call, too—when + their cab abruptly turned down a bye-street, in a direction exactly + opposite to the direction which led to North Villa. + </p> + <p> + What did this mean? Why were they not going straight home? + </p> + <p> + The cabman asked me whether he should not hail them before they got + farther away from us; frankly confessing, as he put the question, that his + horse was nothing like equal to the pace of the horse ahead. Mechanically, + without assignable purpose or motive, I declined his offer, and told him + simply to follow at any distance he could. While the words passed my lips, + a strange sensation stole over me: I seemed to be speaking as the mere + mouthpiece of some other voice. From feeling hot, and moving about + restlessly the moment before, I felt unaccountably cold, and sat still + now. What caused this? + </p> + <p> + My cab stopped. I looked out, and saw that the horse had fallen. “We’ve + lots of time, Sir,” said the driver, as he coolly stepped off the box, + “they are just pulling up further down the road.” I gave him some money, + and got out immediately—determined to overtake them on foot. + </p> + <p> + It was a very lonely place—a colony of half-finished streets, and + half-inhabited houses, which had grown up in the neighbourhood of a great + railway station. I heard the fierce scream of the whistle, and the + heaving, heavy throb of the engine starting on its journey, as I advanced + along the gloomy Square in which I now found myself. The cab I had been + following stood at a turning which led into a long street, occupied + towards the farther end, by shops closed for the night, and at the end + nearest me, apparently by private houses only. Margaret and Mr. Mannion + hastily left the cab, and without looking either to the right or the left, + hurried down the street. They stopped at the ninth house. I followed just + in time to hear the door closed on them, and to count the number of doors + intervening between that door and the Square. + </p> + <p> + The awful thrill of a suspicion which I hardly knew yet for what it really + was, began to creep over me—to creep like a dead-cold touch crawling + through and through me to the heart. I looked up at the house. It was an + hotel—a neglected, deserted, dreary-looking building. Still acting + mechanically; still with no definite impulse that I could recognise, even + if I felt it, except the instinctive resolution to follow them into the + house, as I had already followed them through the street—I walked up + to the door, and rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + It was answered by a waiter—a mere lad. As the light in the passage + fell on my face, he paused in the act of addressing me, and drew back a + few steps. Without stopping for any explanations, I closed the door behind + me, and said to him at once: + </p> + <p> + “A lady and gentleman came into this hotel a little while ago.” + </p> + <p> + “What may your business be?”—He hesitated, and added in an altered + tone, “I mean, what may you want with them, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I want you to take me where I can hear their voices, and I want nothing + more. Here’s a sovereign for you, if you do what I ask.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes fastened covetously on the gold, as I held it before them. He + retired a few steps on tiptoe, and listened at the end of the passage. I + heard nothing but the thick, rapid beating of my own heart. He came back, + muttering to himself: “Master’s safe at supper down stairs—I’ll risk + it! You’ll promise to go away directly,” he added, whispering to me, “and + not disturb the house? We are quiet people here, and can’t have anything + like a disturbance. Just say at once, will you promise to step soft, and + not speak a word?” + </p> + <p> + “I promise.” + </p> + <p> + “This way then, Sir—and mind you don’t forget to step soft.” + </p> + <p> + A strange coldness and stillness, an icy insensibility, a dream-sensation + of being impelled by some hidden, irresistible agency, possessed me, as I + followed him upstairs. He showed me softly into an empty room; pointed to + one of the walls, whispering, “It’s only boards papered over—” and + then waited, keeping his eyes anxiously and steadily fixed upon all my + movements. + </p> + <p> + I listened; and through the thin partition, I heard voices—<i>her</i> + voice, and <i>his</i> voice. <i>I heard and I knew</i>—knew my + degradation in all its infamy, knew my wrongs in all their nameless + horror. He was exulting in the patience and secrecy which had brought + success to the foul plot, foully hidden for months on months; foully + hidden until the very day before I was to have claimed as my wife, a + wretch as guilty as himself! + </p> + <p> + I could neither move nor breathe. The blood surged and heaved upward to my + brain; my heart strained and writhed in anguish; the life within me raged + and tore to get free. Whole years of the direst mental and bodily agony + were concentrated in that one moment of helpless, motionless torment. I + never lost the consciousness of suffering. I heard the waiter say, under + his breath, “My God! he’s dying.” I felt him loosen my cravat—I knew + that he dashed cold water over me; dragged me out of the room; and, + opening a window on the landing, held me firmly where the night-air blew + upon my face. I knew all this; and knew when the paroxysm passed, and + nothing remained of it, but a shivering helplessness in every limb. + </p> + <p> + Erelong, the power of thinking began to return to me by degrees. + </p> + <p> + Misery, and shame, and horror, and a vain yearning to hide myself from all + human eyes, and weep out my life in secret, overcame me. Then, these + subsided; and ONE THOUGHT slowly arose in their stead—arose, and + cast down before it every obstacle of conscience, every principle of + education, every care for the future, every remembrance of the past, every + weakening influence of present misery, every repressing tie of family and + home, every anxiety for good fame in this life, and every idea of the next + that was to come. Before the fell poison of that Thought, all other + thoughts—good or evil—died. As it spoke secretly within me, I + felt my bodily strength coming back; a quick vigour leapt hotly through my + frame. I turned, and looked round towards the room we had just left—my + mind was looking at the room beyond it, the room they were in. + </p> + <p> + The waiter was still standing by my side, watching me intently. He + suddenly started back; and, with pale face and staring eyes, pointed down + the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “You go,” he whispered, “go directly! You’re well now—I’m afraid to + have you here any longer. I saw your look, your horrid look at that room! + You’ve heard what you wanted for your money—go at once; or, if I + lose my place for it, I’ll call out Murder, and raise the house. And mind + this: as true as God’s in heaven, I’ll warn them both before they go + outside our door!” + </p> + <p> + Hearing, but not heeding him, I left the house. No voice that ever spoke, + could have called me back from the course on which I was now bound. The + waiter watched me vigilantly from the door, as I went out. Seeing this, I + made a circuit, before I returned to the spot where, as I had suspected, + the cab they had ridden in was still waiting for them. + </p> + <p> + The driver was asleep inside. I awoke him; told him I had been sent to say + that he was not wanted again that night: and secured his ready departure, + by at once paying him on his own terms. He drove off; and the first + obstacle on the fatal path which I had resolved to tread unopposed, was + now removed. + </p> + <p> + As the cab disappeared from my sight, I looked up at the sky. It was + growing very dark. The ragged black clouds, fantastically parted from each + other in island shapes over the whole surface of the heavens, were fast + drawing together into one huge, formless, lowering mass, and had already + hidden the moon for, good. I went back to the street, and stationed myself + in the pitch darkness of a passage which led down a mews, situated exactly + opposite to the hotel. + </p> + <p> + In the silence and obscurity, in the sudden pause of action while I now + waited and watched, my Thought rose to my lips, and my speech mechanically + formed it into words. I whispered softly to myself: <i>I will kill him + when he comes out.</i> My mind never swerved for an instant from this + thought—never swerved towards myself; never swerved towards <i>her.</i> + Grief was numbed at my heart; and the consciousness of my own misery was + numbed with grief. Death chills all before it—and Death and my + Thought were one. + </p> + <p> + Once, while I stood on the watch, a sharp agony of suspense tried me + fiercely. + </p> + <p> + Just as I had calculated that the time was come which would force them to + depart, in order to return to North Villa by the appointed hour, I heard + the slow, heavy, regular tramp of a footstep advancing along the street. + It was the policeman of the district going his round. As he approached the + entrance to the mews he paused, yawned, stretched his arms, and began to + whistle a tune. If Mannion should come out while he was there! My blood + seemed to stagnate on its course, while I thought that this might well + happen. Suddenly, the man ceased whistling, looked steadily up and down + the street, and tried the door of a house near him—advanced a few + steps—then paused again, and tried another door—then muttered + to himself, in drowsy tones—“I’ve seen all safe here already: it’s + the other street I forgot just now.” He turned, and retraced his way. I + fixed my aching eyes vigilantly on the hotel, while I heard the sound of + his footsteps grow fainter and fainter in the distance. It ceased + altogether; and still there was no change—still the man whose life I + was waiting for, never appeared. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes after this, so far as I can guess, the door opened; and I + heard Mannion’s voice, and the voice of the lad who had let me in. “Look + about you before you go out,” said the waiter, speaking in the passage; + “the street’s not safe for you.” Disbelieving, or affecting to disbelieve, + what he heard, Mannion interrupted the waiter angrily; and endeavoured to + reassure his companion in guilt, by asserting that the warning was nothing + but an attempt to extort money by way of reward. The man retorted sulkily, + that he cared nothing for the gentleman’s money, or the gentleman either. + Immediately afterwards an inner door in the house banged violently; and I + knew that Mannion had been left to his fate. + </p> + <p> + There was a momentary silence; and then I heard him tell his accomplice + that he would go alone to look for the cab, and that she had better close + the door and wait quietly in the passage till he came back. This was done. + He walked out into the street. It was after twelve o’clock. No sound of a + strange footfall was audible—no soul was at hand to witness, and + prevent, the coming struggle. His life was mine. His death followed him as + fast as my feet followed, while I was now walking on his track. + </p> + <p> + He looked up and down, from the entrance to the street, for the cab. Then, + seeing that it was gone, he hastily turned back. At that instant I met him + face to face. Before a word could be spoken, even before a look could be + exchanged, my hands were on his throat. + </p> + <p> + He was a taller and heavier man than I was; and struggled with me, knowing + that he was struggling for his life. He never shook my grasp on him for a + moment; but he dragged me out into the road—dragged me away eight or + ten yards from the street. The heavy gasps of approaching suffocation beat + thick on my forehead from his open mouth: he swerved to and fro furiously, + from side to side; and struck at me, swinging his clenched fists high + above his head. I stood firm, and held him away at arm’s length. As I dug + my feet into the ground to steady myself, I heard the crunching of stones—the + road had been newly mended with granite. Instantly, a savage purpose + goaded into fury the deadly resolution by which I was possessed. I shifted + my hold to the back of his neck, and the collar of his coat, and hurled + him, with the whole impetus of the raging strength that was let loose in + me, face downwards, on to the stones. + </p> + <p> + In the mad triumph of that moment, I had already stooped towards him, as + he lay insensible beneath me, to lift him again, and beat out of him, on + the granite, not life only, but the semblance of humanity as well; when, + in the blank stillness that followed the struggle, I heard the door of the + hotel in the street open once more. I left him directly, and ran back from + the square—I knew not with what motive, or what idea—to the + spot. + </p> + <p> + On the steps of the house, on the threshold of that accursed place, stood + the woman whom God’s minister had given to me in the sight of God, as my + wife. + </p> + <p> + One long pang of shame and despair shot through my heart as I looked at + her, and tortured out of its trance the spirit within me. Thousands on + thousands of thoughts seemed to be whirling in the wildest confusion + through and through my brain—thoughts, whose track was a track of + fire—thoughts that struck me with a hellish torment of dumbness, at + the very time when I would have purchased with my life the power of a + moment’s speech. Voiceless and tearless, I went up to her, and took her by + the arm, and drew her away from the house. There was some vague purpose in + me, as I did this, of never quitting my hold of her, never letting her + stir from me by so much as an inch, until I had spoken certain words to + her. What words they were, and when I should utter them, I could not tell. + </p> + <p> + The cry for mercy was on her lips, but the instant our eyes met, it died + away in long, low, hysterical moanings. Her cheeks were ghastly, her + features were rigid, her eyes glared like an idiot’s; guilt and terror had + made her hideous to look upon already. + </p> + <p> + I drew her onward a few paces towards the Square. Then I stopped, + remembering the body that lay face downwards on the road. The savage + strength of a few moments before, had left me from the time when I first + saw her. I now reeled where I stood, from sheer physical weakness. The + sound of her pantings and shudderings, of her abject inarticulate + murmurings for mercy, struck me with a supernatural terror. My fingers + trembled round her arm, the perspiration dripped down my face, like rain; + I caught at the railings by my side, to keep myself from falling. As I did + so, she snatched her arm from my grasp, as easily as if I had been a + child; and, with a cry for help, fled towards the further end of the + street. + </p> + <p> + Still, the strange instinct of never losing hold of her, influenced me. I + followed, staggering like a drunken man. In a moment, she was out of my + reach; in another, out of my sight. I went on, nevertheless; on, and on, + and on, I knew not whither. I lost all ideas of time and distance. + Sometimes I went round and round the same streets, over and over again. + Sometimes I hurried in one direction, straight forward. Wherever I went, + it seemed to me that she was still just before; that her track and my + track were one; that I had just lost my hold of her, and that she was just + starting on her flight. + </p> + <p> + I remember passing two men in this way, in some great thoroughfare. They + both stopped, turned, and walked a few steps after me. One laughed at me, + as a drunkard. The other, in serious tones, told him to be silent; for I + was not drunk, but mad—he had seen my face as I passed under a + gas-lamp, and he knew that I was mad. + </p> + <p> + “MAD!”—that word, as I heard it, rang after me like a voice of + judgment. “MAD!”—a fear had come over me, which, in all its + frightful complication, was expressed by that one word—a fear which, + to the man who suffers it, is worse even than the fear of death; which no + human language ever has conveyed, or ever will convey, in all its horrible + reality, to others. I had pressed onward, hitherto, because I saw a vision + that led me after it—a beckoning shadow, ahead, darker even than the + night darkness. I still pressed on, now; but only because I was afraid to + stop. + </p> + <p> + I know not how far I had gone, when my strength utterly failed me, and I + sank down helpless, in a lonely place where the houses were few and + scattered, and trees and fields were dimly discernible in the obscurity + beyond. I hid my face in my hands, and tried to assure myself that I was + still in possession of my senses. I strove hard to separate my thoughts; + to distinguish between my recollections; to extricate from the confusion + within me any one idea, no matter what—and I could not do it. In + that awful struggle for the mastery over my own mind, all that had passed, + all the horror of that horrible night, became as nothing to me. I raised + myself, and looked up again, and tried to steady my reason by the simplest + means—even by endeavouring to count all the houses within sight. The + darkness bewildered me. Darkness?—<i>Was</i> it dark? or was day + breaking yonder, far away in the murky eastern sky? Did I know what I saw? + Did I see the same thing for a few moments together? What was this under + me? Grass? yes! cold, soft, dewy grass. I bent down my forehead upon it, + and tried, for the last time, to steady my faculties by praying; tried if + I could utter the prayer which I had known and repeated every day from + childhood—the Lord’s Prayer. The Divine Words came not at my call—no! + not one of them, from the beginning to the end! I started up on my knees. + A blaze of lurid sunshine flashed before my eyes; a hell-blaze of + brightness, with fiends by millions, raining down out of it on my head; + then a rayless darkness—the darkness of the blind—then God’s + mercy at last—the mercy of utter oblivion. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + When I recovered my consciousness, I was lying on the couch in my own + study. My father was supporting me on the pillow; the doctor had his + fingers on my pulse; and a policeman was telling them where he had found + me, and how he had brought me home. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART III. + </h2> + <p> + I. + </p> + <p> + WHEN the blind are operated on for the restoration of sight, the same + succouring hand which has opened to them the visible world, immediately + shuts out the bright prospect again, for a time. A bandage is passed over + the eyes, lest in the first tenderness of the recovered sense, it should + be fatally affected by the sudden transition from darkness to light. But + between the awful blank of total privation of vision, and the temporary + blank of vision merely veiled, there lies the widest difference. In the + moment of their restoration, the blind have had one glimpse of light, + flashing on them in an overpowering gleam of brightness, which the + thickest, closest veiling cannot extinguish. The new darkness is not like + the void darkness of old; it is filled with changing visions of brilliant + colours and ever-varying forms, rising, falling, whirling hither and + thither with every second. Even when the handkerchief is passed over them, + the once sightless eyes, though bandaged fast, are yet not blinded as they + were before. + </p> + <p> + It was so with my mental vision. After the utter oblivion and darkness of + a deep swoon, consciousness flashed like light on my mind, when I found + myself in my father’s presence, and in my own home. But, almost at the + very moment when I first awakened to the bewildering influence of that + sight, a new darkness fell upon my faculties—a darkness, this time, + which was not utter oblivion; a peopled darkness, like that which the + bandage casts over the opened eyes of the blind. + </p> + <p> + I had sensations, I had thoughts, I had visions, now—but they all + acted in the frightful self-concentration of delirium. The lapse of time, + the march of events, the alternation of day and night, the persons who + moved about me, the words they spoke, the offices of kindness they did for + me—all these were annihilated from the period when I closed my eyes + again, after having opened them for an instant on my father, in my own + study. + </p> + <p> + My first sensation (how soon it came after I had been brought home, I know + not) was of a terrible heat; a steady, blazing heat, which seemed to have + shrivelled and burnt up the whole of the little world around me, and to + have left me alone to suffer, but never to consume in it. After this, came + a quick, restless, unintermittent toiling of obscure thought, ever in the + same darkened sphere, ever on the same impenetrable subject, ever failing + to reach some distant and visionary result. It was as if something were + imprisoned in my mind, and moving always to and fro in it—moving, + but never getting free. + </p> + <p> + Soon, these thoughts began to take a form that I could recognise. + </p> + <p> + In the clinging heat and fierce seething fever, to which neither waking + nor sleeping brought a breath of freshness or a dream of change, I began + to act my part over again, in the events that had passed, but in a + strangely altered character. Now, instead of placing implicit trust in + others, as I had done; instead of failing to discover a significance and a + warning in each circumstance as it arose, I was suspicious from the first—suspicious + of Margaret, of her father, of her mother, of Mannion, of the very + servants in the house. In the hideous phantasmagoria of my own calamity on + which I now looked, my position was reversed. Every event of the doomed + year of my probation was revived. But the doom itself, the night-scene of + horror through which I had passed, had utterly vanished from my memory. + This lost recollection, it was the one unending toil of my wandering mind + to recover, and I never got it back. None who have not suffered as I + suffered then, can imagine with what a burning rage of determination I + followed past events in my delirium, one by one, for days and nights + together,—followed, to get to the end which I knew was beyond, but + which I never could see, not even by glimpses, for a moment at a time. + </p> + <p> + However my visions might alter in their course of succession, they always + began with the night when Mannion returned from the continent to North + Villa. I stood again in the drawing-room; I saw him enter; I marked the + slight confusion of Margaret; and instantly doubted her. I noticed his + unwillingness to meet her eye or mine; I looked on the sinister stillness + of his face; and suspected him. From that moment, love vanished, and + hatred came in its place. I began to watch; to garner up slight + circumstances which confirmed my suspicions; to wait craftily for the day + when I should discover, judge, and punish them both—the day of + disclosure and retribution that never came. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, I was again with Mannion, in his house, on the night of the + storm. I detected in every word he spoke an artful lure to trap me into + trusting him as my second father, more than as my friend. I heard in the + tempest sounds which mysteriously interrupted, or mingled with, my + answers, voices supernaturally warning me of my enemy, each time that I + spoke to him. I saw once more the hideous smile of triumph on his face, as + I took leave of him on the doorstep: and saw it, this time, not as an + illusion produced by a flash of lightning, but as a frightful reality + which the lightning disclosed. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, I was again in the garden at North Villa accidentally + overhearing the conversation between Margaret and her mother—overhearing + what deceit she was willing to commit, for the sake of getting a new dress—then + going into the room, and seeing her assume her usual manner on meeting me, + as if no such words as I had listened to but the moment before, had ever + proceeded from her lips. Or, I saw her on that other morning, when, to + revenge the death of her bird, she would have killed with her own hand the + one pet companion that her sick mother possessed. Now, no generous, + trusting love blinded me to the real meaning of such events as these. Now, + instead of regarding them as little weaknesses of beauty, and little + errors of youth, I saw them as timely warnings, which bade me remember + when the day of my vengeance came, that in the contriving of the iniquity + on which they were both bent, the woman had been as vile as the man. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, I was once more on my way to North Villa, after my week’s + absence at our country house. I saw again the change in Margaret since I + had left her—the paleness, the restlessness, the appearance of + agitation. I took the hand of Mannion, and started as I felt its deadly + coldness, and remarked the strange alteration in his manner. When they + accounted for these changes by telling me that both had been ill, in + different ways, since my departure, I detected the miserable lie at once; + I knew that an evil advantage had been taken of my absence; that the plot + against me was fast advancing towards consummation: and that, at the sight + of their victim, even the two wretches who were compassing my dishonour + could not repress all outward manifestation of their guilt. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, the figure of Mrs. Sherwin appeared to me, wan and weary, and + mournful with a ghostly mournfulness. Again I watched her, and listened to + her; but now with eager curiosity, with breathless attention. Once more, I + saw her shudder when Mannion’s cold eyes turned on her face—I marked + the anxious, imploring look that she cast on Margaret and on me—I + heard her confused, unwilling answer, when I inquired the cause of her + dislike of the man in whom her husband placed the most implicit trust—I + listened to her abrupt, inexplicable injunction to “watch continually over + my wife, and keep bad people from her.” All these different circumstances + occurred again as vividly as in the reality; but I did not now account for + them, as I had once accounted for them, by convincing myself that Mrs. + Sherwin’s mind was wandering, and that her bodily sufferings had affected + her intellect. I saw immediately, that she suspected Mannion, and dared + not openly confess her suspicions; I saw, that in the stillness, and + abandonment, and self-concentration of her neglected life, she had been + watching more vigilantly than others had watched; I detected in every one + of her despised gestures, and looks, and halting words, the same concealed + warning ever lying beneath the surface; I knew they had not succeeded in + deceiving her; I was determined they should not succeed in deceiving me. + </p> + <p> + It was oftenest at this point, that my restless memory recoiled before the + impenetrable darkness which forbade it to see further—to see on to + the last evening, to the fatal night. It was oftenest at this point, that + I toiled and struggled back, over and over again, to seek once more the + lost events of the End, through the events of the Beginning. How often my + wandering thoughts thus incessantly and desperately traced and retraced + their way over their own fever track, I cannot tell: but there came a time + when they suddenly ceased to torment me; when the heavy burden that was on + my mind fell off; when a sudden strength and fury possessed me, and I + plunged down through a vast darkness into a world whose daylight was all + radiant flame. Giant phantoms mustered by millions, flashing white as + lightning in the ruddy air. They rushed on me with hurricane speed; their + wings fanned me with fiery breezes; and the echo of their thunder-music + was like the groaning and rending of an earthquake, as they tore me away + with them on their whirlwind course. + </p> + <p> + Away! to a City of Palaces, to measureless halls, and arches, and domes, + soaring one above another, till their flashing ruby summits are lost in + the burning void, high overhead. On! through and through these + mountain-piles, into countless, limitless corridors, reared on pillars + lurid and rosy as molten lava. Far down the corridors rise visions of + flying phantoms, ever at the same distance before us—their raving + voices clanging like the hammers of a thousand forges. Still on and on; + faster and faster, for days, years, centuries together, till there comes, + stealing slowly forward to meet us, a shadow—a vast, stealthy, + gliding shadow—the first darkness that has ever been shed over that + world of blazing light! It comes nearer—nearer and nearer softly, + till it touches the front ranks of our phantom troop. Then in an instant, + our rushing progress is checked: the thunder-music of our wild march + stops; the raving voices of the spectres ahead, cease; a horror of blank + stillness is all about us—and as the shadow creeps onward and + onward, until we are enveloped in it from front to rear, we shiver with + icy cold under the fiery air and amid the lurid lava pillars which hem us + in on either side. + </p> + <p> + A silence, like no silence ever known on earth; a darkening of the shadow, + blacker than the blackest night in the thickest wood—a pause—then, + a sound as of the heavy air being cleft asunder; and then, an apparition + of two figures coming on out of the shadow—two monsters stretching + forth their gnarled yellow talons to grasp at us; leaving on their track a + green decay, oozing and shining with a sickly light. Beyond and around me, + as I stood in the midst of them, the phantom troop dropped into formless + masses, while the monsters advanced. They came close to me; and I alone, + of all the myriads around, changed not at their approach. Each laid a + talon on my shoulder—each raised a veil which was one hideous + net-work of twining worms. I saw through the ghastly corruption of their + faces the look that told me who they were—the monstrous iniquities + incarnate in monstrous forms; the fiend-souls made visible in fiend-shapes—Margaret + and Mannion! + </p> + <p> + A moment more! and I was alone with those two. Not a wreck of the + phantom-multitude remained; the towering city, the gleaming corridors, the + fire-bright radiance had vanished. We stood on a wilderness—a still, + black lake of dead waters was before us; a white, faint, misty light shone + on us. Outspread over the noisome ground lay the ruins of a house, rooted + up and overthrown to its foundations. The demon figures, still watching on + either side of me, drew me slowly forward to the fallen stones, and + pointed to two dead bodies lying among them. + </p> + <p> + My father!—my sister!—both cold and still, and whiter than the + white light that showed them to me. The demons at my side stretched out + their crooked talons, and forbade me to kneel before my father, or to kiss + Clara’s wan face, before I went to torment. They struck me motionless + where I stood—and unveiled their hideous faces once more, jeering at + me in triumph. Anon, the lake of black waters heaved up and overflowed, + and noiselessly sucked us away into its central depths—depths that + were endless; depths of rayless darkness, in which we slowly eddied round + and round, deeper and deeper down at every turn. I felt the bodies of my + father and my sister touching me in cold contact: I stretched out my arms + to clasp them and sink with them; and the demon pair glided between us, + and separated me from them. This vain striving to join myself to my dead + kindred when we touched each other in the slow, endless whirlpool, ever + continued and was ever frustrated in the same way. Still we sank apart, + down the black gulphs of the lake; still there was no light, no sound, no + change, no pause of repose—and this was eternity: the eternity of + Hell! + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Such was one dream-vision out of many that I saw. It must have been at + this time that men were set to watch me day and night (as I afterwards + heard), in order that I might be held down in my bed, when a paroxysm of + convulsive strength made me dangerous to myself and to all about me. The + period too when the doctors announced that the fever had seized on my + brain, and was getting the better of their skill, must have been <i>this</i> + period. + </p> + <p> + But though they gave up my life as lost, I was not to die. There came a + time, at last, when the gnawing fever lost its hold; and I awoke faintly + one morning to a new existence—to a life frail and helpless as the + life of a new-born babe. + </p> + <p> + I was too weak to move, to speak, to open my eyes, to exert in the + smallest degree any one faculty, bodily or mental, that I possessed. The + first sense of which I regained the use, was the sense of hearing; and the + first sound that I recognised, was of a light footstep which mysteriously + approached, paused, and then retired again gently outside my door. The + hearing of this sound was my first pleasure, the waiting for its + repetition my first source of happy expectation, since I had been ill. + Once more the footsteps approached—paused a moment—then seemed + to retire as before—then returned slowly. A sigh, very faint and + trembling; a whisper of which I could not yet distinguish the import, + caught my ear—and after that, there was silence. Still I waited (oh, + how happily and calmly!) to hear the whisper soon repeated, and to hear it + better when it next came. Ere long, for the third time, the footsteps + advanced, and the whispering accents sounded again. I could now hear that + they pronounced my name—once, twice, three times—very softly + and imploringly, as if to beg the answer which I was still too weak to + give. But I knew the voice: I knew it was Clara’s. Long after it had + ceased, the whisper lingered gently on my ear, like a lullaby that + alternately soothed me to slumber, and welcomed me to wakefulness. It + seemed to be thrilling through my frame with a tender, reviving influence—the + same influence which the sunshine had, weeks afterwards, when I enjoyed it + for the first time out of doors. + </p> + <p> + The next sound that came to me was audible in my room; audible sometimes, + close at my pillow. It was the simplest sound imaginable—nothing but + the soft rustling of a woman’s dress. And yet, I heard in it innumerable + harmonies, sweet changes, and pauses minute beyond all definition. I could + only open my eyes for a minute at a time, and even then, could not fix + them steadily on anything; but I knew that the rustling dress was Clara’s; + and fresh sensations seemed to throng upon me, as I listened to the sound + which told me that she was in the room. I felt the soft summer air on my + face; I enjoyed the sweet scent of flowers, wafted on that air; and once, + when my door was left open for a moment, the twittering of birds in the + aviary down stairs, rang with exquisite clearness and sweetness on my ear. + It was thus that my faculties strengthened, hour by hour, always in the + same gradual way, from the time when I first heard the footstep and the + whisper outside my chamber-door. + </p> + <p> + One evening I awoke from a cool, dreamless sleep; and, seeing Clara + sitting by my bedside, faintly uttered her name, and moved my wasted hand + to take hers. As I saw the calm, familiar face bending over me; the + anxious eyes looking tenderly and lovingly into mine—as the last + melancholy glory of sunset hovered on my bed, and the air, sinking already + into its twilight repose, came softly and more softly into the room—as + my sister took me in her arms, and raising me on my weary pillow, bade me + for her sake lie hushed and patient a little longer—the memory of + the ruin and the shame that had overwhelmed me; the memory of my love that + had become an infamy; and of my brief year’s hope miserably fulfilled by a + life of despair, swelled darkly over my heart. The red, retiring rays of + sunset just lingered at that moment on my face. Clara knelt down by my + pillow, and held up her handkerchief to shade my eyes—“God has given + you back to us, Basil,” she whispered, “to make us happier than ever.” As + she spoke, the springs of the grief so long pent up within me were + loosened; hot tears dropped heavily and quickly from my eyes; and I wept + for the first time since the night of horror which had stretched me where + I now lay—wept in my sister’s arms, at that quiet evening hour, for + the lost honour, the lost hope, the lost happiness that had gone from me + for ever in my youth! + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + Darkly and wearily the days of my recovery went on. After that first + outburst of sorrow on the evening when I recognised my sister, and + murmured her name as she sat by my side, there sank over all my faculties + a dull, heavy trance of mental pain. + </p> + <p> + I dare not describe what remembrances of the guilty woman who had deceived + and ruined me, now gnawed unceasingly and poisonously at my heart. My + bodily strength feebly revived; but my mental energies never showed a sign + of recovering with them. My father’s considerate forbearance, Clara’s + sorrowful reserve in touching on the subject of my long illness, or of the + wild words which had escaped me in my delirium, mutely and gently warned + me that the time was come when I owed the tardy atonement of confession to + the family that I had disgraced; and still, I had no courage to speak, no + resolution to endure. The great misery of the past, shut out from me the + present and the future alike—every active power of my mind seemed to + be destroyed hopelessly and for ever. + </p> + <p> + There were moments—most often at the early morning hours, while the + heaviness of the night’s sleep still hung over me in my wakefulness—when + I could hardly realise the calamity which had overwhelmed me; when it + seemed that I must have dreamt, during the night, of scenes of crime and + woe and heavy trial which had never actually taken place. What was the + secret of the terrible influence which—let her even be the vilest of + the vile—Mannion must have possessed over Margaret Sherwin, to + induce her to sacrifice me to him? Even the crime itself was not more + hideous and more incredible than the mystery in which its evil motives, + and the manner of its evil ripening, were still impenetrably veiled. + </p> + <p> + Mannion! It was a strange result of the mental malady under which I + suffered, that, though the thought of Mannion was now inextricably + connected with every thought of Margaret, I never once asked myself, or + had an idea of asking myself, for days together, after my convalescence, + what had been the issue of our struggle, for him. In the despair of first + awakening to a perfect sense of the calamity which had been hurled on me + from the hand of my wife—in the misery of first clearly connecting + together, after the wanderings of delirium, the Margaret to whom with my + hand I had given all my heart, with the Margaret who had trampled on the + gift and ruined the giver—all minor thoughts and minor feelings, all + motives of revengeful curiosity or of personal apprehension were + suppressed. And yet, the time was soon to arrive when that lost thought of + inquiry into Mannion’s fate, was to become the one master-thought that + possessed me—the thought that gave back its vigilance to my + intellect, and its manhood to my heart. + </p> + <p> + One evening I was sitting alone in my room. My father had taken Clara out + for a little air and exercise, and the servant had gone away at my own + desire. It was in this quiet and solitude, when the darkness was fast + approaching, when the view from my window was at its loneliest, when my + mind was growing listless and confused as the weary day wore out—it + was exactly at this time that the thought suddenly and mysteriously + flashed across me: Had Mannion been taken up from the stones on which I + had hurled him, a living man or a dead? + </p> + <p> + I instinctively started to my feet with something of the vigour of my + former health; repeating the question to myself; and feeling, as I + unconsciously murmured aloud the few words which expressed it, that my + life had purposes and duties, trials and achievements, which were yet to + be fulfilled. How could I instantly solve the momentous doubt which had + now, for the first time, crossed my mind? + </p> + <p> + One moment I paused in eager consideration—the next, I descended to + the library. A daily newspaper was kept there, filed for reference. I + might possibly decide the fatal question in a few moments by consulting + it. In my burning anxiety and impatience I could hardly handle the leaves + or see the letters, as I tried to turn back to the right date—the + day (oh anguish of remembrance!) on which I was to have claimed Margaret + Sherwin as my wife! + </p> + <p> + At last, I found the number I desired; but the closely-printed columns + swam before me as I looked at them. A glass of water stood on a table near + me—I dipped my handkerchief in it, and cooled my throbbing eyes. The + destiny of my future life might be decided by the discovery I was now + about to make! + </p> + <p> + I locked the door to guard against all intrusion, and then returned to my + task—returned to my momentous search—slowly tracing my way + through the paper, paragraph by paragraph, column by column. + </p> + <p> + On the last page, and close to the end, I read these lines: + </p> +<p class="c"> + “MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE. +</p> + <p> + “About one o’clock this morning, a gentleman was discovered lying on his + face in the middle of the road, in Westwood Square, by the policeman on + duty. The unfortunate man was to all appearance dead. He had fallen on a + part of the road which had been recently macadamised; and his face, we are + informed, is frightfully mutilated by contact with the granite. The + policeman conveyed him to the neighbouring hospital, where it was + discovered that he was still alive, and the promptest attentions were + immediately paid him. We understand that the surgeon in attendance + considers it absolutely impossible that he could have been injured as he + was, except by having been violently thrown down on his face, either by a + vehicle driven at a furious rate, or by a savage attack from some person + or persons unknown. In the latter case, robbery could not have been the + motive; for the unfortunate man’s watch, purse, and ring were all found + about him. No cards of address or letters of any kind were discovered in + his pockets, and his linen and handkerchief were only marked with the + letter M. He was dressed in evening costume—entirely in black. After + what has been already said about the injuries to his face, any + recognisable personal description of him is, for the present, + unfortunately out of the question. We wait with much anxiety to gain some + further insight into this mysterious affair, when the sufferer is restored + to consciousness. The last particulars which our reporter was able to + collect at the hospital were, that the surgeon expected to save his + patient’s life, and the sight of one of his eyes. The sight of the other + is understood to be entirely destroyed.” + </p> + <p> + With sensations of horror which I could not then, and cannot now analyse, + I turned to the next day’s paper; but found in it no further reference to + the object of my search. In the number for the day after, however, the + subject was resumed in these words: + </p> + <p> + “The mystery of the accident in Westwood Square thickens. The sufferer is + restored to consciousness; he is perfectly competent to hear and + understand what is said to him, and is able to articulate, but not very + plainly, and only for a moment or so, at a time. The authorities at the + hospital anticipated, as we did, that, on the patient’s regaining his + senses, some information of the manner in which the terrible accident from + which he is suffering was caused, would be obtained from him. But, to the + astonishment of every one, he positively refuses to answer any questions + as to the circumstances under which his frightful injuries were inflicted. + With the same unaccountable secrecy, he declines to tell his name, his + place of abode, or the names of any friends to whom notice of his + situation might be communicated. It is quite in vain to press him for any + reason for this extraordinary course of conduct—he appears to be a + man of very unusual firmness of character; and his refusal to explain + himself in any way, is evidently no mere caprice of the moment. All this + leads to the conjecture that the injuries he has sustained were inflicted + on him from some motive of private vengeance; and that certain persons are + concerned in this disgraceful affair, whom he is unwilling to expose to + public odium, for some secret reason which it is impossible to guess at. + We understand that he bears the severe pain consequent upon his situation, + in such a manner as to astonish every person about him—no agony + draws from him a word or a sigh. He displayed no emotion even when the + surgeons informed him that the sight of one of his eyes was hopelessly + destroyed; and merely asked to be supplied with writing materials as soon + as he could see to use them, when he was told that the sight of the other + would be saved. He further added, we are informed, that he was in a + position to reward the hospital authorities for any trouble he gave, by + making a present to the funds of the charity, as soon as he should be + discharged as cured. His coolness in the midst of sufferings which would + deprive most other men of all power of thinking or speaking, is as + remarkable as his unflinching secrecy—a secrecy which, for the + present at least, we cannot hope to penetrate.” + </p> + <p> + I closed the newspaper. Even then, a vague forewarning of what Mannion’s + inexplicable reserve boded towards me, crossed my mind. There was yet more + difficulty, danger, and horror to be faced, than I had hitherto + confronted. The slough of degradation and misery into which I had fallen, + had its worst perils yet in store for me. + </p> + <p> + As I became impressed by this conviction, the enervating remembrance of + the wickedness to which I had been sacrificed, grew weaker in its + influence over me; the bitter tears that I had shed in secret for so many + days past, dried sternly at their sources; and I felt the power to endure + and to resist coming back to me with my sense of the coming strife. On + leaving the library, I ascended again to my own room. In a basket, on my + table, lay several unopened letters, which had arrived for me during my + illness. There were two which I at once suspected, in hastily turning over + the collection, might be all-important in enlightening me on the vile + subject of Mannion’s female accomplice. The addresses of both these + letters were in Mr. Sherwin’s handwriting. The first that I opened was + dated nearly a month back, and ran thus: + </p> +<p class="c"> + “North Villa, Hollyoake Square. +</p> + <p> + “DEAR SIR, + </p> + <p> + “With agonised feelings which no one but a parent, and I will add, an + affectionate parent, can possibly form an idea of, I address you on the + subject of the act of atrocity committed by that perjured villain, + Mannion. You will find that I and my innocent daughter have been, like + you, victims of the most devilish deceit that ever was practised on + respectable and unsuspecting people. + </p> + <p> + “Let me ask you, Sir, to imagine the state of my feelings on the night of + that most unfortunate party, when I saw my beloved Margaret, instead of + coming home quietly as usual, rush into the room in a state bordering on + distraction, with a tale the most horrible that ever was addressed to a + father’s ears. The double-faced villain (I really can’t mention his name + again) had, I blush to acknowledge, attempted to take advantage of her + innocence and confidence—all our innocences and confidences, I may + say—but my dear Margaret showed a virtuous courage beyond her years, + the natural result of the pious principles and the moral bringing up which + I have given her from her cradle. Need I say what was the upshot? Virtue + triumphed, as virtue always does, and the villain left her to herself. It + was when she was approaching the door-step to fly to the bosom of her home + that, I am given to understand, you, by a most remarkable accident, met + her. As a man of the world, you will easily conceive what must have been + the feelings of a young female, under such peculiar and shocking + circumstances. Besides this, your manner, as I am informed, was so + terrifying and extraordinary, and my poor Margaret felt so strongly that + deceitful appearances might be against her, that she lost all heart, and + fled at once, as I said before, to the bosom of her home. + </p> + <p> + “She is still in a very nervous and unhappy state; she fears that you may + be too ready to believe appearances; but I know better. Her explanation + will be enough for you, as it was for me. We may have our little + differences on minor topics, but we have both the same manly confidence, I + am sure—you in your wife, and me in my daughter. + </p> + <p> + “I called at your worthy father’s mansion, to have a fuller explanation + with you than I can give here, the morning after this + to-all-parties-most-distressing occurrence happened: and was then informed + of your serious illness, for which pray accept my best condolences. The + next thing I thought of doing was to write to your respected father, + requesting a private interview. But on maturer consideration, I thought it + perhaps slightly injudicious to take such a step, while you, as the + principal party concerned, were ill in bed, and not able to come forward + and back me. I was anxious, you will observe, to act for your interests, + as well as the interests of my darling girl—of course, knowing at + the same time that I had the marriage certificate in my possession, if + needed as a proof, and supposing I was driven to extremities and obliged + to take my own course in the matter. But, as I said before, I have a + fatherly and friendly confidence in your feeling as convinced of the + spotless innocence of my child as I do. So will write no more on this + head. + </p> + <p> + “Having determined, as best under all circumstances, to wait till your + illness was over, I have kept my dear Margaret in strict retirement at + home (which, as she is your wife, you will acknowledge I had no obligation + to do), until you were well enough to come forward and do her justice + before her family and yours. I have not omitted to make almost daily + inquiries after you, up to the time of penning these lines, and shall + continue so to do until your convalescence, which I sincerely hope may be + speedily at hand; I am unfortunately obliged to ask that our first + interview, when you are able to see me and my daughter, may not take place + at North Villa, but at some other place, any you like to fix on. The fact + is, my wife, whose wretched health has been a trouble and annoyance to us + for years past, has now, I grieve to say, under pressure of this sad + misfortune, quite lost her reason. I am sorry to say that she would be + capable of interrupting us here, in a most undesirable manner to all + parties, and therefore request that our first happy meeting may not take + place at my house. + </p> + <p> + “Trusting that this letter will quite remove all unpleasant feelings from + your mind, and that I shall hear from you soon, on your much-to-be-desired + recovery, + </p> + <p> + “I remain, dear Sir, + </p> + <p> + “Your faithful, obedient servant, + </p> +<p class="c"> + “STEPHEN SHERWIN. +</p> + <p> + “P. S.—I have not been able to find out where that scoundrel + Mannion, has betaken himself to; but if you should know, or suspect, I + wish to tell you, as a proof that my indignation at his villany is as + great as yours, that I am ready and anxious to pursue him with the utmost + rigour of the law, if law can only reach him—paying out of my own + pocket all expenses of punishing him and breaking him for the rest of his + life, if I go through every court in the country to do it!—S. S.” + </p> + <p> + Hurriedly as I read over this wretched and revolting letter, I detected + immediately how the new plot had been framed to keep me still deceived; to + heap wrong after wrong on me with the same impunity. She was not aware + that I had followed her into the house, and had heard all from her voice + and Mannion’s—she believed that I was still ignorant of everything, + until we met at the door-step; and in this conviction she had forged the + miserable lie which her father’s hand had written down. Did he really + believe it, or was he writing as her accomplice? It was not worth while to + inquire: the worst and darkest discovery which it concerned me to make, + had already proclaimed itself—she was a liar and a hypocrite to the + very last! + </p> + <p> + And it was this woman’s lightest glance which had once been to me as the + star that my life looked to!—-it was for this woman that I had + practised a deceit on my family which it now revolted me to think of; had + braved whatever my father’s anger might inflict; had risked cheerfully the + loss of all that birth and fortune could bestow! Why had I ever risen from + my weary bed of sickness?—it would have been better, far better, + that I had died! + </p> + <p> + But, while life remained, life had its trials and its toils, from which it + was useless to shrink. There was still another letter to be opened: there + was yet more wickedness which I must know how to confront. + </p> + <p> + The second of Mr. Sherwin’s letters was much shorter than the first, and + had apparently been written not more than a day or two back. His tone was + changed; he truckled to me no longer—he began to threaten. I was + reminded that the servant’s report pronounced me to have been convalescent + for several days past: and was asked why, under these circumstances, I had + never even written. I was warned that my silence had been construed + greatly to my disadvantage; and that if it continued longer, the writer + would assert his daughter’s cause loudly and publicly, not to my father + only, but to all the world. The letter ended by according to me three days + more of grace, before the fullest disclosure would be made. + </p> + <p> + For a moment, my indignation got the better of me. I rose, to go that + instant to North Villa and unmask the wretches who still thought to make + their market of me as easily as ever. But the mere momentary delay caused + by opening the door of my room, restored me to myself. I felt that my + first duty, my paramount obligation, was to confess all to my father + immediately; to know and accept my future position in my own home, before + I went out from it to denounce others. I returned to the table, and + gathered up the letters scattered on it. My heart beat fast, my head felt + confused; but I was resolute in my determination to tell my father, at all + hazards, the tale of degradation which I have told in these pages. + </p> + <p> + I waited in the stillness and loneliness, until it grew nearly dark. The + servant brought in candles. Why could I not ask him whether my father and + Clara had come home yet? Was I faltering in my resolution already? + </p> + <p> + Shortly after this, I heard a step on the stairs and a knock at my door.—My + father? No! Clara. I tried to speak to her unconcernedly, when she came + in. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you have been walking till it is quite dark, Clara!” + </p> + <p> + “We have only been in the garden of the Square—neither papa nor I + noticed how late it was. We were talking on a subject of the deepest + interest to us both.” + </p> + <p> + She paused a moment, and looked down; then hurriedly came nearer to me, + and drew a chair to my side. There was a strange expression of sadness and + anxiety in her face, as she continued: + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you imagine what the subject was? It was you, Basil. Papa is coming + here directly, to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped once more. Her cheeks reddened a little, and she mechanically + busied herself in arranging some books that lay on the table. Suddenly, + she abandoned this employment; the colour left her face; it was quite pale + when she addressed me again, speaking in very altered tones; so altered, + that I hardly recognised them as hers. + </p> + <p> + “You know, Basil, that for a long time past, you have kept some secret + from us; and you promised that I should know it first; but I—I have + changed my mind; I have no wish to know it, dear: I would rather we never + said anything about it.” (She coloured, and hesitated a little again, then + proceeded quickly and earnestly:) “But I hope you will tell it all to + papa: he is coming here to ask you—oh, Basil! be candid with him, + and tell him everything; let us all be to one another what we were before + this time last year! You have nothing to fear, if you only speak openly; + for I have begged him to be gentle and forgiving with you, and you know he + refuses me nothing. I only came here to prepare you; to beg you to be + candid and patient. Hush! there is a step on the stairs. Speak out, Basil, + for my sake—pray, pray, speak out, and then leave the rest to me.” + </p> + <p> + She hurriedly left the room. The next minute, my father entered it. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps my guilty conscience deceived me, but I thought he looked at me + more sadly and severely than I had ever seen him look before. His voice, + too, was troubled when he spoke. This was a change, which meant much in + him. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to speak to you,” he said, “on a subject about which I had + much rather you had spoken to me first.” + </p> + <p> + “I think, Sir, I know to what subject you refer. I—” + </p> + <p> + “I must beg you will listen to me as patiently as you can,” he rejoined; + “I have not much to say.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and sighed heavily. I thought he looked at me more kindly. My + heart grew very sad; and I yearned to throw my arms round his neck, to + give freedom to the repressed tears which half choked me, to weep out on + his bosom my confession that I was no more worthy to be called his son. + Oh, that I had obeyed the impulse which moved me to do this! + </p> + <p> + “Basil,” pursued my father, gravely and sadly; “I hope and believe that I + have little to reproach myself with in my conduct towards you. I think I + am justified in saying, that very few fathers would have acted towards a + son as I have acted for the last year or more. I may often have grieved + over the secresy which has estranged you from us; I may even have shown + you by my manner that I resented it; but I have never used my authority to + force you into the explanation of your conduct, which you have been so + uniformly unwilling to volunteer. I rested on that implicit faith in the + honour and integrity of my son, which I will not yet believe to have been + ill-placed, but which, I fear, has led me to neglect too long the duty of + inquiry which I owed to your own well-being, and to my position towards + you. I am now here to atone for this omission; circumstances have left me + no choice. It deeply concerns my interest as a father, and my honour as + the head of our family, to know what heavy misfortune it was (I can + imagine it to be nothing else) that stretched my son senseless in the open + street, and afflicted him afterwards with an illness which threatened his + reason and his life. You are now sufficiently recovered to reveal this; + and I only use my legitimate authority over my own children, when I tell + you that I must now know all. If you persist in remaining silent, the + relations between us must henceforth change for life.” + </p> + <p> + “I am ready to make my confession, Sir. I only ask you to believe + beforehand, that if I have sinned grievously against you, I have been + already heavily punished for the sin. I am afraid it is impossible that + your worst forebodings can have prepared you—” + </p> + <p> + “The words you spoke in your delirium—words which I heard, but will + not judge you by—justified the worst forebodings.” + </p> + <p> + “My illness has spared me the hardest part of a hard trial, Sir, if it has + prepared you for what I have to confess; if you suspect—” + </p> + <p> + “I do not <i>suspect</i>—I feel but too <i>sure,</i> that you, my + second son, from whom I had expected far better things, have imitated in + secret—I am afraid, outstripped—the worst vices of your elder + brother.” + </p> + <p> + “My brother!—my brother’s faults mine! Ralph!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Ralph. It is my last hope that you will now imitate Ralph’s candour. + Take example from that best part of him, as you have already taken example + from the worst.” + </p> + <p> + My heart grew faint and cold as he spoke. Ralph’s example! Ralph’s vices!—vices + of the reckless hour, or the idle day!—vices whose stain, in the + world’s eye, was not a stain for life!—convenient, reclaimable + vices, that men were mercifully unwilling to associate with grinning + infamy and irreparable disgrace! How far—how fearfully far, my + father was from the remotest suspicion of what had really happened! I + tried to answer his last words, but the apprehension of the life-long + humiliation and grief which my confession might inflict on him—absolutely + incapable, as he appeared to be, of foreboding even the least degrading + part of it—kept me speechless. When he resumed, after a momentary + silence, his tones were stern, his looks searching—pitilessly + searching, and bent full upon my face. + </p> + <p> + “A person has been calling, named Sherwin,” he said, “and inquiring about + you every day. What intimate connection between you authorises this + perfect stranger to me to come to the house as frequently as he does, and + to make his inquiries with a familiarity of tone and manner which has + struck every one of the servants who have, on different occasions, opened + the door to him? Who is this Mr. Sherwin?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not with him, Sir, that I can well begin. I must go back—” + </p> + <p> + “You must go back farther, I am afraid, than you will be able to return. + You must go back to the time when you had nothing to conceal from me, and + when you could speak to me with the frankness and directness of a + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray be patient with me, Sir; give me a few minutes to collect myself. I + have much need for a little self-possession before I tell you all.” + </p> + <p> + “All? your tones mean more than your words—<i>they</i> are candid, + at least! Have I feared the worst, and yet not feared as I ought? Basil!—do + you hear me, Basil? You are trembling very strangely; you are growing + pale!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be better directly, Sir. I am afraid I am not quite so strong yet + as I thought myself. Father! I am heart-broken and spirit-broken: be + patient and kind to me, or I cannot speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + I thought I saw his eyes moisten. He shaded them a moment with his hand, + and sighed again—the same long, trembling sigh that I had heard + before. I tried to rise from my chair, and throw myself on my knees at his + feet. He mistook the action, and caught me by the arm, believing that I + was fainting. + </p> + <p> + “No more to-night, Basil,” he said, hurriedly, but very gently; “no more + on this subject till to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I can speak now, Sir; it is better to speak at once.” + </p> + <p> + “No: you are too much agitated; you are weaker than I thought. To-morrow, + in the morning, when you are stronger after a night’s rest. No! I will + hear nothing more. Go to bed now; I will tell your sister not to disturb + you to-night. To-morrow, you shall speak to me; and speak in your own way, + without interruption. Good-night, Basil, good-night.” + </p> + <p> + Without waiting to shake hands with me, he hastened to the door, as if + anxious to hide from my observation the grief and apprehension which had + evidently overcome him. But, just at the moment when he was leaving the + room, he hesitated, turned round, looked sorrowfully at me for an instant, + and then, retracing his steps, gave me his hand, pressed mine for a moment + in silence, and left me. + </p> + <p> + After the morrow was over, would he ever give me that hand again? + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + The morning which was to decide all between my father and me, the morning + on whose event hung the future of my home life, was the brightest and + loveliest that my eyes ever looked on. A cloudless sky, a soft air, + sunshine so joyous and dazzling that the commonest objects looked + beautiful in its light, seemed to be mocking at me for my heavy heart, as + I stood at my window, and thought of the hard duty to be fulfilled, on the + harder judgment that might be pronounced, before the dawning of another + day. + </p> + <p> + During the night, I had arranged no plan on which to conduct the terrible + disclosure which I was now bound to make—the greatness of the + emergency deprived me of all power of preparing myself for it. I thought + on my father’s character, on the inbred principles of honour which ruled + him with the stern influence of a fanaticism: I thought on his pride of + caste, so unobtrusive, so rarely hinted at in words, and yet so firmly + rooted in his nature, so intricately entwined with every one of his + emotions, his aspirations, his simplest feelings and ideas: I thought on + his almost feminine delicacy in shrinking from the barest mention of + impurities which other men could carelessly discuss, or could laugh over + as good material for an after-dinner jest. I thought over all this, and + when I remembered that it was to such a man that I must confess the + infamous marriage which I had contracted in secret, all hope from his + fatherly affection deserted me; all idea of appealing to his chivalrous + generosity became a delusion in which it was madness to put a moment’s + trust. + </p> + <p> + The faculties of observation are generally sharpened, in proportion as the + faculties of reflection are dulled, under the influence of an absorbing + suspense. While I now waited alone in my room, the most ordinary sounds + and events in the house, which I never remembered noticing before, + absolutely enthralled me. It seemed as if the noise of a footstep, the + echo of a voice, the shutting or opening of doors down stairs, must, on + this momentous day, presage some mysterious calamity, some strange + discovery, some secret project formed against me, I knew not how, or by + whom. Two or three times I found myself listening intently on the + staircase, with what object I could hardly tell. It was always, however, + on those occasions, that a dread, significant quiet appeared to have + fallen suddenly on the house. Clara never came to me, no message arrived + from my father; the door-bell seemed strangely silent, the servants + strangely neglectful of their duties above stairs. I caught myself + returning to my own room softly, as if I expected that some hidden + catastrophe might break forth, if sound of my footsteps were heard. + </p> + <p> + Would my father seek me again in my own room, or would he send for me down + stairs? It was not long before the doubt was decided. One of the servants + knocked at my door—the servant whose special duty it had been to + wait on me in my illness. I longed to take the man’s hand, and implore his + sympathy and encouragement while he addressed me. + </p> + <p> + “My master, Sir, desires me to say that, if you feel well enough, he + wishes to see you in his own room.” + </p> + <p> + I rose, and immediately followed the servant. On our way, we passed the + door of Clara’s private sitting-room—it opened, and my sister came + out and laid her hand on my arm. She smiled as I looked at her; but the + tears stood thick in her eyes, and her face was deadly pale. + </p> + <p> + “Think of what I said last night, Basil,” she whispered, “and, if hard + words are spoken to you, think of <i>me.</i> All that our mother would + have done for you, if she had been still among us, <i>I</i> will do. + Remember that, and keep heart and hope to the very last.” + </p> + <p> + She hastily returned to her room, and I went on down stairs. In the hall, + the servant was waiting for me, with a letter in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “This was left for you, Sir, a little while ago. The messenger who brought + it said he was not to wait for an answer.” + </p> + <p> + It was no time for reading letters—the interview with my father was + too close at hand. I hastily put the letter into my pocket, barely + noticing, as I did so, that the handwriting on the address was very + irregular, and quite unknown to me. + </p> + <p> + I went at once into my father’s room. + </p> + <p> + He was sitting at his table, cutting the leaves of some new books that lay + on it. Pointing to a chair placed opposite to him, he briefly inquired + after my health; and then added, in a lower tone— + </p> + <p> + “Take any time you like, Basil, to compose and collect yourself. This + morning my time is yours.” + </p> + <p> + He turned a little away from me, and went on cutting the leaves of the + books placed before him. Still utterly incapable of preparing myself in + any way for the disclosure expected from me; without thought or hope, or + feeling of any kind, except a vague sense of thankfulness for the reprieve + granted me before I was called on to speak—I mechanically looked + round and round the room, as if I expected to see the sentence to be + pronounced against me, already written on the walls, or grimly + foreshadowed in the faces of the old family portraits which hung above the + fireplace. + </p> + <p> + What man has ever felt that all his thinking powers were absorbed, even by + the most poignant mental misery that could occupy them? In moments of + imminent danger, the mind can still travel of its own accord over the + past, in spite of the present—in moments of bitter affliction, it + can still recur to every-day trifles, in spite of ourselves. While I now + sat silent in my father’s room, long-forgotten associations of childhood + connected with different parts of it, began to rise on my memory in the + strangest and most startling independence of any influence or control, + which my present agitation and suspense might be supposed to exercise over + them. The remembrances that should have been the last to be awakened at + this time of heavy trial, were the very remembrances which now moved + within me. + </p> + <p> + With burdened heart and aching eyes I looked over the walls around me. + There, in that corner, was the red cloth door which led to the library. As + children, how often Ralph and I had peeped curiously through that very + door, to see what my father was about in his study, to wonder why he had + so many letters to write, and so many books to read. How frightened we + both were, when he discovered us one day, and reproved us severely! How + happy the moment afterwards, when we had begged him to pardon us, and were + sent back to the library again with a great picture-book to look at, as a + token that we were both forgiven! Then, again, there was the high, + old-fashioned, mahogany press before the window, with the same large + illustrated folio about Jewish antiquities lying on it, which, years and + years ago, Clara and I were sometimes allowed to look at, as a special + treat, on Sunday afternoons; and which we always examined and re-examined + with never-ending delight—standing together on two chairs to reach + up to the thick, yellow-looking leaves, and turn them over with our own + hands. And there, in the recess between two bookcases, still stood the + ancient desk-table, with its rows of little inlaid drawers; and on the + bracket above it the old French clock, which had once belonged to my + mother, and which always chimed the hours so sweetly and merrily. It was + at that table that Ralph and I always bade my father farewell, when we + were going back to school after the holidays, and were receiving our + allowance of pocket-money, given to us out of one of the tiny inlaid + drawers, just before we started. Near that spot, too, Clara—then a + little rosy child—used to wait gravely and anxiously, with her doll + in her arms, to say good-bye for the last time, and to bid us come back + soon, and then never go away again. I turned, and looked abruptly towards + the window; for such memories as the room suggested were more than I could + bear. + </p> + <p> + Outside, in the dreary strip of garden, the few stunted, dusky trees were + now rustling as pleasantly in the air, as if the breeze that stirred them + came serenely over an open meadow, or swept freshly under their branches + from the rippling surface of a brook. Distant, but yet well within + hearing, the mighty murmur from a large thoroughfare—the great + mid-day voice of London—swelled grandly and joyously on the ear. + While, nearer still, in a street that ran past the side of the house, the + notes of an organ rang out shrill and fast; the instrument was playing its + liveliest waltz tune—a tune which I had danced to in the ball-room + over and over again. What mocking memories within, what mocking sounds + without, to herald and accompany such a confession as I had now to make! + </p> + <p> + Minute after minute glided on, inexorably fast; and yet I never broke + silence. My eyes turned anxiously and slowly on my father. + </p> + <p> + He was still looking away from me, still cutting the leaves of the books + before him. Even in that trifling action, the strong emotions which he was + trying to conceal, were plainly and terribly betrayed. His hand, usually + so steady and careful, trembled perceptibly; and the paper-knife tore + through the leaves faster and faster—cutting them awry, rending them + one from another, so as to spoil the appearance of every page. I believe + he <i>felt</i> that I was looking at him; for he suddenly discontinued his + employment, turned round towards me, and spoke— + </p> + <p> + “I have resolved to give you your own time,” he said, “and from that + resolve I have no wish to depart—I only ask you to remember that + every minute of delay adds to the suffering and suspense which I am + enduring on your account.” He opened the books before him again, adding in + lower and colder tones, as he did so—“In <i>your</i> place, Ralph + would have spoken before this.” + </p> + <p> + Ralph, and Ralph’s example quoted to me again!—I could remain silent + no longer. + </p> + <p> + “My brother’s faults towards you, and towards his family, are not such + faults as mine, Sir,” I began. “I have <i>not</i> imitated his vices; I + have acted as he would <i>not</i> have acted. And yet, the result of my + error will appear far more humiliating, and even disgraceful, in your + eyes, than the results of any errors of Ralph’s.” + </p> + <p> + As I pronounced the word “disgraceful,” he suddenly looked me full in the + face. His eyes lightened up sternly, and the warning red spot rose on his + pale cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by ‘disgraceful?’” he asked abruptly; “what do you mean + by associating such a word as <i>disgrace</i> with your conduct—with + the conduct of a son of mine?” + </p> + <p> + “I must reply to your question indirectly, Sir,” I continued. “You asked + me last night who the Mr. Sherwin was who has called here so often—” + </p> + <p> + “And this morning I ask it again. I have other questions to put to you, + besides—you called constantly on a woman’s name in your delirium. + But I will repeat last night’s question first—who <i>is</i> Mr. + Sherwin?” + </p> + <p> + “He lives—” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t ask where he lives. Who is he? What is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Sherwin is a linen-draper—” + </p> + <p> + “You owe him money?—you have borrowed money of him? Why did you not + tell me this before? You have degraded my house by letting a man call at + the door—I know it!—in the character of a dun. He has inquired + about you as his ‘friend,’—the servants told me of it. This + money-lending tradesman, your <i>‘friend!’</i> If I had heard that the + poorest labourer on my land called you ‘friend,’ I should have held you + honoured by the attachment and gratitude of an honest man. When I hear + that name given to you by a tradesman and money-lender, I hold you + contaminated by connection with a cheat. You were right, Sir!—this + <i>is</i> disgrace; how much do you owe? Where are your dishonoured + acceptances? Where have you used <i>my</i> name and <i>my</i> credit? Tell + me at once—I insist on it!” + </p> + <p> + He spoke rapidly and contemptuously, and rising from his chair as he + ended, walked impatiently up and down the room. + </p> + <p> + “I owe no money to Mr. Sherwin, Sir—no money to any one.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “No money to any one?” he repeated very slowly, and in very altered tones. + “You spoke of disgrace just now. There is a worse disgrace then that you + have hidden from me, than debts dishonourably contracted?” + </p> + <p> + At this moment, a step passed across the hall. He instantly turned round, + and locked the door on that side of the room—then continued: + </p> + <p> + “Speak! and speak honestly if you can. How have you been deceiving me? A + woman’s name escaped you constantly, when your delirium was at its worst. + You used some very strange expressions about her, which it was impossible + altogether to comprehend; but you said enough to show that her character + was one of the most abandoned; that her licentiousness—it is too + revolting to speak of <i>her</i>—I return to <i>you.</i> I insist on + knowing how far your vices have compromised you with that vicious woman.” + </p> + <p> + “She has wronged me—cruelly, horribly, wronged me—” I could + say no more. My head drooped on my breast; my shame overpowered me. + </p> + <p> + “Who is she? You called her Margaret, in your illness—who is she?” + </p> + <p> + “She is Mr. Sherwin’s daughter—” The words that I would fain have + spoken next, seemed to suffocate me. I was silent again. + </p> + <p> + I heard him mutter to himself: + </p> + <p> + <i>“That</i> man’s daughter!—a worse bait than the bait of money!” + </p> + <p> + He bent forward, and looked at me searchingly. A frightful paleness flew + over his face in an instant. + </p> + <p> + “Basil!” he cried, “in God’s name, answer me at once! What is Mr. + Sherwin’s daughter to <i>you?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “She is my wife!” + </p> + <p> + I heard no answer—not a word, not even a sigh. My eyes were blinded + with tears, my face was bent down; I saw nothing at first. When I raised + my head, and dashed away the blinding tears, and looked up, the blood + chilled at my heart. + </p> + <p> + My father was leaning against one of the bookcases, with his hands clasped + over his breast. His head was drawn back; his white lips moved, but no + sound came from them. Over his upturned face there had passed a ghastly + change, as indescribable in its awfulness as the change of death. + </p> + <p> + I ran horror-stricken to his side, and attempted to take his hand. He + started instantly into an erect position, and thrust me from him + furiously, without uttering a word. At that fearful moment, in that + fearful silence, the sounds out of doors penetrated with harrowing + distinctness and merriment into the room. The pleasant rustling of the + trees mingled musically with the softened, monotonous rolling of carriages + in the distant street, while the organ-tune, now changed to the lively + measure of a song, rang out clear and cheerful above both, and poured into + the room as lightly and happily as the very sunshine itself. + </p> + <p> + For a few minutes we stood apart, and neither of us moved or spoke. I saw + him take out his handkerchief, and pass it over his face, breathing + heavily and thickly, and leaning against the bookcase once more. When he + withdrew the handkerchief and looked at me again, I knew that the sharp + pang of agony had passed away, that the last hard struggle between his + parental affection and his family pride was over, and that the great gulph + which was hence-forth to separate father and son, had now opened between + us for ever. + </p> + <p> + He pointed peremptorily to me to go back to my former place, but did not + return to his own chair. As I obeyed, I saw him unlock the door of the + bookcase against which he had been leaning, and place his hand on one of + the books inside. Without withdrawing it from its place, without turning + or looking towards me, he asked if I had anything more to say to him. + </p> + <p> + The chilling calmness of his tones, the question itself, and the time at + which he put it, the unnatural repression of a single word of rebuke, of + passion, or of sorrow, after such a confession as I had just made, struck + me speechless. He turned a little away from the bookcase—still + keeping his hand on the book inside—and repeated the question. His + eyes, when they met mine, had a pining, weary look, as if they had been + long condemned to rest on woeful and revolting objects; his expression had + lost its natural refinement, its gentleness of repose, and had assumed a + hard, lowering calmness, under which his whole countenance appeared to + have shrunk and changed—years of old age seemed to have fallen on + it, since I had spoken the last fatal words! + </p> + <p> + “Have you anything more to say to me?” + </p> + <p> + On the repetition of that terrible question, I sank down in the chair at + my side, and hid my face in my hands. Unconscious how I spoke, or why I + spoke; with no hope in myself, or in him; with no motive but to invite and + bear the whole penalty of my disgrace, I now disclosed the miserable story + of my marriage, and of all that followed it. I remember nothing of the + words I used—-nothing of what I urged in my own defence. The sense + of bewilderment and oppression grew heavier and heavier on my brain; I + spoke more and more rapidly, confusedly, unconsciously, until I was again + silenced and recalled to myself by the sound of my father’s voice. I + believe I had arrived at the last, worst part of my confession, when he + interrupted me. + </p> + <p> + “Spare me any more details,” he said, bitterly, “you have humiliated me + sufficiently—you have spoken enough.” + </p> + <p> + He removed the book on which his hand had hitherto rested from the case + behind him, and advanced with it to the table—paused for a moment, + pale and silent—then slowly opened it at the first page, and resumed + his chair. + </p> + <p> + I recognised the book instantly. It was a biographical history of his + family, from the time of his earliest ancestors down to the date of the + births of his own children. The thick quarto pages were beautifully + illuminated in the manner of the ancient manuscripts; and the narrative, + in written characters, had been produced under his own inspection. This + book had cost him years of research and perseverance. The births and + deaths, the marriages and possessions, the battle achievements and private + feuds of the old Norman barons from whom he traced his descent, were all + enrolled in regular order on every leaf—headed, sometimes merely by + representations of the Knight’s favourite weapon; sometimes by copies of + the Baron’s effigy on his tombstone in a foreign land. As the history + advanced to later dates, beautiful miniature portraits were inlaid at the + top of each leaf; and the illuminations were so managed as to symbolize + the remarkable merits or the peculiar tastes of the subject of each + biography. Thus, the page devoted to my mother was surrounded by her + favourite violets, clustering thickest round the last melancholy lines of + writing which told the story of her death. + </p> + <p> + Slowly and in silence, my father turned over the leaves of the book which, + next to the Bible, I believe he most reverenced in the world, until he + came to the last-written page but one—the page which I knew, from + its position, to be occupied by my name. At the top, a miniature portrait + of me, when a child, was let into the leaf. Under it, was the record of my + birth and names, of the School and College at which I had been taught, and + of the profession that I had adopted. Below, a large blank space was left + for the entry of future particulars. On this page my father now looked, + still not uttering a word, still with the same ghastly calmness on his + face. The organ-notes sounded no more; but the trees rustled as + pleasantly, and the roar of the distant carriages swelled as joyously as + ever on the ear. Some children had come out to play in the garden of a + neighbouring house. As their voices reached us, so fresh, and clear, and + happy—but another modulation of the thanksgiving song to God which + the trees were singing in the summer air—I saw my father, while he + still looked on the page before him, clasp his trembling hands over my + portrait so as to hide it from sight. + </p> + <p> + Then he spoke; but without looking up, and more as if he were speaking to + himself than to me. His voice, at other times clear and gentle in its + tones, was now so hard and harsh in its forced calmness and deliberation + of utterance, that it sounded like a stranger’s. + </p> + <p> + “I came here, this morning,” he began, “prepared to hear of faults and + misfortunes which should pain me to the heart; which I might never, + perhaps, be able to forget, however willing and even predetermined to + forgive. But I did <i>not</i> come prepared to hear, that unutterable + disgrace had been cast on me and mine, by my own child. I have no words of + rebuke or of condemnation for this: the reproach and the punishment have + fallen already where the guilt was—and not there only. My son’s + infamy defiles his brother’s birthright, and puts his father to shame. + Even his sister’s name—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, shuddering. When he proceeded, his voice faltered, and his + head drooped low. + </p> + <p> + “I say it again:—you are below all reproach and all condemnation; + but I have a duty to perform towards my two who are absent, and I have a + last word to say to <i>you</i> when that duty is done. On this page—” + (as he pointed to the family history, his tones strengthened again)—“on + this page there is a blank space left, after the last entry, for writing + the future events of your life. Here, then, if I still acknowledge you to + be my son; if I think your presence and the presence of my daughter + possible in the same house, must be written such a record of dishonour and + degradation as has never yet defiled a single page of this book—here, + the foul stain of your marriage, and its consequences, must be admitted to + spread over all that is pure before it, and to taint to the last whatever + comes after. This shall not be. I have no faith or hope in you more. I + know you now, only as an enemy to me and to my house—it is mockery + and hypocrisy to call you son; it is an insult to Clara, and even to + Ralph, to think of you as my child. In this record your place is destroyed—and + destroyed for ever. Would to God I could tear the past from my memory, as + I tear the leaf from this book!” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, the hour struck; and the old French clock rang out gaily the + same little silvery chime which my mother had so often taken me into her + room to listen to, in the bygone time. The shrill, lively peal mingled + awfully with the sharp, tearing sound, as my father rent out from the book + before him the whole of the leaf which contained my name; tore it into + fragments, and cast them on the floor. + </p> + <p> + He rose abruptly, after he had closed the book again. His cheeks flushed + once more; and when he next spoke, his voice grew louder and louder with + every word he uttered. It seemed as if he still distrusted his resolution + to abandon me; and sought, in his anger, the strength of purpose which, in + his calmer mood, he might even yet have been unable to command. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Sir,” he said, “we treat together as strangers. You are Mr. + Sherwin’s son—not mine. You are the husband of his daughter—not + a relation of my family. Rise, as I do: we sit together no longer in the + same room. Write!” (he pushed pen, ink, and paper before me,) “write your + terms there—I shall find means to keep you to a written engagement—the + terms of your absence, for life, from this country; and of hers: the terms + of your silence, and of the silence of your accomplices; of all of them. + Write what you please; I am ready to pay dearly for your absence, your + secrecy, and your abandonment of the name you have degraded. My God! that + I should live to bargain for hushing up the dishonour of my family, and to + bargain for it with <i>you.</i>” + </p> + <p> + I had listened to him hitherto without pleading a word in my own behalf; + but his last speech roused me. Some of <i>his</i> pride stirred in my + heart against the bitterness of his contempt. I raised my head, and met + his eye steadily for the first time—then, thrust the writing + materials away from me, and left my place at the table. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” he cried. “Do you pretend that you have not understood me?” + </p> + <p> + “It is <i>because</i> I have understood you, Sir, that I go. I have + deserved your anger, and have submitted without a murmur to all that it + could inflict. If you see in my conduct towards you no mitigation of my + offence; if you cannot view the shame and wrong inflicted on me, with such + grief as may have some pity mixed with it—I have, I think, the right + to ask that your contempt may be silent, and your last words to me, not + words of insult.” + </p> + <p> + “Insult! After what has happened, is it for <i>you</i> to utter that word + in the tone in which you have just spoken it? I tell you again, I insist + on your written engagement as I would insist on the engagement of a + stranger—I will have it, before you leave this room!” + </p> + <p> + “All, and more than all, which that degrading engagement could imply, I + will do. But I have not fallen so low yet, as to be bribed to perform a + duty. You may be able to forget that you are my father; I can never forget + that I am your son.” + </p> + <p> + “The remembrance will avail you nothing as long as I live. I tell you + again, I insist on your written engagement, though it were only to show + that I have ceased to believe in your word. Write at once—do you + hear me?—Write!” + </p> + <p> + I neither moved nor answered. His face changed again, and grew livid; his + fingers trembled convulsively, and crumpled the sheet of paper, as he + tried to take it up from the table on which it lay. + </p> + <p> + “You refuse?” he said quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I have already told you, Sir—” + </p> + <p> + “Go!” he interrupted, pointing passionately to the door, “go out from this + house, never to return to it again—go, not as a stranger to me, but + as an enemy! I have no faith in a single promise you have made: there is + no baseness which I do not believe you will yet be guilty of. But I tell + you, and the wretches with whom you are leagued, to take warning: I have + wealth, power, and position; and there is no use to which I will not put + them against the man or woman who threatens the fair fame of this family. + Leave me, remembering that—and leave me for ever!” + </p> + <p> + Just as he uttered the last word, just as my hand was on the lock of the + door, a faint sound—something between breathing and speaking—was + audible in the direction of the library. He started, and looked round. + Impelled, I know not how, I paused on the point of going out. My eyes + followed his, and fixed on the cloth door which led into the library. + </p> + <p> + It opened a little—then shut again—then opened wide. Slowly + and noiselessly, Clara came into the room. + </p> + <p> + The silence and suddenness of her entrance at such a moment; the look of + terror which changed to unnatural vacancy the wonted softness and + gentleness of her eyes, her pale face, her white dress, and slow, + noiseless step, made her first appearance in the room seem almost + supernatural; it was as if an apparition had been walking towards us, and + not Clara herself! As she approached my father, he pronounced her name in + astonishment; but his voice sank to a whisper, while he spoke it. For an + instant, she paused, hesitating—I saw her tremble as her eyes met + his—then, as they turned towards me, the brave girl came on; and, + taking my hand, stood and faced my father, standing by my side. + </p> + <p> + “Clara!” he exclaimed again, still in the same whispering tones. + </p> + <p> + I felt her cold hand close fast on mine; the grasp of the chill, frail + fingers was almost painful to me. Her lips moved, but her quick, + hysterical breathing made the few words she uttered inarticulate. + </p> + <p> + “Clara!” repeated my father, for the third time, his voice rising, but + sinking again immediately—when he spoke his next words, “Clara,” he + resumed, sadly and gently, “let go his hand; this is not a time for your + presence, I beg you to leave us. You must not take his hand! He has ceased + to be my son, or your brother. Clara, do you not hear me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir, I hear you,” she answered. “God grant that my mother in heaven + may not hear you too!” + </p> + <p> + He was approaching while she replied; but at her last words, he stopped + instantly, and turned his face away from us. Who shall say what + remembrances of other days shook him to the heart? + </p> + <p> + “You have spoken, Clara, as you should not have spoken,” he went on, + without looking up. “Your mother—” his voice faltered and failed + him. “Can you still hold his hand after what I have said? I tell you + again, he is unworthy to be in your presence; my house is his home no + longer—must I <i>command</i> you to leave him?” + </p> + <p> + The deeply planted instinct of gentleness and obedience prevailed; she + dropped my hand, but did not move away from me, even yet. + </p> + <p> + “Now leave us, Clara,” he said. “You were wrong, my love, to be in that + room, and wrong to come in here. I will speak to you up-stairs—you + must remain here no longer.” + </p> + <p> + She clasped her trembling fingers together, and sighed heavily. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot go, Sir,” she said quickly and breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Must I tell you for the first time in your life, that you are acting + disobediently?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot go,” she repeated in the same manner, “till you have said you + will let him atone for his offence, and will forgive him.” + </p> + <p> + “For <i>his</i> offence there is neither atonement nor forgiveness. Clara! + are you so changed, that you can disobey me to my face?” + </p> + <p> + He walked away from us as he said this. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! no!” She ran towards him; but stopped halfway, and looked back at + me affrightedly, as I stood near the door. “Basil,” she cried, “you have + not done what you promised me; you have not been patient. Oh, Sir, if I + have ever deserved kindness from you, be kind to him for <i>my</i> sake! + Basil! speak, Basil! Ask his pardon on your knees. Father, I promised him + he should be forgiven, if I asked you. Not a word; not a word from either? + Basil! you are not going yet—not going at all! Remember, Sir, how + good and kind he has always been to <i>me.</i> My poor mother, (I <i>must</i> + speak of her), my poor mother’s favourite son—you have told me so + yourself! and he has always been my favourite brother; I think because my + mother loved him so! His first fault, too! his first grief! And will you + tell him for this, that our home is <i>his</i> home no longer? Punish <i>me,</i> + Sir! I have done wrong like him; when I heard your voices so loud, I + listened in the library. He’s going! No, no, no! not yet!” + </p> + <p> + She ran to the door as I opened it, and pushed it to again. Overwhelmed by + the violence of her agitation, my father had sunk into a chair while she + was speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Come back—come back with me to his knees!” she whispered, fixing + her wild, tearless eyes on mine, flinging her arms round my neck, and + trying to lead me with her from the door. “Come back, or you will drive me + mad!” she repeated loudly, drawing me away towards my father. + </p> + <p> + He rose instantly from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Clara,” he said, “I command you, leave him!” He advanced a few steps + towards me. “Go!” he cried; “if you are human in your villany, you will + release me from this!” + </p> + <p> + I whispered in her ear, “I will write, love—I will write,” and + disengaged her arms from my neck—they were hanging round it weakly, + already! As I passed the door, I turned back, and looked again into the + room for the last time. + </p> + <p> + Clara was in my father’s arms, her head lay on his shoulder, her face was + as still in its heavenly calmness as if the world and the world’s looks + knew it no more, and the only light that fell on it now, was light from + the angel’s eyes. She had fainted. + </p> + <p> + He was standing with one arm round her, his disengaged hand was searching + impatiently over the wall behind him for the bell, and his eyes were fixed + in anguish and in love unutterable on the peaceful face, hushed in its sad + repose so close beneath his own. For one moment, I saw him thus, ere I + closed the door—the next, I had left the house. + </p> + <p> + I never entered it again—I have never seen my father since. + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + We are seldom able to discover under any ordinary conditions of + self-knowledge, how intimately that spiritual part of us, which is + undying, can attach to itself and its operations the poorest objects of + that external world around us, which is perishable. In the ravelled skein, + the slightest threads are the hardest to follow. In analysing the + associations and sympathies which regulate the play of our passions, the + simplest and homeliest are the last that we detect. It is only when the + shock comes, and the mind recoils before it—when joy is changed into + sorrow, or sorrow into joy—that we really discern what trifles in + the outer world our noblest mental pleasures, or our severest mental + pains, have made part of themselves; atoms which the whirlpool has drawn + into its vortex, as greedily and as surely as the largest mass. + </p> + <p> + It was reserved for me to know this, when—after a moment’s pause + before the door of my father’s house, more homeless, then, than the + poorest wretch who passed me on the pavement, and had wife or kindred to + shelter him in a garret that night—my steps turned, as of old, in + the direction of North Villa. + </p> + <p> + Again I passed over the scene of my daily pilgrimage, always to the same + shrine, for a whole year; and now, for the first time, I knew that there + was hardly a spot along the entire way, which my heart had not + unconsciously made beautiful and beloved to me by some association with + Margaret Sherwin. Here was the friendly, familiar shop-window, filled with + the glittering trinkets which had so often lured me in to buy presents for + her, on my way to the house. There was the noisy street corner, void of + all adornment in itself, but once bright to me with the fairy-land + architecture of a dream, because I knew that at that place I had passed + over half the distance which separated my home from hers. Farther on, the + Park trees came in sight—trees that no autumn decay or winter + nakedness could make dreary, in the bygone time; for she and I had walked + under them together. And further yet, was the turning which led from the + long, suburban road into Hollyoake Square—the lonely, dust-whitened + place, around which my past happiness and my wasted hopes had flung their + golden illusions, like jewels hung round the coarse wooden image of a + Roman saint. Dishonoured and ruined, it was among such associations as + these—too homely to have been recognised by me in former times—that + I journeyed along the well-remembered way to North Villa. + </p> + <p> + I went on without hesitating, without even a thought of turning back. I + had said that the honour of my family should not suffer by the calamity + which had fallen on me; and, while life remained, I was determined that + nothing should prevent me from holding to my word. It was from this + resolution that I drew the faith in myself, the confidence in my + endurance, the sustaining calmness under my father’s sentence of + exclusion, which nerved me to go on. I must inevitably see Mr. Sherwin + (perhaps even suffer the humiliation of seeing her!)—must inevitably + speak such words, disclose such truths, as should show him that deceit was + henceforth useless. I must do this and more, I must be prepared to guard + the family to which—though banished from it—I still belonged, + from every conspiracy against them that detected crime or shameless + cupidity could form, whether in the desire of revenge, or in the hope of + gain.. A hard, almost an impossible task—but, nevertheless, a task + that must be done! + </p> + <p> + I kept the thought of this necessity before my mind unceasingly; not only + as a duty, but as a refuge from another thought, to which I dared not for + a moment turn. The still, pale face which I had seen lying hushed on my + father’s breast—CLARA!—That way, lay the grief that weakens, + the yearning and the terror that are near despair; that way was not it for + <i>me.</i> + </p> + <p> + The servant was at the garden-gate of North Villa—the same servant + whom I had seen and questioned in the first days of my fatal delusion. She + was receiving a letter from a man, very poorly dressed, who walked away + the moment I approached. Her confusion and surprise were so great as she + let me in, that she could hardly look at, or speak to me. It was only when + I was ascending the door-steps that she said— + </p> + <p> + “Miss Margaret”—(she still gave her that name!)—“Miss Margaret + is upstairs, Sir. I suppose you would like—” + </p> + <p> + “I have no wish to see her: I want to speak to Mr. Sherwin.” + </p> + <p> + Looking more bewildered, and even frightened, than before, the girl + hurriedly opened one of the doors in the passage. I saw, as I entered, + that she had shown me, in her confusion, into the wrong room. Mr. Sherwin, + who was in the apartment, hastily drew a screen across the lower end of + it, apparently to hide something from me; which, however, I had not seen + as I came in. + </p> + <p> + He advanced, holding out his hand; but his restless eyes wandered + unsteadily, looking away from me towards the screen. + </p> + <p> + “So you have come at last, have you? Just let’s step into the + drawing-room: the fact is—I thought I wrote to you about it—?” + </p> + <p> + He stopped suddenly, and his outstretched arm fell to his side. I had not + said a word. Something in my look and manner must have told him already on + what errand I had come. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you speak?” he said, after a moment’s pause. “What are you + looking at me like that for? Stop! Let’s say our say in the other room.” + He walked past me towards the door, and half opened it. + </p> + <p> + Why was he so anxious to get me away? Who, or what, was he hiding behind + the screen? The servant had said his daughter was upstairs; remembering + this, and suspecting every action or word that came from him, I determined + to remain in the room, and discover his secret. It was evidently connected + with me. + </p> + <p> + “Now then,” he continued, opening the door a little wider, “it’s only + across the hall, you know; and I always receive visitors in the best + room.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been admitted here,” I replied, “and have neither time nor + inclination to follow you from room to room, just as you like. What I have + to say is not much; and, unless you give me fit reasons to the contrary, I + shall say it here.” + </p> + <p> + “You will, will you? Let me tell you that’s damned like what we plain + mercantile men call downright incivility. I say it again—incivility; + and rudeness too, if you like it better.” He saw I was determined, and + closed the door as he spoke, his face twitching and working violently, and + his quick, evil eyes turned again in the direction of the screen. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he continued, with a sulky defiance of manner and look, “do as you + like; stop here—you’ll wish you hadn’t before long, I’ll be bound! + You don’t seem to hurry yourself much about speaking, so <i>I</i> shall + sit down. <i>You</i> can do as you please. Now then! just let’s cut it + short—do you come here in a friendly way, to ask me to send for <i>my</i> + girl downstairs, and to show yourself the gentleman, or do you not?” + </p> + <p> + “You have written me two letters, Mr. Sherwin—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes: and took devilish good care you should get them—I left them + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “In writing those letters, you were either grossly deceived; and, in that + case, are only to be pitied, or—” + </p> + <p> + “Pitied! what the devil do you mean by that? Nobody wants your pity here.” + </p> + <p> + “Or you have been trying to deceive me; and in that case, I have to tell + you that deceit is henceforth useless. I know all—more than you + suspect: more, I believe, than you would wish me to have known.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s your tack, is it? By God, I expected as much the moment you + came in! What! you don’t believe <i>my</i> girl—don’t you? You’re + going to fight shy, and behave like a scamp—are you? Damn your + infernal coolness and your aristocratic airs and graces! You shall see + I’ll be even with you—you shall. Ha! ha! look here!—here’s the + marriage certificate safe in my pocket. You won’t do the honourable by my + poor child—won’t you? Come out! Come away! You’d better—I’m + off to your father to blow the whole business; I am, as sure as my name’s + Sherwin!” + </p> + <p> + He struck his fist on the table, and started up, livid with passion. The + screen trembled a little, and a slight rustling noise was audible behind + it, just as he advanced towards me. He stopped instantly, with an oath, + and looked back. + </p> + <p> + “I warn you to remain here,” I said. “This morning, my father has heard + all from my lips. He has renounced me as his son, and I have left his + house for ever.” + </p> + <p> + He turned round quickly, staring at me with a face of mingled fury and + dismay. + </p> + <p> + “Then you come to me a beggar!” he burst out; “a beggar who has taken me + in about his fine family, and his fine prospects; a beggar who can’t + support my child—Yes! I say it again, a beggar who looks me in the + face, and talks as you do. I don’t care a damn about you or your father! I + know my rights; I’m an Englishman, thank God! I know my rights, and <i>my</i> + Margaret’s rights; and I’ll have them in spite of you both. Yes! you may + stare as angry as you like; staring don’t hurt. I’m an honest man, and <i>my</i> + girl’s an honest girl!” + </p> + <p> + I was looking at him, at that moment, with the contempt that I really + felt; his rage produced no other sensation in me. All higher and quicker + emotions seemed to have been dried at their sources by the events of the + morning. + </p> + <p> + “I say <i>my</i> girl’s an honest girl,” he repeated, sitting down again; + “and I dare you, or anybody—I don’t care who—to prove the + contrary. You told me you knew all, just now. What <i>all?</i> Come! we’ll + have this out before we do anything else. She says she’s innocent, and I + say she’s innocent: and if I could find out that damnation scoundrel + Mannion, and get him here, I’d make him say it too. Now, after all that, + what have you got against her?—against your lawful wife; and I’ll + make you own her as such, and keep her as such, I can promise you!” + </p> + <p> + “I am not here to ask questions, or to answer them,” I replied—“my + errand in this house is simply to tell you, that the miserable falsehoods + contained in your letter, will avail you as little as the foul insolence + of language by which you are now endeavouring to support them. I told you + before, and I now tell you again, I know all. I had been inside that + house, before I saw your daughter at the door; and had heard, from <i>her</i> + voice and <i>his</i> voice, what such shame and misery as you cannot + comprehend forbid me to repeat. To your past duplicity, and to your + present violence, I have but one answer to give:—I will never see + your daughter again.” + </p> + <p> + “But you <i>shall</i> see her again—yes! and keep her too! Do you + think I can’t see through you and your precious story? Your father’s cut + you off with a shilling; and now you want to curry favour with him again + by trumping up a case against <i>my</i> girl, and trying to get her off + your hands that way. But it won’t do! You’ve married her, my fine + gentleman, and you shall stick to her! Do you think I wouldn’t sooner + believe her, than believe you? Do you think I’ll stand this? Here she is + up-stairs, half heart-broken, on my hands; here’s my wife”—(his + voice sank suddenly as he said this)—“with her mind in such a state + that I’m kept away from business, day after day, to look after her; here’s + all this crying and misery and mad goings-on in my house, because you + choose to behave like a scamp—and do you think I’ll put up with it + quietly? I’ll make you do your duty to <i>my</i> girl, if she goes to the + parish to appeal against you! <i>Your</i> story indeed! Who’ll believe + that a young female, like Margaret, could have taken to a fellow like + Mannion? and kept it all a secret from you? Who believes that, I should + like to know?” + </p> + <p> + <i>“I believe it!”</i> + </p> + <p> + The third voice which pronounced those words was Mrs. Sherwin’s. + </p> + <p> + But was the figure that now came out from behind the screen, the same + frail, shrinking figure which had so often moved my pity in the past time? + the same wan figure of sickness and sorrow, ever watching in the + background of the fatal love-scenes at North Villa; ever looking like the + same spectre-shadow, when the evenings darkened in as I sat by Margaret’s + side? + </p> + <p> + Had the grave given up its dead? I stood awe-struck, neither speaking nor + moving while she walked towards me. She was clothed in the white garments + of the sick-room—they looked on <i>her</i> like the raiment of the + tomb. Her figure, which I only remembered as drooping with premature + infirmity, was now straightened convulsively to its proper height; her + arms hung close at her side, like the arms of a corpse; the natural + paleness of her face had turned to an earthy hue; its natural expression, + so meek, so patient, so melancholy in uncomplaining sadness, was gone; + and, in its stead, was left a pining stillness that never changed; a weary + repose of lifeless waking—the awful seal of Death stamped ghastly on + the living face; the awful look of Death staring out from the chill, + shining eyes. + </p> + <p> + Her husband kept his place, and spoke to her as she stopped opposite to + me. His tones were altered, but his manner showed as little feeling as + ever. + </p> + <p> + “There now!” he began, “you said you were sure he’d come here, and that + you’d never take to your bed, as the Doctor wanted you, till you’d seen + him and spoken to him. Well, he <i>has</i> come; there he is. He came in + while you were asleep, I rather think; and I let him stop, so that if you + woke up and wanted to see him, you might. You can’t say—nobody can + say—I haven’t given in to your whims and fancies after that. There! + you’ve had your way, and you’ve said you believe him; and now, if I ring + for the nurse, you’ll go upstairs at last, and make no more worry about it—Eh?” + </p> + <p> + She moved her head slowly, and looked at him. As those dying eyes met his, + as that face on which the light of life was darkening fast, turned on him, + even <i>his</i> gross nature felt the shock. I saw him shrink—his + sallow cheeks whitened, he moved his chair away, and said no more. + </p> + <p> + She looked back to me again, and spoke. Her voice was still the same soft, + low voice as ever. It was fearful to hear how little it had altered, and + then to look on the changed face. + </p> + <p> + “I am dying,” she said to me. “Many nights have passed since that night + when Margaret came home by herself and I felt something moving down into + my heart, when I looked at her, which I knew was death—many nights, + since I have been used to say my prayers, and think I had said them for + the last time, before I dared shut my eyes in the darkness and the quiet. + I have lived on till to-day, very weary of my life ever since that night + when Margaret came in; and yet, I could not die, because I had an + atonement to make to <i>you,</i> and you never came to hear it and forgive + me. I was not fit for God to take me till you came—I know that, know + it to be truth from a dream.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, still looking at me, but with the same deathly blank of + expression. The eye had ceased to speak already; nothing but the voice was + left. + </p> + <p> + “My husband has asked, who will believe you?” she went on; her weak tones + gathering strength with every fresh word she uttered. “I have answered + that <i>I</i> will; for you have spoken the truth. Now, when the light of + this world is fading from my eyes; here, in this earthly home of much + sorrow and suffering, which I must soon quit—in the presence of my + husband—under the same roof with my sinful child—I bear you + witness that you have spoken the truth. I, her mother, say it of her: + Margaret Sherwin is guilty; she is no more worthy to be called your wife.” + </p> + <p> + She pronounced the last words slowly, distinctly, solemnly. Till that + fearful denunciation was spoken, her husband had been looking sullenly and + suspiciously towards us, as we stood together; but while she uttered it, + his eyes fell, and he turned away his head in silence. + </p> + <p> + He never looked up, never moved, or interrupted her, as she continued, + still addressing me; but now speaking very slowly and painfully, pausing + longer and longer between every sentence. + </p> + <p> + “From this room I go to my death-bed. The last words I speak in this world + shall be to my husband, and shall change his heart towards you. I have + been weak of purpose,” (as she said this, a strange sweetness and + mournfulness began to steal over her tones,) “miserably, guiltily weak, + all my life. Much sorrow and pain and heavy disappointment, when I was + young, did some great harm to me which I have never recovered since. I + have lived always in fear of others, and doubt of myself; and this has + made me guilty of a great sin towards <i>you.</i> Forgive me before I die! + I suspected the guilt that was preparing—I foreboded the shame that + was to come—they hid it from others’ eyes; but, from the first, they + could not hide it from mine—and yet I never warned you as I ought! + <i>That</i> man had the power of Satan over me! I always shuddered before + him, as I used to shudder at the darkness when I was a little child! My + life has been all fear—fear of <i>him;</i> fear of my husband, and + even of my daughter; fear, worse still, of my own thoughts, and of what I + had discovered that should be told to <i>you.</i> When I tried to speak, + you were too generous to understand me—I was afraid to think my + suspicions were right, long after they should have been suspicions no + longer. It was misery!—oh, what misery from then till now!” + </p> + <p> + Her voice died away for a moment, in faint, breathless murmurings. She + struggled to recover it, and repeated in a whisper: + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me before I die! I have made a terrible atonement; I have borne + witness against the innocence of my own child. My own child! I dare not + bid God bless her, if they bring her to my bedside!—forgive me!—forgive + me before I die!” + </p> + <p> + She took my hand, and pressed it to her cold lips. The tears gushed into + my eyes, as I tried to speak to her. + </p> + <p> + “No tears for <i>me!</i>” she murmured gently. “Basil!—let me call + you as your mother would call you if she was alive—Basil! pray that + I may be forgiven in the dreadful Eternity to which I go, as <i>you</i> + have forgiven me! And, for <i>her?</i>—oh! who will pray for <i>her</i> + when I am gone?” + </p> + <p> + Those words were the last I heard her pronounce. Exhausted beyond the + power of speaking more, though it were only in a whisper, she tried to + take my hand again, and express by a gesture the irrevocable farewell. But + her strength failed her even for this—failed her with awful + suddenness. Her hand moved halfway towards mine; then stopped, and + trembled for a moment in the air; then fell to her side, with the fingers + distorted and clenched together. She reeled where she stood, and sank + helplessly as I stretched out my arms to support her. + </p> + <p> + Her husband rose fretfully from his chair, and took her from me. When his + eyes met mine, the look of sullen self-restraint in his countenance was + crossed, in an instant, by an expression of triumphant malignity. He + whispered to me: “If you don’t change your tone by to-morrow!”—paused—and + then, without finishing the sentence, moved away abruptly, and supported + his wife to the door. + </p> + <p> + Just when her face was turned towards where I stood, as he took her out, I + thought I saw the cold, vacant eyes soften as they rested on me, and + change again tenderly to the old look of patience and sadness which I + remembered so well. Was my imagination misleading me? or had the light of + that meek spirit shone out on earth, for the last time at parting, in + token of farewell to mine? She was gone to me, gone for ever—before + I could look nearer, and know. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + I was told, afterwards, how she died. + </p> + <p> + For the rest of that day, and throughout the night, she lay speechless, + but still alive. The next morning, the faint pulse still fluttered. As the + day wore on, the doctors applied fresh stimulants, and watched her in + astonishment; for they had predicted her death as impending every moment, + at least twelve hours before. When they spoke of this to her husband, his + behaviour was noticed as very altered and unaccountable by every one. He + sulkily refused to believe that her life was in danger; he roughly accused + anybody who spoke of her death, as wanting to fix on him the imputation of + having ill-used her, and so being the cause of her illness; and more than + this, he angrily vindicated himself to every one about her—even to + the servants—by quoting the indulgence he had shown to her fancy for + seeing me when I called, and his patience while she was (as he termed it) + wandering in her mind in trying to talk to me. The doctors, suspecting how + his uneasy conscience was accusing him, forbore in disgust all + expostulation. Except when he was in his daughter’s room, he was shunned + by everybody in the house. + </p> + <p> + Just before noon, on the second day, Mrs. Sherwin rallied a little under + the stimulants administered to her, and asked to see her husband alone. + Both her words and manner gave the lie to his assertion that her faculties + were impaired—it was observed by all her attendants, that whenever + she had strength to speak, her speech never wandered in the slightest + degree. Her husband quitted her room more fretfully uneasy, more sullenly + suspicious of the words and looks of those about him than ever—went + instantly to seek his daughter—and sent her in alone to her mother’s + bedside. In a few minutes, she hurriedly came out again, pale, and + violently agitated; and was heard to say, that she had been spoken to so + unnaturally, and so shockingly, that she could not, and would not, enter + that room again until her mother was better. Better! the father and + daughter were both agreed in that; both agreed that she was not dying, but + only out of her mind. + </p> + <p> + During the afternoon, the doctors ordered that Mrs. Sherwin should not be + allowed to see her husband or her child again, without their permission. + There was little need of taking such a precaution to preserve the + tranquillity of her last moments. As the day began to decline, she sank + again into insensibility: her life was just not death, and that was all. + She lingered on in this quiet way, with her eyes peacefully closed, and + her breathing so gentle as to be quite inaudible, until late in the + evening. Just as it grew quite dark, and the candle was lit in the sick + room, the servant who was helping to watch by her, drew aside the curtain + to look at her mistress; and saw that, though her eyes were still closed, + she was smiling. The girl turned round, and beckoned to the nurse to come + to the bedside. When they lifted the curtains again to look at her, she + was dead. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Let me return to the day of my last visit to North Villa. More remains to + be recorded, before my narrative can advance to the morrow. + </p> + <p> + After the door had closed, and I knew that I had looked my last on Mrs. + Sherwin in this world, I remained a few minutes alone in the room, until I + had steadied my mind sufficiently to go out again into the streets. As I + walked down the garden-path to the gate, the servant whom I had seen on my + entrance, ran after me, and eagerly entreated that I would wait one moment + and speak to her. + </p> + <p> + When I stopped and looked at the girl, she burst into tears. “I’m afraid + I’ve been doing wrong, Sir,” she sobbed out, “and at this dreadful time + too, when my poor mistress is dying! If you please, Sir, I <i>must</i> + tell you about it!” + </p> + <p> + I gave her a little time to compose herself; and then asked what she had + to say. + </p> + <p> + “I think you must have seen a man leaving a letter with me, Sir,” she + continued, “just when you came up to the door, a little while ago?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes: I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “It was for Miss Margaret, Sir, that letter; and I was to keep it secret; + and—and—it isn’t the first I’ve taken in for her. It’s weeks + and weeks ago, Sir, that the same man came with a letter, and gave me + money to let nobody see it but Miss Margaret—and that time, Sir, he + waited; and she sent me with an answer to give him, in the same secret + way. And now, here’s this second letter; I don’t know who it comes from—but + I haven’t taken it to her yet; I waited to show it to you, Sir, as you + came out, because—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Susan?—tell me candidly why?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you won’t take it amiss, Sir, if I say that having lived in the + family so long as I have, I can’t help knowing a little about what you and + Miss Margaret used to be to each other, and that something’s happened + wrong between you lately; and so, Sir, it seems to be very bad and + dishonest in me (after first helping you to come together, as I did), to + be giving her strange letters, unknown to you. They may be bad letters. + I’m sure I wouldn’t wish to say anything disrespectful, or that didn’t + become my place; but—” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Susan—speak as freely and as truly to me as ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sir, Miss Margaret’s been very much altered, ever since that night + when she came home alone, and frightened us so. She shuts herself up in + her room, and won’t speak to anybody except my master; she doesn’t seem to + care about anything that happens; and sometimes she looks so at me, when + I’m waiting on her, that I’m almost afraid to be in the same room with + her. I’ve never heard her mention your name once, Sir; and I’m fearful + there’s something on her mind that there oughtn’t to be. He’s a very + shabby man that leaves the letters—would you please to look at this, + and say whether you think it’s right in me to take it up-stairs.” + </p> + <p> + She held out a letter. I hesitated before I looked at it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Sir! please, please do take it!” said the girl earnestly. “I did + wrong, I’m afraid, in giving her the first; but I can’t do wrong again, + when my poor mistress is dying in the house. I can’t keep secrets, Sir, + that may be bad secrets, at such a dreadful time as this; I couldn’t have + laid down in my bed to-night, when there’s likely to be death in the + house, if I hadn’t confessed what I’ve done; and my poor mistress has + always been so kind and good to us servants—better than ever we + deserved.” + </p> + <p> + Weeping bitterly as she said this, the kind-hearted girl held out the + letter to me once more. This time I took it from her, and looked at the + address. + </p> + <p> + Though I did not know the handwriting, still there was something in those + unsteady characters which seemed familiar to me. Was it possible that I + had ever seen them before? I tried to consider; but my memory was + confused, my mind wearied out, after all that had happened since the + morning. The effort was fruitless: I gave back the letter. + </p> + <p> + “I know as little about it, Susan, as you do.” + </p> + <p> + “But ought I to take it up-stairs, Sir? only tell me that!” + </p> + <p> + “It is not for me to say. All interest or share on my part, Susan, in what + she—in what your young mistress receives, is at an end.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m very sorry to hear you say that, Sir; very, very sorry. But what + would you advise me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me look at the letter once more.” + </p> + <p> + On a second view, the handwriting produced the same effect on me as + before, ending too with just the same result. I returned the letter again. + </p> + <p> + “I respect your scruples, Susan, but I am not the person to remove or to + justify them. Why should you not apply in this difficulty to your master?” + </p> + <p> + “I dare not, Sir; I dare not for my life. He’s been worse than ever, + lately; if I said as much to him as I’ve said to you, I believe he’d kill + me!” She hesitated, then continued more composedly; “Well, at any rate + I’ve told <i>you,</i> Sir, and that’s made my mind easier; and—and + I’ll give her the letter this once, and then take in no more—if they + come, unless I hear a proper account of them.” + </p> + <p> + She curtseyed; and, bidding me farewell very sadly and anxiously, returned + to the house with the letter in her hand. If I had guessed at that moment + who it was written by! If I could only have suspected what were its + contents! + </p> + <p> + I left Hollyoake Square in a direction which led to some fields a little + distance on. It was very strange; but that unknown handwriting still + occupied my thoughts: that wretched trifle absolutely took possession of + my mind, at such a time as this; in such a position as mine was now. + </p> + <p> + I stopped wearily in the fields at a lonely spot, away from the footpath. + My eyes ached at the sunlight, and I shaded them with my hand. Exactly at + the same instant, the lost recollection flashed back on me so vividly that + I started almost in terror. The handwriting shown me by the servant at + North Villa, was the same as the handwriting on that unopened and + forgotten letter in my pocket, which I had received from the servant at + home—received in the morning, as I crossed the hall to enter my + father’s room. + </p> + <p> + I took out the letter, opened it with trembling fingers, and looked + through the cramped, closely-written pages for the signature. + </p> + <p> + It was “ROBERT MANNION.” + </p> + <p> + V. + </p> + <p> + Mannion! I had never suspected that the note shown to me at North Villa + might have come from him. And yet, the secrecy with which it had been + delivered; the person to whom it was addressed; the mystery connected with + it even in the servant’s eyes, all pointed to the discovery which I had so + incomprehensibly failed to make. I had suffered a letter, which might + contain written proof of her guilt, to be taken, from under my own eyes, + to Margaret Sherwin! How had my perceptions become thus strangely blinded? + The confusion of my memory, the listless incapacity of all my faculties, + answered the question but too readily, of themselves. + </p> + <p> + “Robert Mannion!” I could not take my eyes from that name: I still held + before me the crowded, closely-written lines of his writing, and delayed + to read them. Something of the horror which the presence of the man + himself would have inspired in me, was produced by the mere sight of his + letter, and that letter addressed to <i>me.</i> The vengeance which my own + hands had wreaked on him, he was, of all men the surest to repay. Perhaps, + in these lines, the dark future through which his way and mine might lie, + would be already shadowed forth. Margaret too! Could he write so much, and + not write of <i>her?</i> not disclose the mystery in which the motives of + <i>her</i> crime were still hidden? I turned back again to the first page, + and resolved to read the letter. It began abruptly, in the following + terms:— + </p> +<p class="c"> + “St. Helen’s Hospital. +</p> + <p> + “You may look at the signature when you receive this, and may be tempted + to tear up my letter, and throw it from you unread. I warn you to read + what I have written, and to estimate, if you can, its importance to + yourself. Destroy these pages afterwards if you like—they will have + served their purpose. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where I am, and what I suffer? I am one of the patients of + this hospital, hideously mutilated for life by your hand. If I could have + known certainly the day of my dismissal, I should have waited to tell you + with my own lips what I now write—but I am ignorant of this. At the + very point of recovery I have suffered a relapse. + </p> + <p> + “You will silence any uneasy upbraidings of conscience, should you feel + them, by saying that I have deserved death at your hands. I will tell you, + in answer, what you deserve and shall receive at mine. + </p> + <p> + “But I will first assume that it was knowledge of your wife’s guilt which + prompted your attack on me. I am well aware that she has declared herself + innocent, and that her father supports her declaration. By the time you + receive this letter (my injuries oblige me to allow myself a whole + fortnight to write it in), I shall have taken measures which render + further concealment unnecessary. Therefore, if my confession avail you + aught, you have it here:—She is guilty: <i>willingly</i> guilty, + remember, whatever she may say to the contrary. You may believe this, and + believe all I write hereafter. Deception between us two is at an end. + </p> + <p> + “I have told you Margaret Sherwin is guilty. Why was she guilty? What was + the secret of my influence over her? + </p> + <p> + “To make you comprehend what I have now to communicate, it is necessary + for me to speak of myself; and of my early life. To-morrow, I will + undertake this disclosure—to-day, I can neither hold the pen, nor + see the paper any longer. If you could look at my face, where I am now + laid, you would know why!” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “When we met for the first time at North Villa, I had not been five + minutes in your presence before I detected your curiosity to know + something about me, and perceived that you doubted, from the first, + whether I was born and bred for such a situation as I held under Mr. + Sherwin. Failing—as I knew you would fail—to gain any + information about me from my employer or his family, you tried, at various + times, to draw me into familiarity, to get me to talk unreservedly to you; + and only gave up the attempt to penetrate my secret, whatever it might be, + when we parted after our interview at my house on the night of the storm. + On that night, I determined to baulk your curiosity, and yet to gain your + confidence; and I succeeded. You little thought, when you bade me farewell + at my own door, that you had given your hand and your friendship to a man, + who—long before you met with Margaret Sherwin—had inherited + the right to be the enemy of your father, and of every descendant of your + father’s house. + </p> + <p> + “Does this declaration surprise you? Read on, and you will understand it. + </p> + <p> + “I am the son of a gentleman. My father’s means were miserably limited, + and his family was not an old family, like yours. Nevertheless, he was a + gentleman in anybody’s sense of the word; he knew it, and that knowledge + was his ruin. He was a weak, kind, careless man; a worshipper of + conventionalities; and a great respecter of the wide gaps which lay + between social stations in his time. Thus, he determined to live like a + gentleman, by following a gentleman’s pursuit—a profession, as + distinguished from a trade. Failing in this, he failed to follow out his + principle, and starve like a gentleman. He died the death of a felon; + leaving me no inheritance but the name of a felon’s son. + </p> + <p> + “While still a young man, he contrived to be introduced to a gentleman of + great family, great position, and great wealth. He interested, or fancied + he interested, this gentleman; and always looked on him as the patron who + was to make his fortune, by getting him the first government sinecure + (they were plenty enough in those days!) which might fall vacant. In firm + and foolish expectation of this, he lived far beyond his little + professional income—lived among rich people without the courage to + make use of them as a poor man. It was the old story: debts and + liabilities of all kinds pressed heavy on him—creditors refused to + wait—exposure and utter ruin threatened him—and the prospect + of the sinecure was still as far off as ever. + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless he believed in the advent of this office; and all the more + resolutely now, because he looked to it as his salvation. He was quite + confident of the interest of his patron, and of its speedy exertion in his + behalf. Perhaps, that gentleman had overrated his own political influence; + perhaps, my father had been too sanguine, and had misinterpreted polite + general promises into special engagements. However it was, the bailiffs + came into his house one morning, while help from a government situation, + or any situation, was as unattainable as ever—came to take him to + prison: to seize everything, in execution, even to the very bed on which + my mother (then seriously ill) was lying. The whole fabric of false + prosperity which he had been building up to make the world respect him, + was menaced with instant and shameful overthrow. He had not the courage to + let it go; so he took refuge from misfortune in a crime. + </p> + <p> + “He forged a bond, to prop up his credit for a little time longer. The + name he made use of was the name of his patron. In doing this, he believed—as + all men who commit crime believe—that he had the best possible + chance of escaping consequences. In the first place, he might get the + long-expected situation in time to repay the amount of the bond before + detection. In the second place, he had almost the certainty of a legacy + from a rich relative, old and in ill-health, whose death might be fairly + expected from day to day. If both these prospects failed (and they <i>did</i> + fail), there was still a third chance—the chance that his rich + patron would rather pay the money than appear against him. In those days + they hung for forgery. My father believed it to be impossible that a man + at whose table he had sat, whose relatives and friends he had amused and + instructed by his talents, would be the man to give evidence which should + condemn him to be hanged on the public scaffold. + </p> + <p> + “He was wrong. The wealthy patron held strict principles of honour which + made no allowance for temptations and weaknesses; and was moreover + influenced by high-flown notions of his responsibilities as a legislator + (he was a member of Parliament) to the laws of his country. He appeared + accordingly, and gave evidence against the prisoner; who was found guilty, + and left for execution. + </p> + <p> + “Then, when it was too late, this man of pitiless honour thought himself + at last justified in leaning to the side of mercy, and employed his utmost + interest, in every direction, to obtain a mitigation of the sentence to + transportation for life. The application failed; even a reprieve of a few + days was denied. At the appointed time, my father died on the scaffold by + the hangman’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “Have you suspected, while reading this part of my letter, who the + high-born gentleman was whose evidence hung him? If you have not, I will + tell you. That gentleman was <i>your father.</i> You will now wonder no + longer how I could have inherited the right to be his enemy, and the enemy + of all who are of his blood. + </p> + <p> + “The shock of her husband’s horrible death deprived my mother of reason. + She lived a few months after his execution; but never recovered her + faculties. I was their only child; and was left penniless to begin life as + the son of a father who had been hanged, and of a mother who had died in a + public madhouse. + </p> + <p> + “More of myself to-morrow—my letter will be a long one: I must pause + often over it, as I pause to-day.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “Well: I started in life with the hangman’s mark on me—with the + parent’s shame for the son’s reputation. Wherever I went, whatever friends + I kept, whatever acquaintances I made—people knew how my father had + died: and showed that they knew it. Not so much by shunning or staring at + me (vile as human nature is, there were not many who did that), as by + insulting me with over-acted sympathy, and elaborate anxiety to sham + entire ignorance of my father’s fate. The gallows-brand was on my + forehead; but they were too benevolently blind to see it. The + gallows-infamy was my inheritance; but they were too resolutely generous + to discover it! This was hard to bear. However, I was strong-hearted even + then, when my sensations were quick, and my sympathies young: so I bore + it. + </p> + <p> + “My only weakness was my father’s weakness—the notion that I was + born to a station ready made for me, and that the great use of my life was + to live up to it. My station! I battled for that with the world for years + and years, before I discovered that the highest of all stations is the + station a man makes for himself: and the lowest, the station that is made + for him by others. + </p> + <p> + “At starting in life, your father wrote to make me offers of assistance—assistance, + after he had ruined me! Assistance to the child, from hands which had tied + the rope round the parent’s neck! I sent him back his letter. He knew that + I was his enemy, his son’s enemy, and his son’s son’s enemy, as long as I + lived. I never heard from him again. + </p> + <p> + “Trusting boldly to myself to carve out my own way, and to live down my + undeserved ignominy; resolving in the pride of my integrity to combat + openly and fairly with misfortune, I shrank, at first, from disowning my + parentage and abandoning my father’s name. Standing on my own character, + confiding in my intellect and my perseverance, I tried pursuit after + pursuit, and was beaten afresh at every new effort. Whichever way I + turned, the gallows still rose as the same immovable obstacle between me + and fortune, between me and station, between me and my fellowmen. I was + morbidly sensitive on this point. The slightest references to my father’s + fate, however remote or accidental, curdled my blood. I saw open insult, + or humiliating compassion, or forced forbearance, in the look and manner + of every man about me. So I broke off with old friends, and tried new; + and, in seeking fresh pursuits, sought fresh connections, where my + father’s infamy might be unknown. Wherever I went, the old stain always + broke out afresh, just at the moment when I had deceived myself into the + belief that it was utterly effaced. I had a warm heart then—it was + some time before it turned to stone, and felt nothing. Those were the days + when failure and humiliation could still draw tears from me: that epoch in + my life is marked in my memory as the epoch when I could weep. + </p> + <p> + “At last, I gave way before difficulty, and conceded the first step to the + calamity which had stood front to front with me so long. I left the + neighbourhood where I was known, and assumed the name of a schoolfellow + who had died. For some time this succeeded; but the curse of my father’s + death followed me, though I saw it not. After various employments—still, + mind, the employments of a gentleman!—had first supported, then + failed me, I became an usher at a school. It was there that my false name + was detected, and my identity discovered again—I never knew through + whom. The exposure was effected by some enemy, anonymously. For several + days, I thought everybody in the school treated me in an altered way. The + cause came out, first in whispers, then in reckless jests, while I was + taking care of the boys in the playground. In the fury of the moment I + struck one of the most insolent, and the eldest of them, and hurt him + rather seriously. The parents heard of it, and threatened me with + prosecution; the whole neighbourhood was aroused. I had to leave my + situation secretly, by night, or the mob would have pelted the felon’s son + out of the parish. + </p> + <p> + “I went back to London, bearing another assumed name; and tried, as a last + resource to save me from starvation, the resource of writing. I served my + apprenticeship to literature as a hack-author of the lowest degree. + Knowing I had talents which might be turned to account, I tried to + vindicate them by writing an original work. But my experience of the world + had made me unfit to dress my thoughts in popular costume: I could only + tell bitter truths bitterly; I exposed licenced hypocrisies too openly; I + saw the vicious side of many respectabilities, and said I saw it—in + short, I called things by their right names; and no publisher would treat + with me. So I stuck to my low task-work; my penny-a lining in third-class + newspapers; my translating from Frenchmen and Germans, and plagiarising + from dead authors, to supply the raw material for bookmongering by more + accomplished bookmongers than I. In this life, there was one advantage + which compensated for much misery and meanness, and bitter, biting + disappointment: I could keep my identity securely concealed. Character was + of no consequence to me; nobody cared to know who I was, or to inquire + what I had been—the gallows-mark was smoothed out at last! + </p> + <p> + “While I was living thus on the offal of literature, I met with a woman of + good birth, and fair fortune, whose sympathies or whose curiosity I + happened to interest. She and her father and mother received me + favourably, as a gentleman who had known better days, and an author whom + the public had undeservedly neglected. How I managed to gain their + confidence and esteem, without alluding to my parentage, it is not worth + while to stop to describe. That I did so you will easily imagine, when I + tell you that the woman to whom I refer, consented, with her father’s full + approval, to become my wife. + </p> + <p> + “The very day of the marriage was fixed. I believed I had successfully + parried all perilous inquiries—but I was wrong. A relation of the + family, whom I had never seen, came to town a short time before the + wedding. We disliked each other on our first introduction. He was a + clever, resolute man of the world, and privately inquired about me to much + better purpose in a few days, than his family had done in several months. + Accident favoured him strangely, everything was discovered—literally + everything—and I was contemptuously dismissed the house. Could a + lady of respectability marry a man (no matter how worthy in <i>her</i> + eyes) whose father had been hanged, whose mother had died in a madhouse, + who had lived under assumed names, who had been driven from an excellent + country neighbourhood, for cruelty to a harmless school-boy? Impossible! + </p> + <p> + “With this event, my long strife and struggle with the world ended. + </p> + <p> + “My eyes opened to a new view of life, and the purpose of life. My first + aspirations to live up to my birth-right position, in spite of adversity + and dishonour, to make my name sweet enough in men’s nostrils, to cleanse + away the infamy on my father’s, were now no more. The ambition which—whether + I was a hack-author, a travelling portrait-painter, or an usher at a + school—had once whispered to me: low down as you are in dark, miry + ways, you are on the path which leads upward to high places in the + sunshine afar-off; you are not working to scrape together wealth for + another man; you are independent, self-reliant, labouring in your own + cause—the daring ambition which had once counselled thus, sank dead + within me at last. The strong, stern spirit was beaten by spirits stronger + and sterner yet—Infamy and Want. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote to a man of character and wealth; one of my friends of early + days, who had ceased to hold communication with me, like other friends, + but, unlike them, had given me up in genuine sorrow: I wrote, and asked + him to meet me privately by night. I was too ragged to go to his house, + too sensitive still (even if I had gone and had been admitted) to risk + encountering people there, who either knew my father, or knew how he had + died. I wished to speak to my former friend, unseen, and made the + appointment accordingly. He kept it. + </p> + <p> + “When we met, I said to him:—I have a last favour to ask of you. + When we parted years ago, I had high hopes and brave resolutions—both + are worn out. I then believed that I could not only rise superior to my + misfortune, but could make that very misfortune the motive of my rise. You + told me I was too quick of temper, too morbidly sensitive about the + slightest reference to my father’s death, too fierce and changeable under + undeserved trial and disappointment. This might have been true then; but I + am altered now: pride and ambition have been persecuted and starved out of + me. An obscure, monotonous life, in which thought and spirit may be laid + asleep, never to wake again, is the only life I care for. Help me to lead + it. I ask you, first, as a beggar, to give me from your superfluity, + apparel decent enough to bear the daylight. I ask you next, to help me to + some occupation which will just give me my bread, my shelter, and my hour + or two of solitude in the evening. You have plenty of influence to do + this, and you know I am honest. You cannot choose me too humble and + obscure an employment; let me descend low enough to be lost to sight + beneath the world I have lived in; let me go among people who want to know + that I work honestly for them, and want to know nothing more. Get me a + mean hiding-place to conceal myself and my history in for ever, and then + neither attempt to see me nor communicate with me again. If former friends + chance to ask after me, tell them I am dead, or gone into another country. + The wisest life is the life the animals lead: I want, like them, to serve + my master for food, shelter, and liberty to lie asleep now and then in the + sunshine, without being driven away as a pest or a trespasser. Do you + believe in this resolution?—it is my last. + </p> + <p> + “He <i>did</i> believe in it; and he granted what I asked. Through his + interference and recommendation, I entered the service of Mr. Sherwin.— + </p> + <p> + “I must stop here for to-day. To-morrow I shall come to disclosures of + vital interest to you. Have you been surprised that I, your enemy by every + cause of enmity that one man can have against another, should write to you + so fully about the secrets of my early life? I have done so, because I + wish the strife between us to be an open strife on my side; because I + desire that you should know thoroughly what you have to expect from my + character, after such a life as I have led. There was purpose in my + deceit, when I deceived you—there is purpose in my frankness, when I + now tell you all.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “I began in Mr. Sherwin’s employment, as the lowest clerk in his office. + Both the master and the men looked a little suspiciously on me, at first. + My account of myself was always the same—simple and credible; I had + entered the counting-house with the best possible recommendation, and I + acted up to it. These circumstances in my favour, joined to a manner that + never varied, and to a steadiness at my work that never relaxed, soon + produced their effect—all curiosity about me gradually died away: I + was left to pursue my avocations in peace. The friend who had got me my + situation, preserved my secret as I had desired him; of all the people + whom I had formerly known, pitiless enemies and lukewarm adherents, not + one ever suspected that my hiding-place was the back office of a + linen-draper’s shop. For the first time in my life, I felt that the secret + of my father’s misfortune was mine, and mine only; that my security from + exposure was at length complete. + </p> + <p> + “Before long, I rose to the chief place in the counting-house. It was no + very difficult matter for me to discover, that my new master’s character + had other elements besides that of the highest respectability. In plain + terms, I found him to be a pretty equal compound by nature, of the fool, + the tyrant, and the coward. There was only one direction in which what + grovelling sympathies he had, could be touched to some purpose. Save him + waste, or get him profit; and he was really grateful. I succeeded in + working both these marvels. His managing man cheated him; I found it out; + refused to be bribed to collusion; and exposed the fraud to Mr. Sherwin. + This got me his confidence, and the place of chief clerk. In that + position, I discovered a means, which had never occurred to my employer, + of greatly enlarging his business and its profits, with the least possible + risk. He tried my plan, and it succeeded. This gained me his warmest + admiration, an increase of salary, and a firm footing in his family + circle. My projects were more than fulfilled: I had money enough, and + leisure enough; and spent my obscure existence exactly as I had proposed. + </p> + <p> + “But my life was still not destined to be altogether devoid of an + animating purpose. When I first knew Margaret Sherwin, she was just + changing from childhood to girlhood. I marked the promise of future beauty + in her face and figure; and secretly formed the resolution which you + afterwards came forward to thwart, but which I have executed, and will + execute, in spite of you. + </p> + <p> + “The thoughts out of which that resolution sprang, counselled me more + calmly than you can suppose. I said within myself: ‘The best years of my + life have been irrevocably wasted; misery and humiliation and disaster + have followed my steps from my youth; of all the pleasant draughts which + other men drink to sweeten existence, not one has passed my lips. I will + know happiness before I die; and this girl shall confer it. She shall grow + up to maturity for <i>me:</i> I will imperceptibly gain such a hold on her + affections, while they are yet young and impressible, that, when the time + comes, and I speak the word—though my years more than double hers, + though I am dependent on her father for the bread I eat, though parents’ + voice and lover’s voice unite to call her back—she shall still come + to my side, and of her own free will put her hand in mine, and follow me + wherever I go; my wife, my mistress, my servant, which I choose. + </p> + <p> + “This was my project. To execute it, time and opportunity were mine; and I + steadily and warily made use of them, hour by hour, day by day, year by + year. From first to last, the girl’s father never suspected me. Besides + the security which he felt in my age, he had judged me by his own small + commercial standard, and had found me a model of integrity. A man who had + saved him from being cheated, who had so enlarged and consolidated his + business as to place him among the top dignitaries of the trade; who was + the first to come to the desk in the morning, and the last to remain there + in the evening; who had not only never demanded, but had absolutely + refused to take, a single holiday—such a man as this was, morally + and intellectually, a man in ten thousand; a man to be admired and trusted + in every relation of life! + </p> + <p> + “His confidence in me knew no bounds. He was uneasy if I was not by to + advise him in the simplest matters. My ears were the first to which he + confided his insane ambition on the subject of his daughter—his + anxiety to see her marry above her station—his stupid resolution to + give her the false, flippant, fashionable education which she subsequently + received. I thwarted his plans in nothing, openly—counteracted them + in everything, secretly. The more I strengthened my sources of influence + over Margaret, the more pleased he was. He was delighted to hear her + constantly referring to me about her home-lessons; to see her coming to + me, evening after evening, to learn new occupations and amusements. He + suspected I had been a gentleman; he had been told I spoke pure English; + he felt sure I had received a first-rate education—I was nearly as + good for Margaret as good society itself! When she grew older, and went to + the fashionable school, as her father had declared she should, my offer to + keep up her lessons in the holidays, and to examine what progress she had + made, when she came home regularly every fortnight for the Sunday, was + accepted with greedy readiness, and acknowledged with servile gratitude. + At this time, Mr. Sherwin’s own estimate of me, among his friends, was, + that he had got me for half nothing, and that I was worth more to him than + a thousand a-year. + </p> + <p> + “But there was one member of the family who suspected my intentions from + the first. Mrs. Sherwin—the weak, timid, sickly woman, whose opinion + nobody regarded, whose character nobody understood—Mrs. Sherwin, of + all those who dwelt in the house, or came to the house, was the only one + whose looks, words, and manner kept me constantly on my guard. The very + first time we saw each other, that woman doubted <i>me,</i> as I doubted + <i>her;</i> and for ever afterwards, when we met, she was on the watch. + This mutual distrust, this antagonism of our two natures, never openly + proclaimed itself, and never wore away. My chance of security lay, not so + much in my own caution, and my perfect command of look and action under + all emergencies, as in the self-distrust and timidity of her nature; in + the helpless inferiority of position to which her husband’s want of + affection, and her daughter’s want of respect, condemned her in her own + house; and in the influence of repulsion—at times, even of absolute + terror—which my presence had the power of communicating to her. + Suspecting what I am assured she suspected—incapable as she was of + rendering her suspicions certainties—knowing beforehand, as she must + have known, that no words she could speak would gain the smallest respect + or credit from her husband or her child—that woman’s life, while I + was at North Villa, must have been a life of the direst mental suffering + to which any human being was ever condemned. + </p> + <p> + “As time passed, and Margaret grew older, her beauty both of face and form + approached nearer to perfection than I had foreseen, closely as I watched + her. But neither her mind nor her disposition kept pace with her beauty. I + studied her closely, with the same patient, penetrating observation, which + my experience of the world has made it a habit with me to direct on every + one with whom I am brought in contact—I studied her, I say, + intently; and found her worthy of nothing, not even of the slave-destiny + which I had in store for her. + </p> + <p> + “She had neither heart nor mind, in the higher sense of those words. She + had simply instincts—most of the bad instincts of an animal; none of + the good. The great motive power which really directed her, was Deceit. I + never met with any human being so inherently disingenuous, so naturally + incapable of candour even in the most trifling affairs of life, as she + was. The best training could never have wholly overcome this vice in her: + the education she actually got—an education under false pretences—encouraged + it. Everybody has read, some people have known, of young girls who have + committed the most extraordinary impostures, or sustained the most + infamous false accusations; their chief motive being often the sheer + enjoyment of practising deceit. Of such characters was the character of + Margaret Sherwin. + </p> + <p> + “She had strong passions, but not their frequent accompaniment—strong + will, and strong intellect. She had some obstinacy, but no firmness. + Appeal in the right way to her vanity, and you could make her do the thing + she had declared she would not do, the minute after she had made the + declaration. As for her mind, it was of the lowest schoolgirl average. She + had a certain knack at learning this thing, and remembering that; but she + understood nothing fairly, felt nothing deeply. If I had not had my own + motive in teaching her, I should have shut the books again, the first time + she and I opened them together, and have given her up as a fool. + </p> + <p> + “All, however, that I discovered of bad in her character, never made me + pause in the prosecution of my design; I had carried it too far for that, + before I thoroughly knew her. Besides, what mattered her duplicity to <i>me?</i>—I + could see through it. Her strong passions?—I could control them. Her + obstinacy?—I could break it. Her poverty of intellect?—I cared + nothing about her intellect. What I wanted was youth and beauty; she was + young and beautiful and I was sure of her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; sure. Her showy person, showy accomplishments, and showy manners + dazzled all eyes but mine—Of all the people about her, I alone found + out what she really was; and in that lay the main secret of my influence + over her. I dreaded no rivalry. Her father, prompted by his ambitious + hopes, kept most young men of her class away from the house; the few who + did come were not dangerous; <i>they</i> were as incapable of inspiring, + as <i>she</i> was of feeling, real love. Her mother still watched me, and + still discovered nothing; still suspected me behind my back, and still + trembled before my face. Months passed on monotonously, year succeeded to + year; and I bided my time as patiently, and kept my secret as cautiously + as at the first. No change occurred, nothing happened to weaken or alter + my influence at North Villa, until the day arrived when Margaret left + school and came home for good. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “Exactly at the period to which I have referred, certain business + transactions of great importance required the presence of Mr. Sherwin, or + of some confidential person to represent him, at Lyons. Secretly + distrusting his own capabilities, he proposed to me to go; saying that it + would be a pleasant trip for me, and a good introduction to his wealthy + manufacturing correspondents. After some consideration, I accepted his + offer. + </p> + <p> + “I had never hinted a word of my intentions towards her to Margaret; but + she understood them well enough—I was certain of that, from many + indications which no man could mistake. For reasons which will presently + appear, I resolved not to explain myself until my return from Lyons. My + private object in going there, was to make interest secretly with Mr. + Sherwin’s correspondents for a situation in their house. I knew that when + I made my proposals to Margaret, I must be prepared to act on them on the + instant; I knew that her father’s fury when he discovered that I had been + helping to educate his daughter only for myself, would lead him to any + extremities; I knew that we must fly to some foreign country; and, lastly, + I knew the importance of securing a provision for our maintenance, when we + got there. I had saved money, it is true—nearly two-thirds of my + salary, every year—but had not saved enough for two. Accordingly, I + left England to push my own interests, as well as my employer’s; left it, + confident that my short absence would not weaken the result of years of + steady influence over Margaret. The sequel showed that, cautious and + calculating as I was, I had nevertheless overlooked the chances against + me, which my own experience of her vanity and duplicity ought to have + enabled me thoroughly to foresee. + </p> + <p> + “Well: I had been some time at Lyons; had managed my employer’s business + (from first to last, I was faithful, as I had engaged to be, to his + commercial interests); and had arranged my own affairs securely and + privately. Already, I was looking forward, with sensations of happiness + which were new to me, to my return and to the achievement of the one + success, the solitary triumph of my long life of humiliation and disaster, + when a letter arrived from Mr. Sherwin. It contained the news of your + private marriage, and of the extraordinary conditions that had been + attached to it with your consent. + </p> + <p> + “Other people were in the room with me when I read that letter; but my + manner betrayed nothing to them. My hand never trembled when I folded the + sheet of paper again; I was not a minute late in attending a business + engagement which I had accepted; the slightest duties of other kinds which + I had to do, I rigidly fulfilled. Never did I more thoroughly and fairly + earn the evening’s leisure by the morning’s work, than I earned it that + day. + </p> + <p> + “Leaving the town at the close of afternoon, I walked on till I came to a + solitary place on the bank of the great river which runs near Lyons. There + I opened the letter for the second time, and read it through again slowly, + with no necessity now for self-control, because no human being was near to + look at me. There I read your name, constantly repeated in every line of + writing; and knew that the man who, in my absence, had stepped between me + and my prize—the man who, in his insolence of youth, and birth, and + fortune, had snatched from me the one long-delayed reward for twenty years + of misery, just as my hands were stretched forth to grasp it, was the son + of that honourable and high-born gentleman who had given my father to the + gallows, and had made me the outcast of my social privileges for life. + </p> + <p> + “The sun was setting when I looked up from the letter; flashes of + rose-light leapt on the leaping river; the birds were winging nestward to + the distant trees, and the ghostly stillness of night was sailing solemnly + over earth and sky, as the first thought of the vengeance I would have on + father and son began to burn fiercely at my heart, to move like a new life + within me, to whisper to my spirit—Wait: be patient; they are both + in your power; you can now foul the father’s name as the father fouled + yours—you can yet thwart the son, as the son has thwarted <i>you.</i> + </p> + <p> + “In the few minutes that passed, while I lingered in that lonely place + after reading the letter, I imagined the whole scheme which it afterwards + took a year to execute. I laid the whole plan against you and your father, + the first half of which, through the accident that led you to your + discovery, has alone been carried out. I believed then, as I believe now, + that I stood towards you both in the place of an injured man, whose right + it was, in self-defence and self-assertion, to injure you. Judged by your + ideas, this may read wickedly; but to me, after having lived and suffered + as I have, the modern common-places current in the world are so many + brazen images which society impudently worships—like the Jews of old—in + the face of living Truth. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “Let us get back to England. + </p> + <p> + “That evening, when we met for the first time, did you observe that + Margaret was unusually agitated before I came in? I detected some change, + the moment I saw her. Did you notice that I avoided speaking to her, or + looking at her? it was because I was afraid to do so. I saw that, with my + return, my old influence over her was coming back: and I still believe + that, hypocritical and heartless though she was, and blinded though you + were by your passion for her, she would unconsciously have betrayed + everything to you on that evening, if I had not acted as I did. Her + mother, too! how her mother watched me from the moment when I came in! + </p> + <p> + “Afterwards, while you were trying hard to open, undetected, the sealed + history of my early life, I was warily discovering from Margaret all that + I desired to know. I say ‘warily,’ but the word poorly expresses my + consummate caution and patience, at that time. I never put myself in her + power, never risked offending, or frightening, or revolting her; never + lost an opportunity of bringing her back to her old habits of familiarity; + and, more than all, never gave her mother a single opportunity of + detecting me. This was the sum of what I gathered up, bit by bit, from + secret and scattered investigations, persevered in through many weeks. + </p> + <p> + “Her vanity had been hurt, her expectations disappointed, at my having + left her for Lyons, with no other parting words than such as I might have + spoken to any other woman whom I looked on merely as a friend. That she + felt any genuine love for me I never have believed, and never shall: but I + had that practical ability, that firmness of will, that obvious personal + ascendancy over most of those with whom I came in contact, which extorts + the respect and admiration of women of all characters, and even of women + of no character at all. As far as her senses, her instincts, and her pride + could take her, I had won her over to me but no farther—because no + farther could she go. I mention pride among her motives, advisedly. She + was proud of being the object of such attentions as I had now paid to her + for years, because she fancied that, through those attentions, I, who, + more or less, ruled everyone else in her sphere, had yielded to her the + power of ruling <i>me.</i> The manner of my departure from England showed + her too plainly that she had miscalculated her influence, and that the + power, in her case, as in the case of others, was all on my side. Hence + the wound to her vanity, to which I have alluded. + </p> + <p> + “It was while this wound was still fresh that you met her, and appealed to + her self-esteem in a new direction. You must have seen clearly enough, + that such proposals as yours far exceeded the most ambitious expectations + formed by her father. No man’s alliance could have lifted her much higher + out of her own class: she knew this, and from that knowledge married you—married + you for your station, for your name, for your great friends and + connections, for your father’s money, and carriages, and fine houses; for + everything, in short, but yourself. + </p> + <p> + “Still, in spite of the temptations of youth, wealth, and birth which your + proposals held out to her, she accepted them at first (I made her confess + it herself) with a secret terror and misgiving, produced by the + remembrance of me. These sensations, however, she soon quelled, or fancied + she quelled; and these, it was now my last, best chance to revive. I had a + whole year for the work before me; and I felt certain of success. + </p> + <p> + “On your side, you had immense advantages. You had social superiority; you + had her father’s full approbation; and you were married to her. If she had + loved you for yourself, loved you for anything besides her own sensual + interests, her vulgar ambition, her reckless vanity, every effort I could + have made against you would have been defeated from the first. But, + setting this out of the question, in spite of the utter heartlessness of + her attachment to you, if you had not consented to that condition of + waiting a year for her after marriage; or, consenting to it, if you had + broken it long before the year was out—knowing, as you should have + known, that in most women’s eyes a man is not dishonoured by breaking his + promise, so long as he breaks it for a woman’s sake—if, I say, you + had taken either of these courses, I should still have been powerless + against you. But you remained faithful to your promise, faithful to the + condition, faithful to the ill-directed modesty of your love; and that + very fidelity put you in my power. A pure-minded girl would have loved you + a thousand times better for acting as you did—but Margaret Sherwin + was not a pure-minded girl, not a maidenly girl: I have looked into her + thoughts, and I know it. + </p> + <p> + “Such were your chances against me; and such was the manner in which you + misused them. On <i>my</i> side, I had indefatigable patience; personal + advantages equal, with the exception of birth and age, to yours: + long-established influence; freedom to be familiar; and more than all, + that stealthy, unflagging strength of purpose which only springs from the + desire of revenge. I first thoroughly tested your character, and + discovered on what points it was necessary for me to be on my guard + against you, when you took shelter under my roof from the storm. If your + father had been with you on that night, there were moments, while the + tempest was wrought to its full fury, when, if my voice could have called + the thunder down on the house to crush it and every one in it to atoms, I + would have spoken the word, and ended the strife for all of us. The wind, + the hail, and the lightning maddened my thoughts of your father and you—I + was nearly letting you see it, when that flash came between us as we + parted at my door. + </p> + <p> + “How I gained your confidence, you know; and you know also, how I + contrived to make you use me, afterwards, as the secret friend who + procured you privileges with Margaret which her father would not grant at + your own request. This, at the outset, secured me from suspicion on your + part; and I had only to leave it to your infatuation to do the rest. With + you my course was easy—with her it was beset by difficulties; but I + overcame them. Your fatal consent to wait through a year of probation, + furnished me with weapons against you, which I employed to the most + unscrupulous purpose. I can picture to myself what would be your + indignation and your horror, if I fully described the use which I made of + the position in which your compliance with her father’s conditions placed + you towards Margaret. I spare you this avowal—it would be useless + now. Consider me what you please; denounce my conduct in any terms you + like: my justification will always be the same. I was the injured man, you + were the aggressor; I was righting myself by getting back a possession of + which you had robbed me, and any means were sanctified by such an end as + that. + </p> + <p> + “But my success, so far, was of little avail, in itself; against the + all-powerful counter-attraction which you possessed. Contemptible, or not, + you still had this superiority over me—you could make a fine lady of + her. From that fact sprang the ambition which all my influence, dating as + it did from her childhood, could not destroy. There, was fastened the + main-spring which regulated her selfish devotion to you, and which it was + next to impossible to snap asunder. I never made the attempt. + </p> + <p> + “The scheme which I proposed to her, when she was fully prepared to hear + it, and to conceal that she had heard it, left her free to enjoy all the + social advantages which your alliance could bestow—free to ride in + her carriage, and go into her father’s shop (that was one of her + ambitions!) as a new customer added to his aristocratic connection—free + even to become one of your family, unsuspected, in case your rash marriage + was forgiven. Your credulity rendered the execution of this scheme easy. + In what manner it was to be carried out, and what object I proposed to + myself in framing it, I abstain from avowing; for the simple reason that + the discovery at which you arrived by following us on the night of the + party, made my plan abortive, and has obliged me since to renounce it. I + need only say, in this place, that it threatened your father as well as + you, and that Margaret recoiled from it at first—not from any horror + of the proposal, but through fear of discovery. Gradually, I overcame her + apprehensions: very gradually, for I was not thoroughly secure of her + devotion to my purpose, until your year of probation was nearly out. + </p> + <p> + “Through all that year, daily visitor as you were at North Villa, you + never suspected either of us! And yet, had you been one whit less + infatuated, how many warnings you might have discovered, which, in spite + of her duplicity and my caution, would then have shown themselves plainly + enough to put you on your guard! Those abrupt changes in her manner, those + alternate fits of peevish silence and capricious gaiety, which sometimes + displayed themselves even in your presence, had every one of them their + meaning—though you could not discern it. Sometimes, they meant fear + of discovery, sometimes fear of me: now, they might be traced back to + hidden contempt; now, to passions swelling under fancied outrage; now, to + secret remembrance of disclosures I had just made, or eager anticipation + of disclosures I had yet to reveal. There were times at which every step + of the way along which I was advancing was marked, faintly yet + significantly, in her manner and her speech, could you only have + interpreted them aright. My first renewal of my old influence over her, my + first words that degraded you in her eyes, my first successful pleading of + my own cause against yours, my first appeal to those passions in her which + I knew how to move, my first proposal to her of the whole scheme which I + had matured in solitude, in the foreign country, by the banks of the great + river—all these separate and gradual advances on my part towards the + end which I was vowed to achieve, were outwardly shadowed forth in her, + consummate as were her capacities for deceit, and consummately as she + learnt to use them against you. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember noticing, on your return from the country, how ill + Margaret looked, and how ill I looked? We had some interviews during your + absence, at which I spoke such words to her as would have left their mark + on the face of a Jezebel, or a Messalina. Have you forgotten how often, + during the latter days of your year of expectation, I abruptly left the + room after you had called me in to bear you company in your evening + readings? My pretext was sudden illness; and illness it was, but not of + the body. As the time approached, I felt less and less secure of my own + caution and patience. With you, indeed, I might still have considered + myself safe: it was the presence of Mrs. Sherwin that drove me from the + room. Under that woman’s fatal eye I shrank, when the last days drew near—I, + who had defied her detection, and stood firmly on my guard against her + sleepless, silent, deadly vigilance, for months and months—gave way + as the end approached! I knew that she had once or twice spoken strangely + to you, and I dreaded lest her wandering, incoherent words might yet take + in time a recognisable direction, a palpable shape. They did not; the + instinct of terror bound her tongue to the last. Perhaps, even if she had + spoken plainly, you would not have believed her; you would have been still + true to yourself and to your confidence in Margaret. Enemy as I am to you, + enemy as I will be to the day of your death, I will do you justice for the + past:—Your love for that girl was a love which even the purest and + best of women could never have thoroughly deserved. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “My letter is nearly done: my retrospect is finished. I have brought it + down to the date of events, about which you know as much as I do. Accident + conducted you to a discovery which, otherwise, you might not have made, + perhaps for months, perhaps not at all, until I had led you to it of my + own accord. I say accident, positively; knowing that from first to last I + trusted no third person. What you know, you knew by accident alone. + </p> + <p> + “But for that chance discovery, you would have seen me bring her back to + North Villa at the appointed time, in my care, just as she went out. I had + no dread of her meeting you. But enough of her! I shall dispose of her + future, as I had resolved to dispose of it years ago; careless how she may + be affected when she first sees the hideous alteration which your attack + has wrought in me. Enough, I say, of the Sherwins—father, mother, + and daughter—your destiny lies not with <i>them,</i> but with <i>me.</i> + </p> + <p> + “Do you still exult in having deformed me in every feature, in having + given me a face to revolt every human being who looks at me? Do you + triumph in the remembrance of this atrocity, as you triumphed in the + acting of it—believing that you had destroyed my future with + Margaret, in destroying my very identity as a man? I tell you, that with + the hour when I leave this hospital your day of triumph will be over, and + your day of expiation will begin—never to end till the death of one + of us. You shall live—refined educated gentleman as you are—to + wish, like a ruffian, that you had killed me; and your father shall live + to wish it too. + </p> + <p> + “Am I trying to awe you with the fierce words of a boaster and a bully? + Test me, by looking back a little, and discovering what I have abstained + from for the sake of my purpose, since I have been here. A word or two + from my lips, in answer to the questions with which I have been baited, + day after day, by those about me, would have called you before a + magistrate to answer for an assault—a shocking and a savage assault, + even in this country, where hand to hand brutality is a marketable + commodity between the Prisoner and the Law. Your father’s name might have + been publicly coupled with your dishonour, if I had but spoken; and I was + silent. I kept the secret—kept it, because to avenge myself on you + by a paltry scandal, which you and your family (opposing to it wealth, + position, previous character, and general sympathy) would live down in a + few days, was not my revenge: because to be righted before magistrates and + judges by a beggarman’s exhibition of physical injury, and a coward’s + confession of physical defeat, was not my way of righting myself. I have a + lifelong retaliation in view, which laws and lawgivers are powerless + either to aid or to oppose—the retaliation which set a mark upon + Cain (as I will set a mark on you); and then made his life his punishment + (as I will make your life yours). + </p> + <p> + “How? Remember what my career has been; and know that I will make your + career like it. As my father’s death by the hangman affected <i>my</i> + existence, so the events of that night when you followed me shall affect + <i>yours.</i> Your father shall see you living the life to which his + evidence against <i>my</i> father condemned <i>me</i>—shall see the + foul stain of your disaster clinging to you wherever you go. The infamy + with which I am determined to pursue you, shall be your own infamy that + you cannot get quit of—for you shall never get quit of me, never get + quit of the wife who has dishonoured you. You may leave your home, and + leave England; you may make new friends, and seek new employments; years + and years may pass away—and still, you shall not escape us: still, + you shall never know when we are near, or when we are distant; when we are + ready to appear before you, or when we are sure to keep out of your sight. + My deformed face and her fatal beauty shall hunt you through the world. + The terrible secret of your dishonour, and of the atrocity by which you + avenged it, shall ooze out through strange channels, in vague shapes, by + tortuous intangible processes; ever changing in the manner of its + exposure, never remediable by your own resistance, and always directed to + the same end—your isolation as a marked man, in every fresh sphere, + among every new community to which you retreat. + </p> + <p> + “Do you call this a very madness of malignity and revenge? It is the only + occupation in life for which your mutilation of me has left me fit; and I + accept it, as work worthy of my deformity. In the prospect of watching how + you bear this hunting through life, that never quite hunts you down; how + long you resist the poison-influence, as slow as it is sure, of a crafty + tongue that cannot be silenced, of a denouncing presence that cannot be + fled, of a damning secret torn from you and exposed afresh each time you + have hidden it—there is the promise of a nameless delight which it + sometimes fevers, sometimes chills my blood to think of. Lying in this + place at night, in those hours of darkness and stillness when the + surrounding atmosphere of human misery presses heavy on me in my heavy + sleep, prophecies of dread things to come between us, trouble my spirit in + dreams. At those times, I know, and shudder in knowing, that there is + something besides the motive of retaliation, something less earthly and + apparent than that, which urges me horribly and supernaturally to link + myself to you for life; which makes me feel as the bearer of a curse that + shall follow you; as the instrument of a fatality pronounced against you + long ere we met—a fatality beginning before our fathers were parted + by the hangman; perpetuating itself in you and me; ending who shall say + how, or when? + </p> + <p> + “Beware of comforting yourself with a false security, by despising my + words, as the wild words of a madman, dreaming of the perpetration of + impossible crimes. Throughout this letter I have warned you of what you + may expect; because I will not assail you at disadvantage, as you assailed + me; because it is my pleasure to ruin you, openly resisting me at every + step. I have given you fair play, as the huntsmen give fair play at + starting to the animal they are about to run down. Be warned against + seeking a false hope in the belief that my faculties are shaken, and that + my resolves are visionary—false, because such a hope is only despair + in disguise. + </p> + <p> + “I have done. The time is not far distant when my words will become deeds. + They cure fast in a public hospital: we shall meet soon! + </p> +<p class="c"> + “ROBERT MANNION.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall meet soon!” + </p> + <p> + How? Where? I looked back at the last page of writing. But my attention + wandered strangely; I confused one paragraph with another; the longer I + read, the less I was able to grasp the meaning, not of sentences merely, + but even of the simplest words. + </p> + <p> + From the first lines to the last, the letter had produced no distinct + impressions on my mind. So utterly was I worn out by the previous events + of the day, that even those earlier portions of Mannion’s confession, + which revealed the connection between my father and his, and the terrible + manner of their separation, hardly roused me to more than a momentary + astonishment. I just called to remembrance that I had never heard the + subject mentioned at home, except once or twice in vague hints dropped + mysteriously by an old servant, and little regarded by me at the time, as + referring to matters which had happened before I was born. I just + reflected thus briefly and languidly on the narrative at the commencement + of the letter; and then mechanically read on. Except the passages which + contained the exposure of Margaret’s real character, and those which + described the origin and progress of Mannion’s infamous plot, nothing in + the letter impressed me, as I was afterwards destined to be impressed by + it, on a second reading. The lethargy of all feeling into which I had now + sunk, seemed a very lethargy of death. + </p> + <p> + I tried to clear and concentrate my faculties by thinking of other + subjects; but without success. All that I had heard and seen since the + morning, now recurred to me more and more vaguely and confusedly. I could + form no plan either for the present or the future. I knew as little how to + meet Mr. Sherwin’s last threat of forcing me to acknowledge his guilty + daughter, as how to defend myself against the life-long hostility with + which I was menaced by Mannion. A feeling of awe and apprehension, which I + could trace to no distinct cause, stole irresistibly and mysteriously over + me. A horror of the searching brightness of daylight, a suspicion of the + loneliness of the place to which I had retreated, a yearning to be among + my fellow-creatures again, to live where there was life—the busy + life of London—overcame me. I turned hastily, and walked back from + the suburbs to the city. + </p> + <p> + It was growing towards evening as I gained one of the great thoroughfares. + Seeing some of the inhabitants of the houses, as I walked along, sitting + at their open windows to enjoy the evening air, the thought came to me for + the first time that day:—where shall I lay my head tonight? Home I + had none. Friends who would have gladly received me were not wanting; but + to go to them would oblige me to explain myself; to disclose something of + the secret of my calamity; and this I was determined to keep concealed, as + I had told my father I would keep it. My last-left consolation was my + knowledge of still preserving that resolution, of still honourably holding + by it at all hazards, cost what it might. + </p> + <p> + So I thought no more of succour or sympathy from any one of my friends. As + a stranger I had been driven from my home, and as a stranger I was + resigned to live, until I had learnt how to conquer my misfortune by my + own vigour and endurance. Firm in this determination, though firm in + nothing else, I now looked around me for the first shelter I could + purchase from strangers—the humbler the better. + </p> + <p> + I happened to be in the poorest part, and on the poorest side of the great + street along which I was walking—among the inferior shops, and the + houses of few stories. A room to let was not hard to find here. I took the + first I saw; escaped questions about names and references by paying my + week’s rent in advance; and then found myself left in possession of the + one little room which I must be resigned to look on for the future—perhaps + for a long future!—as my home. + </p> + <p> + Home! A dear and a mournful remembrance was revived in the reflections + suggested by that simple word. Through the darkness that thickened over my + mind, there now passed one faint ray of light which gave promise of the + morning—the light of the calm face that I had last looked on when it + was resting on my father’s breast. + </p> + <p> + Clara! My parting words to her, when I had unclasped from my neck those + kind arms which would fain have held me to home for ever, had expressed a + promise that was yet unfulfilled. I trembled as I now thought on my + sister’s situation. Not knowing whither I had turned my steps on leaving + home; uncertain to what extremities my despair might hurry me; absolutely + ignorant even whether she might ever see me again—it was terrible to + reflect on the suspense under which she might be suffering, at this very + moment, on my account. My promise to write to her, was of all promises the + most vitally important, and the first that should be fulfilled. + </p> + <p> + My letter was very short. I communicated to her the address of the house + in which I was living (well knowing that nothing but positive information + on this point would effectually relieve her anxiety)—I asked her to + write in reply, and let me hear some news of her, the best that she could + give—and I entreated her to believe implicitly in my patience and + courage under every disaster; and to feel assured that, whatever happened, + I should never lose the hope of soon meeting her again. Of the perils that + beset me, of the wrong and injury I might yet be condemned to endure, I + said nothing. Those were truths which I was determined to conceal from + her, to the last. She had suffered for me more than I dared think of, + already! + </p> + <p> + I sent my letter by hand, so as to ensure its immediate delivery. In + writing those few simple lines, I had no suspicion of the important + results which they were destined to produce. In thinking of to-morrow, and + of all the events which to-morrow might bring with it, I little thought + whose voice would be the first to greet me the next day, whose hand would + be held out to me as the helping hand of a friend. + </p> + <p> + VI. + </p> + <p> + It was still early in the morning, when a loud knock sounded at the + house-door, and I heard the landlady calling to the servant: “A gentleman + to see the gentleman who came in last night.” The moment the words reached + me, my thoughts recurred to the letter of yesterday—Had Mannion + found me out in my retreat? As the suspicion crossed my mind, the door + opened, and the visitor entered. + </p> + <p> + I looked at him in speechless astonishment. It was my elder brother! It + was Ralph himself who now walked into the room! + </p> + <p> + “Well, Basil! how are you?” he said, with his old off-hand manner and + hearty voice. + </p> + <p> + “Ralph! You in England!—you here!” + </p> + <p> + “I came back from Italy last night. Basil, how awfully you’re changed! I + hardly know you again.” + </p> + <p> + His manner altered as he spoke the last words. The look of sorrow and + alarm which he fixed on me, went to my heart. I thought of holiday-time, + when we were boys; of Ralph’s boisterous ways with me; of his + good-humoured school-frolics, at my expense; of the strong bond of union + between us, so strangely compounded of my weakness and his strength; of my + passive and of his active nature; I saw how little <i>he</i> had changed + since that time, and knew, as I never knew before, how miserably <i>I</i> + was altered. All the shame and grief of my banishment from home came back + on me, at sight of his friendly, familiar face. I struggled hard to keep + my self-possession, and tried to bid him welcome cheerfully; but the + effort was too much for me. I turned away my head, as I took his hand; for + the old school-boy feeling of not letting Ralph see that I was in tears, + influenced me still. + </p> + <p> + “Basil! Basil! what are you about? This won’t do. Look up, and listen to + me. I have promised Clara to pull you through this wretched mess; and I’ll + do it. Get a chair, and give me a light. I’m going to sit on your bed, + smoke a cigar, and have a long talk with you.” + </p> + <p> + While he was lighting his cigar, I looked more closely at him than before. + Though he was the same as ever in manner; though his expression still + preserved its reckless levity of former days, I now detected that he had + changed a little in some other respects. His features had become coarser—dissipation + had begun to mark them. His spare, active, muscular figure had filled out; + he was dressed rather carelessly; and of all his trinkets and chains of + early times, not one appeared about him now. Ralph looked prematurely + middle-aged, since I had seen him last. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he began, “first of all, about my coming back. The fact is, the + morganatic Mrs. Ralph—” (he referred to his last mistress) “wanted + to see England, and I was tired of being abroad. So I brought her back + with me; and we’re going to live quietly, somewhere in the Brompton + neighbourhood. That woman has been my salvation—you must come and + see her. She has broke me of gaming altogether; I was going to the devil + as fast as I could, when she stopped me—but you know all about it, + of course. Well: we got to London yesterday afternoon; and in the evening + I left her at the hotel, and went to report myself at home. There, the + first thing I heard, was that you had cut me out of my old original + distinction of being the family scamp. Don’t look distressed, Basil; I’m + not laughing at you; I’ve come to do something better than that. Never + mind my talk: nothing in the world ever was serious to <i>me,</i> and + nothing ever will be.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped to knock the ash off his cigar, and settle himself more + comfortably on my bed; then proceeded. + </p> + <p> + “It has been my ill-luck to see my father pretty seriously offended on + more than one occasion; but I never saw him so very quiet and so very + dangerous as last night when he was telling me about you. I remember well + enough how he spoke and looked, when he caught me putting away my + trout-flies in the pages of that family history of his; but it was nothing + to see him or hear him then, to what it is now. I can tell you this, Basil—if + I believed in what the poetical people call a broken heart (which I + don’t), I should be almost afraid that <i>he</i> was broken-hearted. I saw + it was no use to say a word for you just yet, so I sat quiet and listened + to him till I got my dismissal for the evening. My next proceeding was to + go up-stairs, and see Clara. Upstairs, I give you my word of honour, it + was worse still. Clara was walking about the room with your letter in her + hand—just reach me the matches: my cigar’s out. Some men can talk + and smoke in equal proportions—I never could. + </p> + <p> + “You know as well as I do,” he continued when he had relit his cigar, + “that Clara is not usually demonstrative. I always thought her rather a + cold temperament—but the moment I put my head in at the door, I + found I’d been just as great a fool on that point as on most others. + Basil, the scream Clara gave when she first saw me, and the look in her + eyes when she talked about you, positively frightened me. I can’t describe + anything; and I hate descriptions by other men (most likely on that very + account): so I won’t describe what she said and did. I’ll only tell you + that it ended in my promising to come here the first thing this morning; + promising to get you out of the scrape; promising, in short, everything + she asked me. So here I am, ready for your business before my own. The + fair partner of my existence is at the hotel, half-frantic because I won’t + go lodging-hunting with her; but Clara is paramount, Clara is the first + thought. Somebody must be a good boy at home; and now you have resigned, + I’m going to try and succeed you, by way of a change!” + </p> + <p> + “Ralph! Ralph! can you mention Clara’s name, and that woman’s name, in the + same breath? Did you leave Clara quieter and better! For God’s sake be + serious about that, though serious about nothing else!” + </p> + <p> + “Gently, Basil! <i>Doucement mon ami!</i> I did leave her quieter: my + promise made her look almost like herself again. As for what you say about + mentioning Clara and Mrs. Ralph in the same breath, I’ve been talking and + smoking till I have no second breaths left to devote to second-rate + virtue. There is an unanswerable reason for you, if you want one! And now + let us get to the business that brings me here. I don’t want to worry you + by raking up this miserable mess again, from beginning to end, in your + presence; but I must make sure at the same time that I have got hold of + the right story, or I can’t be of any use to you. My father was a little + obscure on certain points. He talked enough, and more than enough, about + consequences to the family, about his own affliction, about his giving you + up for ever; and, in short, about everything but the case itself as it + really stands against us. Now that is just what I ought to be put up to, + and must be put up to. Let me tell you in three words what I was told last + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Ralph: speak as you please.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. First of all, I understand that you took a fancy to some + shopkeeper’s daughter—so far, mind, I don’t blame you: I’ve spent + time very pleasantly among the ladies of the counter myself. But in the + second place, I’m told that you actually married the girl! I don’t wish to + be hard upon you, my good fellow, but there was an unparalleled insanity + about that act, worthier of a patient in Bedlam than of my brother. I am + not quite sure whether I understand exactly what virtuous behaviour is; + but if <i>that</i> was virtuous behaviour—there! there! don’t look + shocked. Let’s have done with the marriage, and get on. Well, you made the + girl your wife; and then innocently consented to a very queer condition of + waiting a year for her (virtuous behaviour again, I suppose!) At the end + of that time—don’t turn away your head, Basil! I <i>may</i> be a + scamp; but I am not blackguard enough to make a joke—either in your + presence, or out of it—of this part of the story. I will pass it + over altogether, if you like; and only ask you a question or two. You see, + my father either could not or would not speak plainly of the worst part of + the business; and you know him well enough to know why. But somebody must + be a little explicit, or I can do nothing. About that man? You found the + scoundrel out? Did you get within arm’s length of him?” + </p> + <p> + I told my brother of the struggle with Mannion in the Square. + </p> + <p> + He heard me almost with his former schoolboy delight, when I had + succeeded, to his satisfaction, in a feat of strength or activity. He + jumped off the bed, and seized both my hands in his strong grasp; his face + radiant, his eyes sparkling. “Shake hands, Basil! Shake hands, as we + haven’t shaken hands yet: this makes amends for everything! One word more, + though, about that fellow; where is he now?” + </p> + <p> + “In the hospital.” + </p> + <p> + Ralph laughed heartily, and jumped back on the bed. I remembered Mannion’s + letter, and shuddered as I thought of it. + </p> + <p> + “The next question is about the girl,” said my brother. “What has become + of her? Where was she all the time of your illness?” + </p> + <p> + “At her father’s house; she is there still.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes! I see; the old story; innocent, of course. And her father backs + her, doesn’t he? To be sure, that’s the old story too. I have got at our + difficulty now; we are threatened with an exposure, if you don’t + acknowledge her. Wait a minute! Have you any evidence against her, besides + your own?” + </p> + <p> + “I have a letter, a long letter from her accomplice, containing a + confession of his guilt and hers.” + </p> + <p> + “She is sure to call that confession a conspiracy. It’s of no use to us, + unless we dared to go to law—and we daren’t. We must hush the thing + up at any price; or it will be the death of my father. This is a case for + money, just as I thought it would be. Mr. and Miss Shopkeeper have got a + large assortment of silence to sell; and we must buy it of them, over the + domestic counter, at so much a yard. Have you been there yet, Basil, to + ask the price and strike the bargain?” + </p> + <p> + “I was at the house, yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “The deuce you were! And who did you see?—The father? Did you bring + him to terms? did you do business with Mr. Shopkeeper?” + </p> + <p> + “His manner was brutal: his language, the language of a bully—?” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better. Those men are easiest dealt with: if he will only fly + into a passion with me, I engage for success beforehand. But the end—how + did it end?” + </p> + <p> + “As it began:—in threats on his part, in endurance on mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! we’ll see how he likes my endurance next: he’ll find it rather a + different sort of endurance from yours. By-the-bye, Basil, what money had + you to offer him?” + </p> + <p> + “I made no offer to him then. Circumstances happened which rendered me + incapable of thinking of it. I intended to go there again, to-day; and if + money would bribe him to silence, and save my family from sharing the + dishonour which has fallen on <i>me,</i> to abandon to him the only money + I have of my own—the little income left me by our mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that your only resource is in that wretched trifle, + and that you ever really intend to let it go, and start in the world + without a rap? Do you mean to say that my father gave you up without + making the smallest provision for you, in such a mess as your’s? Hang it! + do him justice. He has been hard enough on you, I know; but he can’t have + coolly turned you over to ruin in that way.” + </p> + <p> + “He offered me money, at parting; but with such words of contempt and + insult that I would have died rather than take it. I told him that, + unaided by his purse, I would preserve him, and preserve his family from + the infamous consequences of my calamity—though I sacrificed my own + happiness and my own honour for ever in doing it. And I go to-day to make + that sacrifice. The loss of the little I have to depend on, is the least + part of it. He may not see his injustice in doubting me, till too late; + but he <i>shall</i> see it.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Basil; but this is almost as great an insanity, as the + insanity of your marriage. I honour the independence of your principle, my + dear fellow; but, while I am to the fore, I’ll take good care that you + don’t ruin yourself gratuitously, for the sake of any principles whatever! + Just listen to me, now. In the first place, remember that what my father + said to you, he said in a moment of violent exasperation. You had been + trampling the pride of his life in the mud: no man likes that—my + father least of any. And, as for the offer of your poor little morsel of + an income to stop these people’s greedy mouths, it isn’t a quarter enough + for them. They know our family is a wealthy family; and they will make + their demand accordingly. Any other sacrifice, even to taking the girl + back (though you never could bring yourself to do that!), would be of no + earthly use. Nothing but money will do; money cunningly doled out, under + the strongest possible stipulations. Now, I’m just the man to do that, and + I have got the money—or, rather, my father has, which comes to the + same thing. Write me the fellow’s name and address; there’s no time to be + lost—I’m off to see him at once!” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t allow you, Ralph, to ask my father for what I would not ask him + myself—” + </p> + <p> + “Give me the name and address, or you will sour my excellent temper for + the rest of my life. Your obstinacy won’t do with <i>me,</i> Basil—it + didn’t at school, and it won’t now. I shall ask my father for money for + myself; and use as much of it as I think proper for your interests. He’ll + give me anything I want, now I have turned good boy. I don’t owe fifty + pounds, since my last debts were paid off—thanks to Mrs. Ralph, who + is the most managing woman in the world. By-the-bye, when you see her, + don’t seem surprised at her being older than I am. Oh! this is the + address, is it? Hollyoake Square? Where the devil’s that! Never mind, I’ll + take a cab, and shift the responsibility of finding the place on the + driver. Keep up your spirits, and wait here till I come back. You shall + have such news of Mr. Shopkeeper and his daughter as you little expect! <i>Au + revoir,</i> my dear fellow—<i>au revoir.</i>” + </p> + <p> + He left the room as rapidly as he had entered it. The minute afterwards, I + remembered that I ought to have warned him of the fatal illness of Mrs. + Sherwin. She might be dying—dead for aught I knew—when he + reached the house. I ran to the window, to call him back: it was too late. + Ralph was gone. + </p> + <p> + Even if he were admitted at North Villa, would he succeed? I was little + capable of estimating the chances. The unexpectedness of his visit; the + strange mixture of sympathy and levity in his manner, of worldly wisdom + and boyish folly in his conversation, appeared to be still confusing me in + his absence, just as they had confused me in his presence. My thoughts + imperceptibly wandered away from Ralph, and the mission he had undertaken + on my behalf, to a subject which seemed destined, for the future, to steal + on my attention, irresistibly and darkly, in all my lonely hours. Already, + the fatality denounced against me in Mannion’s letter had begun to act: + already, that terrible confession of past misery and crime, that monstrous + declaration of enmity which was to last with the lasting of life, began to + exercise its numbing influence on my faculties, to cast its blighting + shadow over my heart. + </p> + <p> + I opened the letter again, and re-read the threats against me at its + conclusion. One by one, the questions now arose in my mind: how can I + resist, or how escape the vengeance of this evil spirit? how shun the + dread deformity of that face, which is to appear before me in secret? how + silence that fiend’s tongue, or make harmless the poison which it will + pour drop by drop into my life? When should I first look for that avenging + presence?—now, or not till months hence? Where should I first see + it? in the house?—or in the street? At what time would it steal to + my side? by night—or by day? Should I show the letter to Ralph?—it + would be useless. What would avail any advice or assistance which his + reckless courage could give, against an enemy who combined the ferocious + vigilance of a savage with the far-sighted iniquity of a civilised man? + </p> + <p> + As this last thought crossed my mind, I hastily closed the letter; + determining (alas! how vainly!) never to open it again. Almost at the same + instant, I heard another knock at the house-door. Could Ralph have + returned already? impossible! Besides, the knock was very different from + his—it was only just loud enough to be audible where I now sat. + </p> + <p> + Mannion? But would he come thus? openly, fairly, in the broad daylight, + through the populous street? + </p> + <p> + A light, quick step ascended the stairs—my heart bounded; I started + to my feet. It was the same step which I used to listen for, and love to + hear, in my illness. I ran to the door, and opened it. My instinct had not + deceived me! it was my sister! + </p> + <p> + “Basil!” she exclaimed, before I could speak—“has Ralph been here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, love—yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Where has he gone? what has he done for you? He promised me—” + </p> + <p> + “And he has kept his promise nobly, Clara: he is away helping me now.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank God! thank God!” + </p> + <p> + She sank breathless into a chair, as she spoke. Oh, the pang of looking at + her at that moment, and seeing how she was changed!—seeing the + dimness and weariness of the gentle eyes; the fear and the sorrow that had + already overshadowed the bright young face! + </p> + <p> + “I shall be better directly,” she said, guessing from my expression what I + then felt—“but, seeing you in this strange place, after what + happened yesterday; and having come here so secretly, in terror of my + father finding it out—I can’t help feeling your altered position and + mine a little painfully at first. But we won’t complain, as long as I can + get here sometimes to see you: we will only think of the future now. What + a mercy, what a happiness it is that Ralph has come back! We have always + done him injustice; he is far kinder and far better than we ever thought + him. But, Basil, how worn and ill you are looking! Have you not told Ralph + everything? Are you in any danger?” + </p> + <p> + “None, Clara—none, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t grieve too deeply about yesterday! Try and forget that horrible + parting, and all that brought it about. He has not spoken of it since, + except to tell me that I must never know more of your fault and your + misfortune, than the little—the very little—I know already. + And I have resolved not to think about it, as well as not to ask about it, + for the future. I have a hope already, Basil—very, very far off + fulfilment—but still a hope. Can you not think what it is?” + </p> + <p> + “Your hope is far off fulfilment, indeed, Clara, if it is hope from my + father!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! don’t say so; I know better. Something occurred, even so soon as + last night—a very trifling event—but enough to show that he + thinks of you, already, in grief far more than in anger.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could believe it, love; but my remembrance of yesterday—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t trust that remembrance; don’t recall it! I will tell you what + occurred. Some time after you had gone, and after I had recovered myself a + little in my own room, I went downstairs again to see my father; for I was + too terrified and too miserable at what had happened, to be alone. He was + not in his room when I got there. As I looked round me for a moment, I saw + the pieces of your page in the book about our family, scattered on the + floor; and the miniature likeness of you, when you were a child, was lying + among the other fragments. It had been torn out of its setting in the + paper, but not injured. I picked it up, Basil, and put it on the table, at + the place where he always sits; and laid my own little locket, with your + hair in it, by the side, so that he might know that the miniature had not + been accidentally taken up and put there by the servant. Then, I gathered + together the pieces of the page and took them away with me, thinking it + better that he should not see them again. Just as I had got through the + door that leads into the library, and was about to close it, I heard the + other door, by which you enter the study from the hall, opening; and he + came in, and went directly to the table. His back was towards me, so I + could look at him unperceived. He observed the miniature directly and + stood quite still with it in his hand; then sighed—sighed so + bitterly!—and then took the portrait of our dear mother from one of + the drawers of the table, opened the case in which it is kept, and put + your miniature inside, very gently and tenderly. I could not trust myself + to see any more, so I went up to my room again: and shortly afterwards he + came in with my locket, and gave it me back, only saying—‘You left + this on my table, Clara.’ But if you had seen his face then, you would + have hoped all things from him in the time to come, as I hope now.” + </p> + <p> + “And as I <i>will</i> hope, Clara, though it be from no stronger motive + than gratitude to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Before I left home,” she proceeded, after a moment’s silence, “I thought + of your loneliness in this strange place—knowing that I could seldom + come to see you, and then only by stealth; by committing a fault which, if + my father found it out—but we won’t speak of that! I thought of your + lonely hours here; and I have brought with me an old, forgotten companion + of yours, to bear you company, and to keep you from thinking too + constantly on what you have suffered. Look, Basil! won’t you welcome this + old friend again?” + </p> + <p> + She gave me a small roll of manuscript, with an effort to resume her kind + smile of former days, even while the tears stood thick in her eyes. I + untied the leaves, glanced at the handwriting, and saw before me, once + more, the first few chapters of my unfinished romance! Again I looked on + the patiently-laboured pages, familiar relics of that earliest and best + ambition which I had abandoned for love; too faithful records of the + tranquil, ennobling pleasures which I had lost for ever! Oh, for one + Thought-Flower now, from the dream-garden of the happy Past! + </p> + <p> + “I took more care of those leaves of writing, after you had thrown them + aside, than of anything else I had,” said Clara. “I always thought the + time would come, when you would return again to the occupation which it + was once your greatest pleasure to pursue, and my greatest pleasure to + watch. And surely that time has arrived. I am certain, Basil, your book + will help you to wait patiently for happier times, as nothing else can. + This place must seem very strange and lonely; but the sight of those + pages, and the sight of me sometimes (when I can come), may make it look + almost like home to you! The room is not—not very—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped suddenly. I saw her lip tremble, and her eyes grow dim again, + as she looked round her. When I tried to speak all the gratitude I felt, + she turned away quickly, and began to busy herself in re-arranging the + wretched furniture; in setting in order the glaring ornaments on the + chimney-piece; in hiding the holes in the ragged window-curtains; in + changing, as far as she could, all the tawdry discomfort of my one + miserable little room. She was still absorbed in this occupation, when the + church-clocks of the neighbourhood struck the hour—the hour that + warned her to stay no longer. + </p> + <p> + “I must go,” she said; “it is later than I thought. Don’t be afraid about + my getting home: old Martha came here with me, and is waiting downstairs + to go back (you know we can trust her). Write to me as often as you can; I + shall hear about you every day, from Ralph; but I should like a letter + sometimes, as well. Be as hopeful and as patient yourself, dear, under + misfortune, as you wish me to be; and I shall despair of nothing. Don’t + tell Ralph I have been here—he might be angry. I will come again, + the first opportunity. Good-bye, Basil! Let us try and part happily, in + the hope of better days. Good-bye, dear—good-bye, only for the + present!” + </p> + <p> + Her self-possession nearly failed her, as she kissed me, and then turned + to the door. She just signed to me not to follow her down-stairs, and, + without looking round again, hurried from the room. + </p> + <p> + It was well for the preservation of our secret, that she had so resolutely + refrained from delaying her departure. She had been gone but for a few + minutes—the lovely and consoling influence of her presence was still + fresh in my heart—I was still looking sadly over the once precious + pages of manuscript which she had restored to me—when Ralph returned + from North Villa. I heard him leaping, rather than running, up the + ricketty wooden stairs. He burst into my room more impetuously than ever. + </p> + <p> + “All right!” he said, jumping back to his former place on the bed. “We can + buy Mr. Shopkeeper for anything we like—for nothing at all, if we + choose to be stingy. His innocent daughter has made the best of all + confessions, just at the right time. Basil, my boy, she has left her + father’s house!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “She has eloped to the hospital!” + </p> + <p> + “Mannion!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mannion: I have got his letter to her. She is criminated by it, even + past her father’s contradiction—and he doesn’t stick at a trifle! + But I’ll begin at the beginning, and tell you everything. Hang it, Basil, + you look as if I’d brought you bad news instead of good!” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind how I look, Ralph—pray go on!” + </p> + <p> + “Well: the first thing I heard, on getting to the house, was that + Sherwin’s wife was dying. The servant took in my name: but I thought of + course I shouldn’t be admitted. No such thing! I was let in at once, and + the first words this fellow, Sherwin, said to me, were, that his wife was + only ill, that the servants were exaggerating, and that he was quite ready + to hear what Mr. Basil’s ‘highly-respected’ brother (fancy calling <i>me</i> + ‘highly-respected!’) had to say to him. The fool, however, as you see, was + cunning enough to try civility to begin with. A more ill-looking human + mongrel I never set eyes on! I took the measure of my man directly, and in + two minutes told him exactly what I came for, without softening a single + word.” + </p> + <p> + “And how did he answer you?” + </p> + <p> + “As I anticipated, by beginning to bluster immediately. I took him down, + just as he swore his second oath. ‘Sir,’ I said very politely, ‘if you + mean to make a cursing and a swearing conference of this, I think it only + fair to inform you before-hand that you are likely to get the worst of it. + When the whole collection of British oaths is exhausted, I can swear + fluently in five foreign languages: I have always made it a principle to + pay back abuse at compound interest, and I don’t exaggerate in saying, + that I am quite capable of swearing you out of your senses, if you persist + in setting me the example. And now, if you like to go on, pray do—I’m + ready to hear you.’ While I was speaking, he stared at me in a state of + helpless astonishment; when I had done, he began to bluster again—but + it was a pompous, dignified, parliamentary sort of bluster, now, ending in + his pulling your unlucky marriage-certificate out of his pocket, asserting + for the fiftieth time, that the girl was innocent, and declaring that he’d + make you acknowledge her, if he went before a magistrate to do it. That’s + what he said when you saw him, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes: almost word for word.” + </p> + <p> + “I had my answer ready for him, before he could put the certificate back + in his pocket. ‘Now, Mr. Sherwin,’ I said, ‘have the goodness to listen to + me. My father has certain family prejudices and nervous delicacies, which + I do not inherit from him, and which I mean to take good care to prevent + you from working on. At the same time, I beg you to understand that I have + come here without his knowledge. I am not my father’s ambassador, but my + brother’s—who is unfit to deal with you, himself; because he is not + half hard-hearted, or half worldly enough. As my brother’s envoy, + therefore, and out of consideration for my father’s peculiar feelings, I + now offer you, from my own resources, a certain annual sum of money, far + more than sufficient for all your daughter’s expenses—a sum payable + quarterly, on condition that neither you nor she shall molest us; that you + shall never make use of our name anywhere; and that the fact of my + brother’s marriage (hitherto preserved a secret) shall for the future be + consigned to oblivion. <i>We</i> keep our opinion of your daughter’s guilt—<i>you</i> + keep your opinion of her innocence. <i>We</i> have silence to buy, and <i>you</i> + have silence to sell, once a quarter; and if either of us break our + conditions, we both have our remedy—<i>your’s</i> the easy remedy, + <i>our’s</i> the difficult. This arrangement—a very unfair and + dangerous for us; a very advantageous and safe one for you—I + understand that you finally refuse?’ ‘Sir,’ says he, solemnly, ‘I should + be unworthy the name of a father—’ ‘Thank you’—I remarked, + feeling that he was falling back on paternal sentiment—‘thank you; I + quite understand. We will get on, if you please, to the reverse side of + the question.’” + </p> + <p> + “The reverse side! What reverse side, Ralph? What could you possibly say + more?” + </p> + <p> + “You shall hear. ‘Being, on your part, thoroughly determined,’ I said, ‘to + permit no compromise, and to make my brother (his family of course + included) acknowledge a woman, of whose guilt they entertain not the + slightest doubt, you think you can gain your object by threatening an + exposure. Don’t threaten any more! Make your exposure! Go to the + magistrate at once, if you like! Gibbet our names in the newspaper report, + as a family connected by marriage with Mr. Sherwin the linen-draper’s + daughter, whom they believe to have disgraced herself as a woman and a + wife for ever. Do your very worst; make public every shameful particular + that you can—what advantage will you get by it? Revenge, I grant + you. But will revenge put a halfpenny into your pocket? Will revenge pay a + farthing towards your daughter’s keep? Will revenge make us receive her? + Not a bit of it! We shall be driven into a corner; we shall have no + exposure to dread after you have exposed us; we shall have no remedy left, + but a desperate remedy, and we’ll go to law—boldly, openly go to + law, and get a divorce. We have written evidence, which you know nothing + about, and can call testimony which you cannot gag. I am no lawyer, but + I’ll bet you five hundred to one (quite in a friendly way, my dear Sir!) + that we get our case. What follows? We send you back your daughter, + without a shred of character left to cover her; and we comfortably wash + our hands of <i>you</i> altogether.’” + </p> + <p> + “Ralph! Ralph! how could you—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! hear the end of it. Of course I knew that we couldn’t carry out + this divorce-threat, without its being the death of my father; but I + thought a little quiet bullying on my part might do Mr. Shopkeeper Sherwin + some good. And I was right. You never saw a man sit sorer on the sharp + edges of a dilemma than he did. I stuck to my point in spite of + everything; silence and money, or exposure and divorce—just which he + pleased. ‘I deny every one of your infamous imputations,’ said he. ‘That’s + not the question,’ said I. ‘I’ll go to your father,’ said he. ‘You won’t + be let in,’ said I. ‘I’ll write to him,’ said he. ‘He won’t receive your + letter,’ said I. There we came to a pull-up. <i>He</i> began to stammer, + and <i>I</i> refreshed myself with a pinch of snuff. Finding it wouldn’t + do, he threw off the Roman at last, and resumed the Tradesman. ‘Even + supposing I consented to this abominable compromise, what is to become of + my daughter?’ he asked. ‘Just what becomes of other people who have + comfortable annuities to live on,’ I answered. ‘Affection for my + deeply-wronged child half inclines me to consult her wishes, before we + settle anything—I’ll go up-stairs,’ said he. ‘And I’ll wait for you + down here,’ said I.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he object to that?” + </p> + <p> + “Not he. He went up-stairs, and in a few minutes ran down again, with an + open letter in his hand, looking as if the devil was after him before his + time. At the last three or four stairs, he tripped, caught at the + bannisters, dropped the letter over them in doing so, tumbled into the + passage in such a fury and fright that he looked like a madman, tore his + hat off a peg, and rushed out. I just heard him say his daughter should + come back, if he put a straight waistcoat on her, as he passed the door. + Between his tumble, his passion, and his hurry, he never thought of coming + back for the letter he had dropped over the bannisters. I picked it up + before I went away, suspecting it might be good evidence on our side; and + I was right. Read it yourself; Basil; you have every moral and legal claim + on the precious document—and here it is.” + </p> + <p> + I took the letter, and read (in Mannion’s handwriting) these words, dated + from the hospital:— + </p> + <p> + “I have received your last note, and cannot wonder that you are getting + impatient under restraint. But, remember, that if you had not acted as I + warned you beforehand to act in case of accidents—if you had not + protested innocence to your father, and preserved total silence towards + your mother; if you had not kept in close retirement, behaving like a + domestic martyr, and avoiding, in your character of a victim, all + voluntary mention of your husband’s name—your position might have + been a very awkward one. Not being able to help you, the only thing I + could do was to teach you how to help yourself. I gave you the lesson, and + you have been wise enough to profit by it. + </p> + <p> + “The time has now come for a change in my plans. I have suffered a + relapse; and the date of my discharge from this place is still uncertain. + I doubt the security, both on your account, and on mine, of still leaving + you at your father’s house, to await my cure. Come to me here, therefore, + to-morrow, at any hour when you can get away unperceived. You will be let + in as a visitor, and shown to my bedside, if you ask for Mr. Turner—the + name I have given to the hospital authorities. Through the help of a + friend outside these walls, I have arranged for a lodging in which you can + live undiscovered, until I am discharged and can join you. You can come + here twice a week, if you like, and you had better do so, to accustom + yourself to the sight of my injuries. I told you in my first letter how + and where they had been inflicted—when you see them with your own + eyes, you will be best prepared to hear what my future purposes are, and + how you can aid them. + </p> + <p> + “R. M.” + </p> + <p> + This was evidently the letter about which I had been consulted by the + servant at North Villa; the date corresponded with the date of Mannion’s + letter to me. I noticed that the envelope was missing, and asked Ralph + whether he had got it. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied; “Sherwin dropped the letter just in the state in which I + have given it to you. I suspect the girl took away the envelope with her, + thinking that the letter which she left behind her was inside. But the + loss of the envelope doesn’t matter. Look there: the fellow has written + her name at the bottom of the leaf; as coolly as if it was an ordinary + correspondence. She is identified with the letter, and that’s all we want + in our future dealings with her father.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Ralph, do you think—” + </p> + <p> + “Do I think her father will get her back? If he’s in time to catch her at + the hospital, he assuredly will. If not, we shall have some little trouble + on our side, I suspect. This seems to me to be how the matter stands now, + Basil:—After that letter, and her running away, Sherwin will have + nothing for it but to hold his tongue about her innocence; we may consider + <i>him</i> as settled and done with. As for the other rascal, Mannion, he + certainly writes as if he meant to do something dangerous. If he really + does attempt to annoy us, we will mark him again (I’ll do it next time, by + way of a little change!); <i>he</i> has no marriage certificate to shake + over our heads, at any rate. What’s the matter now?—you’re looking + pale again.” + </p> + <p> + I <i>felt</i> that my colour was changing, while he spoke. There was + something ominous in the contrast which, at that moment, I could not fail + to draw between Mannion’s enmity, as Ralph ignorantly estimated it, and as + I really knew it. Already the first step towards the conspiracy with which + I was threatened, had been taken by the departure of Sherwin’s daughter + from her father’s house. Should I, at this earliest warning of coming + events, show my brother the letter I had received from Mannion? No! such + defence against the dangers threatened in it as Ralph would be sure to + counsel, and to put in practice, might only include <i>him</i> in the + life-long persecution which menaced <i>me.</i> When he repeated his remark + about my sudden paleness, I merely accounted for it by some common-place + excuse, and begged him to proceed. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, Basil,” he said, “the truth is, that you can’t help being a + little shocked—though you could expect nothing better from the girl—at + her boldly following this fellow Mannion, even to the hospital” (Ralph was + right; in spite of myself, this feeling was one among the many which now + influenced me.) “Setting that aside, however, we are quite ready, I take + it, to let her stick to her choice, and live just as she pleases, so long + as she doesn’t live under our name. There is the great fear and great + difficulty now! If Sherwin can’t find her, we must; otherwise, we can + never feel certain that she is not incurring all sorts of debts as your + wife. If her father gets her back, I shall be able to bring her to terms + at North Villa; if not, I must get speech of her, wherever she happens to + be hidden. She’s the only thorn in our side now, and we must pull her out + with gold pincers immediately. Don’t you see that, Basil?” + </p> + <p> + “I see it, Ralph!” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Either to-night or to-morrow morning, I’ll communicate with + Sherwin, and find out whether he has laid hands on her. If he hasn’t, we + must go to the hospital, and see what we can discover for ourselves. Don’t + look miserable and downhearted, Basil, I’ll go with you: you needn’t see + her again, or the man either; but you must come with me, for I may be + obliged to make use of you. And now, I’m off for to-day, in good earnest. + I must get back to Mrs. Ralph (unfortunately she happens to be one of the + most sensitive women in the world), or she will be sending to advertise me + in the newspapers. We shall pull through this, my dear fellow—you + will see we shall! By the bye, you don’t know of a nice little detached + house in the Brompton neighbourhood, do you? Most of my old theatrical + friends live about there—a detached house, mind! The fact is, I have + taken to the violin lately (I wonder what I shall take to next?); Mrs. + Ralph accompanies me on the pianoforte; and we might be an execrable + nuisance to very near neighbours—that’s all! You don’t know of a + house? Never mind; I can go to an agent, or something of that sort. Clara + shall know to-night that we are moving prosperously, if I can only give + the worthiest creature in the world the slip: she’s a little obstinate, + but, I assure you, a really superior woman. Only think of my dropping down + to playing the fiddle, and paying rent and taxes in a suburban villa! How + are the fast men fallen! Good bye, Basil, good bye!” + </p> + <p> + VII. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, Ralph never appeared—the day passed on, and I + heard nothing—at last, when it was evening, a letter came from him. + </p> + <p> + The letter informed me that my brother had written to Mr. Sherwin, simply + asking whether he had recovered his daughter. The answer to this question + did not arrive till late in the day; and was in the negative—Mr. + Sherwin had not found his daughter. She had left the hospital before he + got there; and no one could tell him whither she had gone. His language + and manner, as he himself admitted, had been so violent that he was not + allowed to enter the ward where Mannion lay. When he returned home, he + found his wife at the point of death; and on the same evening she expired. + Ralph described his letter, as the letter of a man half out of his senses. + He only mentioned his daughter, to declare, in terms almost of fury, that + he would accuse her before his wife’s surviving relatives, of having been + the cause of her mother’s death; and called down the most terrible + denunciations on his own head, if he ever spoke to his child again, though + he should see her starving before him in the streets. In a postscript, + Ralph informed me that he would call the next morning, and concert + measures for tracking Sherwin’s daughter to her present retreat. + </p> + <p> + Every sentence in this letter bore warning of the crisis which was now + close at hand; yet I had as little of the desire as of the power to + prepare for it. A superstitious conviction that my actions were governed + by a fatality which no human foresight could alter or avoid, began to + strengthen within me. From this time forth, I awaited events with the + uninquiring patience, the helpless resignation of despair. + </p> + <p> + My brother came, punctual to his appointment. When he proposed that I + should at once accompany him to the hospital, I never hesitated at doing + as he desired. We reached our destination; and Ralph approached the gates + to make his first enquiries. + </p> + <p> + He was still speaking to the porter, when a gentleman advanced towards + them, on his way out of the hospital. I saw him recognise my brother, and + heard Ralph exclaim: + </p> + <p> + “Bernard! Jack Bernard! Have you come to England, of all the men in the + world!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” was the answer. “I got every surgical testimonial the <i>Hotel + Dieu</i> could give me, six months ago; and couldn’t afford to stay in + Paris only for my pleasure. Do you remember calling me a ‘mute, inglorious + Liston,’ long ago, when we last met? Well, I have come to England to soar + out of my obscurity and blaze into a shining light of the profession. + Plenty of practice at the hospital, here—very little anywhere else, + I am sorry to say.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean that you belong to <i>this</i> hospital?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow, I am regularly on the staff; I’m here every day of my + life.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re the very man to enlighten us. Here, Basil, cross over, and let me + introduce you to an old Paris friend of mine. Mr. Bernard—my + brother. You’ve often heard me talk, Basil, of a younger son of old Sir + William Bernard’s, who preferred a cure of bodies to a cure of souls; and + actually insisted on working in a hospital when he might have idled in a + family living. This is the man—the best of doctors and good + fellows.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you bringing your brother to the hospital to follow my mad example?” + asked Mr. Bernard, as he shook hands with me. + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly, Jack! But we really have an object in coming here. Can you + give us ten minutes’ talk, somewhere in private? We want to know about one + of your patients.” + </p> + <p> + He led us into an empty room, on the ground-floor of the building. “Leave + the matter in my hands,” whispered Ralph to me, as we sat down. “I’ll find + out everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Bernard,” he said, “you have a man here, who calls himself Mr. + Turner?” + </p> + <p> + “Are <i>you</i> a friend of that mysterious patient? Wonderful! The + students call him ‘The Great Mystery of London;’ and I begin to think the + students are right. Do you want to see him? When he has not got his green + shade on, he’s rather a startling sight, I can tell you, for + unprofessional eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no—at least, not at present; my brother here, not at all. The + fact is, certain circumstances have happened which oblige us to look after + this man; and which I am sure you won’t inquire into, when I tell you that + it is our interest to keep them secret.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not!” + </p> + <p> + “Then, without any more words about it, our object here, to-day, is to + find out everything we can about Mr. Turner, and the people who have been + to see him. Did a woman come, the day before yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and behaved rather oddly, I believe. I was not here when she came, + but was told she asked for Turner, in a very agitated manner. She was + directed to the Victoria Ward, where he is; and when she got there, looked + excessively flurried and excited—seeing the Ward quite full, and, + perhaps, not being used to hospitals. However it was, though the nurse + pointed out the right bed to her, she ran in a mighty hurry to the wrong + one.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Ralph; “just as some women run into the wrong + omnibus, when the right one is straight before them.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. Well, she only discovered her mistake (the room being rather + dark), after she had stooped down close over the stranger, who was lying + with his head away from her. By that time, the nurse was at her side, and + led her to the right bed. There, I’m told, another scene happened. At + sight of the patient’s face, which is very frightfully disfigured, she was + on the point (as the nurse thought) of going into a fit; but Turner + stopped her in an instant. He just laid his hand on her arm, and whispered + something to her; and, though she turned as pale as ashes, she was quiet + directly. The next thing they say he did, was to give her a slip of paper, + coolly directing her to go to the address written on it, and to come back + to the hospital again, as soon as she could show a little more resolution. + She went away at once—nobody knows where.” + </p> + <p> + “Has nobody asked where?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; a fellow who said he was her father, and who behaved like a madman. + He came here about an hour after she had left, and wouldn’t believe that + we knew nothing about her (how the deuce <i>should</i> we know anything!) + He threatened Turner (whom, by the bye, he called Manning, or some such + name) in such an outrageous manner, that we were obliged to refuse him + admission. Turner himself will give no information on the subject; but I + suspect that his injuries are the result of a quarrel with the father + about the daughter—a pretty savage quarrel, I must say, looking to + the consequences—I beg your pardon, but your brother seems ill! I’m + afraid,” (turning to me), “you find the room rather close?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed; not at all. I have just recovered from a serious illness—but + pray go on.” + </p> + <p> + “I have very little more to say. The father went away in a fury, just as + he came; the daughter has not yet made her appearance a second time. But, + after what was reported to me of the first interview, I daresay she <i>will</i> + come. She must, if she wants to see Turner; he won’t be out, I suspect, + for another fortnight. He has been making himself worse by perpetually + writing letters; we were rather afraid of erysipelas, but he’ll get over + that danger, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “About the woman,” said Ralph; “it is of the greatest importance that we + should know where she is now living. Is there any possibility (we will pay + well for it) of getting some sharp fellow to follow her home from this + place, the next time she comes here?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bernard hesitated a moment, and considered. + </p> + <p> + “I think I can manage it for you with the porter, after you are gone,” he + said, “provided you leave me free to give any remuneration I may think + necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything in the world, my dear fellow. Have you got pen and ink? I’ll + write down my brother’s address; you can communicate results to him, as + soon as they occur.” + </p> + <p> + While Mr. Bernard went to the opposite end of the room, in search of + writing materials, Ralph whispered to me— + </p> + <p> + “If he wrote to <i>my</i> address, Mrs. Ralph might see the letter. She is + the most amiable of her sex; but if written information of a woman’s + residence, directed to me, fell into her hands—you understand, + Basil! Besides, it will be easy to let me know, the moment you hear from + Jack. Look up, young one! It’s all right—we are sailing with wind + and tide.” + </p> + <p> + Here Mr. Bernard brought us pen and ink. While Ralph was writing my + address, his friend said to me: + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will not suspect me of wishing to intrude on your secrets, if + (assuming your interest in Turner to be the reverse of a friendly + interest) I warn you to look sharply after him when he leaves the + hospital. Either there has been madness in his family, or his brain has + suffered from his external injuries. Legally, he may be quite fit to be at + large; for he will be able to maintain the appearance of perfect + self-possession in all the ordinary affairs of life. But, morally, I am + convinced that he is a dangerous monomaniac; his mania being connected + with some fixed idea which evidently never leaves him day or night. I + would lay a heavy wager that he dies in a prison or a madhouse.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’ll lay another wager, if he’s mad enough to annoy us, that we are + the people to shut him up,” said Ralph. “There is the address. And now, we + needn’t waste your time any longer. I have taken a little place at + Brompton, Jack,—you and Basil must come and dine with me, as soon as + the carpets are down.” + </p> + <p> + We left the room. As we crossed the hall, a gentleman came forward, and + spoke to Mr. Bernard. + </p> + <p> + “That man’s fever in the Victoria Ward has declared itself at last,” he + said. “This morning the new symptoms have appeared.” + </p> + <p> + “And what do they indicate?” + </p> + <p> + “Typhus of the most malignant character—not a doubt of it. Come up, + and look at him.” + </p> + <p> + I saw Mr. Bernard start, and glance quickly at my brother. Ralph fixed his + eyes searchingly on his friend’s face; exclaimed: “Victoria Ward! why you + mentioned that—;” and then stopped, with a very strange and sudden + alteration in his expression. The next moment he drew Mr. Bernard aside, + saying: “I want to ask you whether the bed in Victoria Ward, occupied by + this man whose fever has turned to typhus, is the same bed, or near the + bed which—” The rest of the sentence was lost to me as they walked + away. + </p> + <p> + After talking together in whispers for a few moments, they rejoined me. + Mr. Bernard was explaining the different theories of infection to Ralph. + </p> + <p> + <i>“My</i> notion,” he said, “is, that infection is taken through the + lungs; one breath inhaled from the infected atmosphere hanging immediately + around the diseased person, and generally extending about a foot from him, + being enough to communicate his malady to the breather—provided + there exists, at the time, in the individual exposed to catch the malady, + a constitutional predisposition to infection. This predisposition we know + to be greatly increased by mental agitation, or bodily weakness; but, in + the case we have been talking of,” (he looked at me,) “the chances of + infection or non-infection may be equally balanced. At any rate, I can + predict nothing about them at this stage of the discovery.” + </p> + <p> + “You will write the moment you hear anything?” said Ralph, shaking hands + with him. + </p> + <p> + “The very moment. I have your brother’s address safe in my pocket.” + </p> + <p> + We separated. Ralph was unusually silent and serious on our way back. He + took leave of me at the door of my lodging, very abruptly; without + referring again to our visit to the hospital. + </p> + <p> + A week passed away, and I heard nothing from Mr. Bernard. During this + interval, I saw little of my brother; he was occupied in moving into his + new house. Towards the latter part of the week, he came to inform me that + he was about to leave London for a few days. My father had asked him to go + to the family house, in the country, on business connected with the local + management of the estates. Ralph still retained all his old dislike of the + steward’s accounts and the lawyer’s consultations; but he felt bound, out + of gratitude for my father’s special kindness to him since his return to + England, to put a constraint on his own inclinations, and go to the + country as he was desired. He did not expect to be absent more than two or + three days; but earnestly charged me to write to him, if I had any news + from the hospital while he was away. + </p> + <p> + During the week, Clara came twice to see me—escaping from home by + stealth, as before. On each occasion, she showed the same affectionate + anxiety to set me an example of cheerfulness, and to sustain me in hope. I + saw, with a sorrow and apprehension which I could not altogether conceal + from her, that the weary look in her face had never changed, never + diminished since I had first observed it. Ralph had, from motives of + delicacy, avoided increasing the hidden anxieties which were but too + evidently preying upon her health, by keeping her in perfect ignorance of + our visit to the hospital, and, indeed, of the particulars of all our + proceedings since his return. I took care to preserve the same secrecy, + during her short interviews with me. She bade me farewell after her third + visit, with a sadness which she vainly endeavoured to hide. I little + thought, then, that the tones of her sweet, clear voice had fallen on my + ear for the last time, before I wandered to the far West of England where + I now write. + </p> + <p> + At the end of the week—it was on a Saturday, I remember—I left + my lodgings early in the morning, to go into the country; with no + intention of returning before evening. I had felt a sense of oppression, + on rising, which was almost unendurable. The perspiration stood thick on + my forehead, though the day was not unusually hot; the air of London grew + harder and harder to breathe, with every minute; my heart felt tightened + to bursting; my temples throbbed with fever-fury; my very life seemed to + depend on escaping into pure air, into some place where there was shade + from trees, and water that ran cool and refreshing to look on. So I set + forth, careless in what direction I went; and remained in the country all + day. Evening was changing into night as I got back to London. + </p> + <p> + I inquired of the servant at my lodging, when she let me in, whether any + letter had arrived for me. She answered, that one had come just after I + had gone out in the morning, and that it was lying on my table. My first + glance at it, showed me Mr. Bernard’s name written in the corner of the + envelope. I eagerly opened the letter, and read these words: + </p> + <p> + “Private. + </p> + <p> + “Friday. + </p> + <p> + “My DEAR SIR, + </p> + <p> + “On the enclosed slip of paper you will find the address of the young + woman, of whom your brother spoke to me when we met at the hospital. I + regret to say, that the circumstances under which I have obtained + information of her residence, are of the most melancholy nature. + </p> + <p> + “The plan which I arranged for discovering her abode, in accordance with + your brother’s suggestion, proved useless. The young woman never came to + the hospital a second time. Her address was given to me this morning, by + Turner himself; who begged that I would visit her professionally, as he + had no confidence in the medical man who was then in attendance on her. + Many circumstances combined to make my compliance with his request + anything but easy or desirable; but knowing that you—or your brother + I ought, perhaps, rather to say—were interested in the young woman, + I determined to take the very earliest opportunity of seeing her, and + consulting with her medical attendant. I could not get to her till late in + the afternoon. When I arrived, I found her suffering from one of the worst + attacks of Typhus I ever remember to have seen; and I think it my duty to + state candidly, that I believe her life to be in imminent danger. At the + same time, it is right to inform you that the gentleman in attendance on + her does not share my opinion: he still thinks there is a good chance of + saving her. + </p> + <p> + “There can be no doubt whatever, that she was infected with Typhus at the + hospital. You may remember my telling you, how her agitation appeared to + have deprived her of self-possession, when she entered the ward; and how + she ran to the wrong bed, before the nurse could stop her. The man whom + she thus mistook for Turner, was suffering from fever which had not then + specifically declared itself; but which did so declare itself, as a Typhus + fever, on the morning when you and your brother came to the hospital. This + man’s disorder must have been infectious when the young woman stooped down + close over him, under the impression that he was the person she had come + to see. Although she started back at once, on discovering her mistake, she + had breathed the infection into her system—her mental agitation at + the time, accompanied (as I have since understood) by some physical + weakness, rendering her specially liable to the danger to which she had + accidentally exposed herself. + </p> + <p> + “Since the first symptoms of her disease appeared, on Saturday last, I + cannot find that any error has been committed in the medical treatment, as + reported to me. I remained some time by her bedside to-day, observing her. + The delirium which is, more or less, an invariable result of Typhus, is + particularly marked in her case, and manifests itself both by speech and + gesture. It has been found impossible to quiet her, by any means hitherto + tried. While I was watching by her, she never ceased calling on your name, + and entreating to see you. I am informed by her medical attendant, that + her wanderings have almost invariably taken this direction for the last + four-and-twenty hours. Occasionally she mixes other names with yours, and + mentions them in terms of abhorrence; but her persistency in calling for + your presence, is so remarkable that I am tempted, merely from what I have + heard myself; to suggest that you really should go to her, on the bare + chance that you might exercise some tranquillising influence. At the same + time, if you fear infection, or for any private reasons (into which I have + neither the right nor the wish to inquire) feel unwilling to take the + course I have pointed out, do not by any means consider it your duty to + accede to my proposal. I can conscientiously assure you that duty is not + involved in it. + </p> + <p> + “I have, however, another suggestion to make, which is of a positive + nature, and which I am sure will meet with your approval. It is, that her + parents, or some of her other relations, if her parents are not alive, + should be informed of her situation. Possibly, you may know something of + her connections, and can therefore do this good office. She is dying in a + strange place, among people who avoid her as they would avoid a + pestilence. Even though it be only to bury her, some relation ought to be + immediately summoned to her bed-side. + </p> + <p> + “I shall visit her twice to-morrow, in the morning and at night. If you + are not willing to risk seeing her (and I repeat that it is in no sense + imperative that you should combat such unwillingness), perhaps you will + communicate with me at my private address. + </p> + <p> + “I remain, dear Sir, + </p> + <p> + “Faithfully yours, + </p> + <p> + “JOHN BERNARD. + </p> + <p> + “P. S.—I open my letter again, to inform you that Turner, acting + against all advice, has left the hospital to-day. He attempted to go on + Tuesday last, when, I believe, he first received information of the young + woman’s serious illness, but was seized with a violent attack of + giddiness, on attempting to walk, and fell down just outside the door of + the ward. On this second occasion, however, he has succeeded in getting + away without any accident—as far, at least, as the persons employed + about the hospital can tell.” + </p> + <p> + When the letter fell from my trembling hand, when I first asked of my own + heart the fearful question:—“Have I, to whom the mere thought of + ever seeing this woman again has been as a pollution to shrink from, the + strength to stand by her death-bed, the courage to see her die?”—then, + and not till then, did I really know how suffering had fortified, while it + had humbled me; how affliction has the power to purify, as well as to + pain. + </p> + <p> + All bitter memory of the ill that she had done me, of the misery I had + suffered at her hands, lost its hold on my mind. Once more, her mother’s + last words of earthly lament—“Oh, who will pray for her when I am + gone!” seemed to be murmuring in my ear—murmuring in harmony with + the divine words in which the Voice from the Mount of Olives taught + forgiveness of injuries to all mankind. + </p> + <p> + She was dying: dying among strangers in the pining madness of fever—and + the one being of all who knew her, whose presence at her bedside might yet + bring calmness to her last moments, and give her quietly and tenderly to + death, was the man whom she had pitilessly deceived and dishonoured, whose + youth she had ruined, whose hopes she had wrecked for ever. Strangely had + destiny brought us together—terribly had it separated us—awfully + would it now unite us again, at the end! + </p> + <p> + What were my wrongs, heavy as they had been; what my sufferings, poignant + as they still were, that they should stand between this dying woman, and + the last hope of awakening her to the consciousness that she was going + before the throne of God? The sole resource for her which human skill and + human pity could now suggest, embraced the sole chance that she might + still be recovered for repentance, before she was resigned to death. How + did I know, but that in those ceaseless cries which had uttered my name, + there spoke the last earthly anguish of the tortured spirit, calling upon + me for one drop of water to cool its burning guilt—one drop from the + waters of Peace? + </p> + <p> + I took up Mr. Bernard’s letter from the floor on which it had fallen, and + re-directed it to my brother; simply writing on a blank place in the + inside, “I have gone to soothe her last moments.” Before I departed, I + wrote to her father, and summoned him to her bedside. The guilt of his + absence—if his heartless and hardened nature did not change towards + her—would now rest with him, and not with me. I forbore from + thinking how he would answer my letter; for I remembered his written words + to my brother, declaring that he would accuse his daughter of having + caused her mother’s death; and I suspected him even then, of wishing to + shift the shame of his conduct towards his unhappy wife from himself to + his child. + </p> + <p> + After writing this second letter, I set forth instantly for the house to + which Mr. Bernard had directed me. No thought of myself; no thought, even, + of the peril suggested by the ominous disclosure about Mannion, in the + postscript to the surgeon’s letter, ever crossed my mind. In the great + stillness, in the heavenly serenity that had come to my spirit, the + wasting fire of every sensation which was only of this world, seemed + quenched for ever. + </p> + <p> + It was eleven o’clock when I arrived at the house. A slatternly, sulky + woman opened the door to me. “Oh! I suppose you’re another doctor,” she + muttered, staring at me with scowling eyes. “I wish you were the + undertaker, to get her out of my house before we all catch our deaths of + her! There! there’s the other doctor coming down stairs; he’ll show you + the room—I won’t go near it.” + </p> + <p> + As I took the candle from her hand, I saw that Mr. Bernard was approaching + me from the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “You can do no good, I am afraid,” he said, “but I am glad you have come.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no hope, then?” + </p> + <p> + “In my opinion, none. Turner came here this morning, whether she + recognised him, or not, in her delirium, I cannot say; but she grew so + much worse in his presence, that I insisted on his not seeing her again, + except under medical permission. Just now, there is no one in the room—are + you willing to go up stairs at once?” + </p> + <p> + “Does she still speak of me in her wanderings?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, as incessantly as ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I am ready to go to her bedside.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray believe that I feel deeply what a sacrifice you are making. Since I + wrote to you, much that she has said in her delirium has told me”—(he + hesitated)—“has told me more, I am afraid, than you would wish me to + have known, as a comparative stranger to you. I will only say, that + secrets unconsciously disclosed on the death-bed are secrets sacred to me, + as they are to all who pursue my calling; and that what I have unavoidably + heard above stairs, is doubly sacred in my estimation, as affecting a near + and dear relative of one of my oldest friends.” He paused, and took my + hand very kindly; then added: “I am sure you will think yourself rewarded + for any trial to your feelings to-night, if you can only remember in years + to come, that your presence quieted her in her last moments!” + </p> + <p> + I felt his sympathy and delicacy too strongly to thank him in words; I + could only <i>look</i> my gratitude as he asked me to follow him up + stairs. + </p> + <p> + We entered the room softly. Once more, and for the last time in this + world, I stood in the presence of Margaret Sherwin. + </p> + <p> + Not even to see her, as I had last seen her, was such a sight of misery as + to behold her now, forsaken on her deathbed, to look at her, as she lay + with her head turned from me, fretfully covering and uncovering her face + with the loose tresses of her long black hair, and muttering my name + incessantly in her fever-dream: “Basil! Basil! Basil! I’ll never leave off + calling for him, till he comes. Basil! Basil! Where is he? Oh, where, + where, where!” + </p> + <p> + “He is here,” said the doctor, taking the candle from my hand, and holding + it, so that the light fell full on my face. “Look at her and speak to her + as usual, when she turns round,” he whispered to me. + </p> + <p> + Still she never moved; still those hoarse, fierce, quick tones—that + voice, once the music that my heart beat to; now the discord that it + writhed under—muttered faster and faster: “Basil! Basil! Bring him + here! bring me Basil!” + </p> + <p> + “He is here,” repeated Mr. Bernard loudly. “Look! look up at him!” + </p> + <p> + She turned in an instant, and tore the hair back from her face. For a + moment, I forced myself to look at her; for a moment, I confronted the + smouldering fever in her cheeks; the glare of the bloodshot eyes; the + distortion of the parched lips; the hideous clutching of the outstretched + fingers at the empty air—but the agony of that sight was more than I + could endure: I turned away my head, and hid my face in horror. + </p> + <p> + “Compose yourself,” whispered the doctor. “Now she is quiet, speak to her; + speak to her before she begins again; call her by her name.” + </p> + <p> + Her name! Could my lips utter it at such a moment as this? + </p> + <p> + “Quick! quick!” cried Mr. Bernard. “Try her while you have the chance.” + </p> + <p> + I struggled against the memories of the past, and spoke to her—God + knows as gently, if not as happily, as in the bygone time! + </p> + <p> + “Margaret,” I said, “Margaret, you asked for me, and I have come.” + </p> + <p> + She tossed her arms above her head with a shrill scream, frightfully + prolonged till it ended in low moanings and murmurings; then turned her + face from us again, and pulled her hair over it once more. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid she is too far gone,” said the doctor; “but make another + trial.” + </p> + <p> + “Margaret,” I said again, “have you forgotten me? Margaret!” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me once more. This time, her dry, dull eyes seemed to + soften, and her fingers twined themselves less passionately in her hair. + She began to laugh—a low, vacant, terrible laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” she said, “I know he’s come at last; I can make him do + anything. Get me my bonnet and shawl; any shawl will do, but a mourning + shawl is best, because we are going to the funeral of our wedding. Come, + Basil! let’s go back to the church, and get unmarried again; that’s what I + wanted you for. We don’t care about each other. Robert Mannion wants me + more than you do—he’s not ashamed of me because my father’s a + tradesman; he won’t make believe that he’s in love with me, and then marry + me to spite the pride of his family. Come! I’ll tell the clergyman to read + the service backwards; that makes a marriage no marriage at all, everybody + knows.” + </p> + <p> + As the last wild words escaped her, some one below stairs called to Mr. + Bernard. He went out for a minute, then returned again, telling me that he + was summoned to a case of sudden illness which he must attend without a + moment’s delay. + </p> + <p> + “The medical man whom I found here when I first came,” he said, “was sent + for this evening into the country, to be consulted about an operation, I + believe. But if anything happens, I shall be at your service. There is the + address of the house to which I am now going” (he wrote it down on a + card); “you can send, if you want me. I will get back, however, as soon as + possible, and see her again; she seems to be a little quieter already, and + may become quieter still, if you stay longer. The night-nurse is below—I + will send her up as I go downstairs. Keep the room well ventilated, the + windows open as they are now. Don’t breathe too close to her, and you need + fear no infection. Look! her eyes are still fixed on you. This is the + first time I have seen her look in the same direction for two minutes + together; one would think she really recognised you. Wait till I come + back, if you possibly can—I won’t be a moment longer than I can + help.” + </p> + <p> + He hastily left the room. I turned to the bed, and saw that she was still + looking at me. She had never ceased murmuring to herself while Mr. Bernard + was speaking; and she did not stop when the nurse came in. + </p> + <p> + The first sight of this woman, on her entrance, sickened and shocked me. + All that was naturally repulsive in her, was made doubly revolting by the + characteristics of the habitual drunkard, lowering and glaring at me in + her purple, bloated face. To see her heavy hands shaking at the pillow, as + they tried mechanically to arrange it; to see her stand, alternately + leering and scowling by the bedside, an incarnate blasphemy in the sacred + chamber of death, was to behold the most horrible of all mockeries, the + most impious of all profanations. No loneliness in the presence of mortal + agony could try me to the quick, as the sight of that foul old age of + degradation and debauchery, defiling the sick room, now tried me. I + determined to wait alone by the bedside till Mr. Bernard returned. + </p> + <p> + With some difficulty, I made the wretched drunkard understand that she + might go downstairs again; and that I would call her if she was wanted. At + last, she comprehended my meaning, and slowly quitted the room. The door + closed on her; and I was left alone to watch the last moments of the woman + who had ruined me! + </p> + <p> + As I sat down near the open window, the sounds outside in the street told + of the waning of the night. There was an echo of many footsteps, a hoarse + murmur of conflicting voices, now near, now afar off. The public houses + were dispersing their drunken crowds—the crowds of a Saturday night: + it was twelve o’clock. + </p> + <p> + Through those street-sounds of fierce ribaldry and ghastly mirth, the + voice of the dying woman penetrated, speaking more slowly, more + distinctly, more terribly than it had spoken yet. + </p> + <p> + “I see him,” she said, staring vacantly at me, and moving her hands slowly + to and fro in the air. “I see him! But he’s a long way off; he can’t hear + our secrets, and he does not suspect you as mother does. Don’t tell me + that about him any more; my flesh creeps at it! What are you looking at me + in that way for? You make me feel on fire. You know I like you, because I + <i>must</i> like you; because I can’t help it. It’s no use saying hush: I + tell you he can’t hear us, and can’t see us. He can see nothing; you make + a fool of him, and I make a fool of him. But mind! I <i>will</i> ride in + my own carriage: you must keep things secret enough to let me do that. I + say I <i>will</i> ride in my carriage: and I’ll go where father walks to + business: I don’t care if I splash him with <i>my</i> carriage wheels! + I’ll be even with him for some of the passions he’s been in with me. You + see how I’ll go into our shop and order dresses! (be quiet! I say he can’t + hear us). I’ll have velvet where his sister has silk, and silk where she + has muslin: I’m a finer girl than she is, and I’ll be better dressed. Tell + <i>him</i> anything, indeed! What have I ever let out? It’s not so easy + always to make believe I’m in love with him, after what you have told me. + Suppose he found us out?—Rash? I’m no more rash than you are! Why + didn’t you come back from France in time, and stop it all? Why did you let + me marry him? A nice wife I’ve been to him, and a nice husband he has been + to me—a husband who waits a year! Ha! ha! he calls himself a man, + doesn’t he? A husband who waits a year!” + </p> + <p> + I approached nearer to the bedside, and spoke to her again, in the hope to + win her tenderly towards dreaming of better things. I know not whether she + heard me, but her wild thoughts changed—changed darkly to later + events. + </p> + <p> + “Beds! beds!” she cried, “beds everywhere, with dying men on them! And one + bed the most terrible of all—look at it! The deformed face, with the + white of the pillow all round it! <i>His</i> face? <i>his</i> face, that + hadn’t a fault in it? Never! It’s the face of a devil; the finger-nails of + the devil are on it! Take me away! drag me out! I can’t move for that + face: it’s always before me: it’s walling me up among the beds: it’s + burning me all over. Water! water! drown me in the sea; drown me deep, + away from the burning face!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Margaret! hush! drink this, and you will be cool again.” I gave her + some lemonade, which stood by the bedside. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; hush, as you say. Where’s Robert? Robert Mannion? Not here! + then I’ve got a secret for you. When you go home to-night, Basil, and say + your prayers, pray for a storm of thunder and lightning; and pray that I + may be struck dead in it, and Robert too. It’s a fortnight to my aunt’s + party; and in a fortnight you’ll wish us both dead, so you had better pray + for what I tell you in time. We shall make handsome corpses. Put roses + into my coffin—scarlet roses, if you can find any, because that + stands for Scarlet Woman—in the Bible, you know. Scarlet? What do I + care! It’s the boldest colour in the world. Robert will tell you, and all + your family, how many women are as scarlet as I am—virtue wears it + at home, in secret; and vice wears it abroad, in public: that’s the only + difference, he says. Scarlet roses! scarlet roses! throw them into the + coffin by hundreds; smother me up in them; bury me down deep; in the dark, + quiet street—where there’s a broad door-step in front of a house, + and a white, wild face, something like Basil’s, that’s always staring on + the doorstep awfully. Oh, why did I meet him! why did I marry him! oh, + why! why!” + </p> + <p> + She uttered the last words in slow, measured cadence—the horrible + mockery of a chaunt which she used to play to us at North Villa, on Sunday + evenings. Then her voice sank again; her articulation thickened, and grew + indistinct. It was like the change from darkness to daylight, in the sight + of sleepless eyes, to hear her only murmuring now, after hearing her last + terrible words. + </p> + <p> + The weary night-time passed on. Longer and longer grew the intervals of + silence between the scattered noises from the streets; less and less + frequent were the sounds of distant carriage-wheels, and the echoing rapid + footsteps of late pleasure-seekers hurrying home. At last, the heavy tramp + of the policeman going his rounds, alone disturbed the silence of the + early morning hours. Still, the voice from the bed muttered incessantly; + but now, in drowsy, languid tones: still, Mr. Bernard did not return: + still the father of the dying girl never came, never obeyed the letter + which summoned him for the last time to her side. + </p> + <p> + (There was yet one more among the absent—one from whose approach the + death-bed must be kept sacred; one, whose evil presence was to be dreaded + as a pestilence and a scourge. Mannion!—where was Mannion?) + </p> + <p> + I sat by the window, resigned to wait in loneliness till the end came, + watching mechanically the vacant eyes that ever watched me—when, + suddenly, the face of Margaret seemed to fade out of my sight. I started + and looked round. The candle, which I had placed at the opposite end of + the room, had burnt down without my noticing it, and was now expiring in + the socket. I ran to light the fresh candle which lay on the table by its + side, but was too late. The wick flickered its last; the room was left in + darkness. + </p> + <p> + While I felt among the different objects under my hands for a box of + matches: Margaret’s voice strengthened again. + </p> + <p> + “Innocent! innocent!” I heard her cry mournfully through the darkness. + “I’ll swear I’m innocent, and father is sure to swear it too. Innocent + Margaret! Oh, me! what innocence!” + </p> + <p> + She repeated these words over and over again, till the hearing them seemed + to bewilder all my senses. I hardly knew what I touched. Suddenly, my + searching hands stopped of themselves, I could not tell why. Was there + some change in the room? Was there more air in it, as if a door had been + opened? Was there something moving over the floor? Had Margaret left her + bed?—No! the mournful voice was speaking unintermittingly, and + speaking from the same distance. + </p> + <p> + I moved to search for the matches on a chest of drawers, which stood near + the window. Though the morning was at its darkest, and the house stood + midway between two gas-lamps, there was a glimmering of light in this + place. I looked back into the room from the window, and thought I saw + something shadowy moving near the bed. “Take him away!” I heard Margaret + scream in her wildest tones. “His hands are on me: he’s feeling my face, + to feel if I’m dead!” + </p> + <p> + I ran to her, striking against some piece of furniture in the darkness. + Something passed swiftly between me and the bed, as I got near it. I + thought I heard a door close. Then there was silence for a moment; and + then, as I stretched out my hands, my right hand encountered the little + table placed by Margaret’s side, and the next moment I felt the match-box + that had been left on it. + </p> + <p> + As I struck a light, her voice repeated close at my ear: + </p> + <p> + “His hands are on me: he’s feeling my face to feel if I’m dead!” + </p> + <p> + The match flared up. As I carried it to the candle, I looked round, and + noticed for the first time that there was a second door, at the further + corner of the room, which lighted some inner apartment through glass panes + at the top. When I tried this door, it was locked on the inside, and the + room beyond was dark. + </p> + <p> + Dark and silent. But was no one there, hidden in that darkness and + silence? Was there any doubt now, that stealthy feet had approached + Margaret, that stealthy hands had touched her, while the room was in + obscurity?—Doubt? There was none on that point, none on any other. + Suspicion shaped itself into conviction in an instant, and identified the + stranger who had passed in the darkness between me and the bedside, with + the man whose presence I had dreaded, as the presence of an evil spirit in + the chamber of death. + </p> + <p> + He was waiting secretly in the house—waiting for her last moments; + listening for her last words; watching his opportunity, perhaps, to enter + the room again, and openly profane it by his presence! I placed myself by + the door, resolved, if he approached, to thrust him back, at any hazard, + from the bedside. How long I remained absorbed in watching before the + darkness of the inner room, I know not—but some time must have + elapsed before the silence around me forced itself suddenly on my + attention. I turned towards Margaret; and, in an instant, all previous + thoughts were suspended in my mind, by the sight that now met my eyes. + </p> + <p> + She had altered completely. Her hands, so restless hitherto, lay quite + still over the coverlid; her lips never moved; the whole expression of her + face had changed—the fever-traces remained on every feature, and yet + the fever-look was gone. Her eyes were almost closed; her quick breathing + had grown calm and slow. I touched her pulse; it was beating with a + wayward, fluttering gentleness. What did this striking alteration + indicate? Recovery? Was it possible? As the idea crossed my mind, every + one of my faculties became absorbed in the sole occupation of watching her + face; I could not have stirred an instant from the bed, for worlds. + </p> + <p> + The earliest dawn of day was glimmering faintly at the window, before + another change appeared—before she drew a long, sighing breath, and + slowly opened her eyes on mine. Their first look was very strange and + startling to behold; for it was the look that was natural to her; the calm + look of consciousness, restored to what it had always been in the past + time. It lasted only for a moment. She recognised me; and, instantly, an + expression of anguish and shame flew over the first terror and surprise of + her face. She struggled vainly to lift her hands—so busy all through + the night; so idle now! A faint moan of supplication breathed from her + lips; and she slowly turned her head on the pillow, so as to hide her face + from my sight. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my God! my God!” she murmured, in low, wailing tones, “I’ve broken + his heart, and he still comes here to be kind to me! This is worse than + death! I’m too bad to be forgiven—leave me! leave me!—oh, + Basil, leave me to die!” + </p> + <p> + I spoke to her; but desisted almost immediately—desisted even from + uttering her name. At the mere sound of my voice, her suffering rose to + agony; the wild despair of the soul wrestling awfully with the writhing + weakness of the body, uttered itself in words and cries horrible, beyond + all imagination, to hear. I sank down on my knees by the bedside; the + strength which had sustained me for hours, gave way in an instant, and I + burst into a passion of tears, as my spirit poured from my lips in + supplication for hers—tears that did not humiliate me; for I knew, + while I shed them, that I had forgiven her! + </p> + <p> + The dawn brightened. Gradually, as the fair light of the new day flowed in + lovely upon her bed; as the fresh morning breeze lifted tenderly and + playfully the scattered locks of her hair that lay over the pillow—so, + the calmness began to come back to her voice and the stillness of repose + to her limbs. But she never turned her face to me again; never, when the + wild words of her despair grew fewer and fainter; never, when the last + faint supplication to me, to leave her to die forsaken as she deserved, + ended mournfully in a long, moaning gasp for breath. I waited after this—waited + a long time—then spoke to her softly—then waited once more; + hearing her still breathe, but slowly and more slowly with every minute—then + spoke to her for the second time, louder than before. She never answered, + and never moved. Was she sleeping? I could not tell. Some influence seemed + to hold me back from going to the other side of the bed, to look at her + face, as it lay away from me, almost hidden in the pillow. + </p> + <p> + The light strengthened faster, and grew mellow with the clear beauty of + the morning sunshine. I heard the sound of rapid footsteps advancing along + the street; they stopped under the window: and a voice which I recognized, + called me by my name. I looked out: Mr. Bernard had returned at last. + </p> + <p> + “I could not get back sooner,” he said; “the case was desperate, and I was + afraid to leave it. You will find a key on the chimney-piece—throw + it out to me, and I can let myself in; I told them not to bolt the door + before I went out.” + </p> + <p> + I obeyed his directions. When he entered the room, I thought Margaret + moved a little, and signed to him with my hand to make no noise. He looked + towards the bed without any appearance of surprise, and asked me in a + whisper when the change had come over her, and how. I told him very + briefly, and inquired whether he had known of such changes in other cases, + like hers. + </p> + <p> + “Many,” he answered, “many changes just as extraordinary, which have + raised hopes that I never knew realised. Expect the worst from the change + you have witnessed; it is a fatal sign.” + </p> + <p> + Still, in spite of what he said, it seemed as if he feared to wake her; + for he spoke in his lowest tones, and walked very softly when he went + close to the bedside. + </p> + <p> + He stopped suddenly, just as he was about to feel her pulse, and looked in + the direction of the glass door—listened attentively—and said, + as if to himself—“I thought I heard some one moving in that room, + but I suppose I am mistaken; nobody can be up in the house yet.” With + those words he looked down at Margaret, and gently parted back her hair + from her forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t disturb her,” I whispered, “she is asleep; surely she is asleep!” + </p> + <p> + He paused before he answered me, and placed his hand on her heart. Then + softly drew up the bed-linen, till it hid her face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she is asleep,” he said gravely; “asleep, never to wake again. She + is dead.” + </p> + <p> + I turned aside my head in silence, for my thoughts, at that moment, were + not the thoughts which can be spoken by man to man. + </p> + <p> + “This has been a sad scene for any one at your age,” he resumed kindly, as + he left the bedside, “but you have borne it well. I am glad to see that + you can behave so calmly under so hard a trial.” + </p> + <p> + Calmly? + </p> + <p> + Yes! at that moment it was fit that I should be calm; for I could remember + that I had forgiven her. + </p> + <p> + VIII. + </p> + <p> + On the fourth day from the morning when she had died, I stood alone in the + churchyard by the grave of Margaret Sherwin. + </p> + <p> + It had been left for me to watch her dying moments; it was left for me to + bestow on her remains the last human charity which the living can extend + to the dead. If I could have looked into the future on our fatal + marriage-day, and could have known that the only home of my giving which + she would ever inhabit, would be the home of the grave!— + </p> + <p> + Her father had written me a letter, which I destroyed at the time; and + which, if I had it now, I should forbear from copying into these pages. + Let it be enough for me to relate here, that he never forgave the action + by which she thwarted him in his mercenary designs upon me and upon my + family; that he diverted from himself the suspicion and disgust of his + wife’s surviving relatives (whose hostility he had some pecuniary reasons + to fear), by accusing his daughter, as he had declared he would accuse + her, of having been the real cause of her mother’s death; and that he took + care to give the appearance of sincerity to the indignation which he + professed to feel against her, by refusing to follow her remains to the + place of burial. + </p> + <p> + Ralph had returned to London, as soon as he received the letter from Mr. + Bernard which I had forwarded to him. He offered me his assistance in + performing the last duties left to my care, with an affectionate + earnestness that I had never seen him display towards me before. But Mr. + Bernard had generously undertaken to relieve me of every responsibility + which could be assumed by others; and on this occasion, therefore, I had + no need to put my brother’s ready kindness in helping me to the test. + </p> + <p> + I stood alone by the grave. Mr. Bernard had taken leave of me; the workers + and the idlers in the churchyard had alike departed. There was no reason + why I should not follow them; and yet I remained, with my eyes fixed upon + the freshly-turned earth at my feet, thinking of the dead. + </p> + <p> + Some time had passed thus, when the sound of approaching footsteps + attracted my attention. I looked up, and saw a man, clothed in a long + cloak drawn loosely around his neck, and wearing a shade over his eyes, + which hid the whole upper part of his face, advancing slowly towards me, + walking with the help of a stick. He came on straight to the grave, and + stopped at the foot of it—stopped opposite me, as I stood at the + head. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know me again?” he said. “Do you know me for Robert Mannion?” As + he pronounced his name, he raised the shade and looked at me. + </p> + <p> + The first sight of that appalling face, with its ghastly discolouration of + sickness, its hideous deformity of feature, its fierce and changeless + malignity of expression glaring full on me in the piercing noonday + sunshine—glaring with the same unearthly look of fury and triumph + which I had seen flashing through the flashing lightning, when I parted + from him on the night of the storm—struck me speechless where I + stood, and has never left me since. I must not, I dare not, describe that + frightful sight; though it now rises before my imagination, vivid in its + horror as on the first day when I saw it—though it moves hither and + thither before me fearfully, while I write; though it lowers at my window, + a noisome shadow on the radiant prospect of earth, and sea, and sky, + whenever I look up from the page I am now writing towards the beauties of + my cottage view. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know me for Robert Mannion?” he repeated. “Do you know the work of + your own hands, now you see it? Or, am I changed to you past recognition, + as <i>your</i> father might have found <i>my</i> father changed, if he had + seen him on the morning of his execution, standing under the gallows, with + the cap over his face?” + </p> + <p> + Still I could neither speak nor move. I could only look away from him in + horror, and fix my eyes on the ground. + </p> + <p> + He lowered the shade to its former position on his face, then spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “Under this earth that we stand on,” he said, setting his foot on the + grave; “down here, where you are now looking, lies buried with the buried + dead, the last influence which might one day have gained you respite and + mercy at my hands. Did you think of the one, last chance that you were + losing, when you came to see her die? I watched <i>you,</i> and I watched + <i>her.</i> I heard as much as you heard; I saw as much as you saw; I know + when she died, and how, as you know it; I shared her last moments with + you, to the very end. It was my fancy not to give her up, as your sole + possession, even on her death-bed: it is my fancy, now, not to let you + stand alone—as if her corpse was your property—over her + grave!” + </p> + <p> + While he uttered the last words, I felt my self-possession returning. I + could not force myself to speak, as I would fain have spoken—I could + only move away, to leave him. + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” he said, “what I have still to say concerns you. I have to tell + you, face to face, standing with you here, over her dead body, that what I + wrote from the hospital, is what I will do; that I will make your whole + life to come, one long expiation of this deformity;” (he pointed to his + face), “and of that death” (he set his foot once more on the grave). “Go + where you will, this face of mine shall never be turned away from you; + this tongue, which you can never silence but by a crime, shall awaken + against you the sleeping superstitions and cruelties of all mankind. The + noisome secret of that night when you followed us, shall reek up like a + pestilence in the nostrils of your fellow-beings, be they whom they may. + You may shield yourself behind your family and your friends—I will + strike at you through the dearest and the bravest of them! Now you have + heard me, go! The next time we meet, you shall acknowledge with your own + lips that I can act as I speak. Live the free life which Margaret Sherwin + has restored to you by her death—you will know it soon for the life + of Cain!” + </p> + <p> + He turned from the grave, and left me by the way that he had come; but the + hideous image of him, and the remembrance of the words he had spoken, + never left me. Never for a moment, while I lingered alone in the + churchyard; never, when I quitted it, and walked through the crowded + streets. The horror of the fiend-face was still before my eyes, the poison + of the fiend-words was still in my ears, when I returned to my lodging, + and found Ralph waiting to see me as soon as I entered my room. + </p> + <p> + “At last you have come back!” he said; “I was determined to stop till you + did, if I stayed all day. Is anything the matter? Have you got into some + worse difficulty than ever?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Ralph—no. What have you to tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Something that will rather surprise you, Basil: I have to tell you to + leave London at once! Leave it for your own interests and for everybody + else’s. My father has found out that Clara has been to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! how?” + </p> + <p> + “He won’t tell me. But he has found it out. You know how you stand in his + opinion—I leave you to imagine what he thinks of Clara’s conduct in + coming here.” + </p> + <p> + “No! no! tell me yourself, Ralph—tell me how she bears his + displeasure!” + </p> + <p> + “As badly as possible. After having forbidden her ever to enter this house + again, he now only shows how he is offended, by his silence; and it is + exactly that, of course, which distresses her. Between her notions of + implicit obedience to <i>him,</i> and her opposite notions, just as + strong, of her sisterly duties to <i>you,</i> she is made miserable from + morning to night. What she will end in, if things go on like this, I am + really afraid to think; and I’m not easily frightened, as you know. Now, + Basil, listen to me: it is <i>your</i> business to stop this, and <i>my</i> + business to tell you how.” + </p> + <p> + “I will do anything you wish—anything for Clara’s sake!” + </p> + <p> + “Then leave London; and so cut short the struggle between her duty and her + inclination. If you don’t, my father is quite capable of taking her at + once into the country, though I know he has important business to keep him + in London. Write a letter to her, saying that you have gone away for your + health, for change of scene and peace of mind—gone away, in short, + to come back better some day. Don’t say where you’re going, and don’t tell + me, for she is sure to ask, and sure to get it out of me if I know. Then + she might be writing to you, and that might be found out, too. She can’t + distress herself about your absence, if you account for it properly, as + she distresses herself now—that is one consideration. And you will + serve your own interests, as well as Clara’s, by going away—that is + another.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind <i>my</i> interests. Clara! I can only think of Clara!” + </p> + <p> + “But you <i>have</i> interests, and you must think of them. I told my + father of the death of that unhappy woman, and of your noble behaviour + when she was dying. Don’t interrupt me, Basil—it <i>was</i> noble; I + couldn’t have done what you did, I can tell you! I saw he was more struck + by it than he was willing to confess. An impression has been made on him + by the turn circumstances have taken. Only leave that impression to + strengthen, and you’re safe. But if you destroy it by staying here, after + what has happened, and keeping Clara in this new dilemma—my dear + fellow, you destroy your best chance! There is a sort of defiance of him + in stopping; there is a downright concession to him in going away.” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>will</i> go, Ralph; you have more than convinced me that I ought! I + will go to-morrow, though where—” + </p> + <p> + “You have the rest of the day to think where. <i>I</i> should go abroad + and amuse myself; but your ideas of amusement are, most likely, not mine. + At any rate, wherever you go, I can always supply you with money, when you + want it; you can write to me, after you have been away some little time, + and I can write back, as soon as I have good news to tell you. Only stick + to your present determination, Basil, and, I’ll answer for it, you will be + back in your own study at home, before you are many months older!” + </p> + <p> + “I will put it out of my power to fail in my resolution, by writing to + Clara at once, and giving you the letter to place in her hands to-morrow + evening, when I shall have left London some hours.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s right, Basil! that’s acting and speaking like a man!” + </p> + <p> + I wrote immediately, accounting for my sudden absence as Ralph had advised + me—wrote, with a heavy heart, all that I thought would be most + reassuring and cheering to Clara; and then, without allowing myself time + to hesitate or to think, gave the letter to my brother. + </p> + <p> + “She shall have it to-morrow night,” he said, “and my father shall know + why you have left town, at the same time. Depend on me in this, as in + everything else. And now, Basil, I must say good bye—unless you’re + in the humour for coming to look at my new house this evening. Ah! I see + that won’t suit you just now, so, good bye, old fellow! Write when you are + in any necessity—get back your spirits and your health—and + never doubt that the step you are now taking will be the best for Clara, + and the best for yourself!” + </p> + <p> + He hurried out of the room, evidently feeling more at saying farewell than + he was willing to let me discover. I was left alone for the rest of the + day, to think whither I should turn my steps on the morrow. + </p> + <p> + I knew that it would be best that I should leave England; but there seemed + to have grown within me, suddenly, a yearning towards my own country that + I had never felt before—a home-sickness for the land in which my + sister lived. Not once did my thoughts wander away to foreign places, + while I now tried to consider calmly in what direction I should depart + when I left London. + </p> + <p> + While I was still in doubt, my earliest impressions of childhood came back + to my memory; and influenced by them, I thought of Cornwall. My nurse had + been a Cornish woman; my first fancies and first feelings of curiosity had + been excited by her Cornish stories, by the descriptions of the scenery, + the customs, and the people of her native land, with which she was ever + ready to amuse me. As I grew older, it had always been one of my favourite + projects to go to Cornwall, to explore the wild western land, on foot, + from hill to hill throughout. And now, when no motive of pleasure could + influence my choice—now, when I was going forth homeless and alone, + in uncertainty, in grief, in peril—the old fancy of long-past days + still kept its influence, and pointed out my new path to me among the + rocky boundaries of the Cornish shore. + </p> + <p> + My last night in London was a night made terrible by Mannion’s fearful + image in all my dreams—made mournful, in my waking moments, by + thoughts of the morrow which was to separate me from Clara. But I never + faltered in my resolution to leave London for her sake. When the morning + came, I collected my few necessaries, added to them one or two books, and + was ready to depart. + </p> + <p> + My way through the streets took me near my father’s house. As I passed by + the well-remembered neighbourhood, my self-control so far deserted me, + that I stopped and turned aside into the Square, in the hope of seeing + Clara once more before I went away. Cautiously and doubtfully, as if I was + a trespasser even on the public pavement, I looked up at the house which + was no more my home—at the windows, side by side, of my sister’s + sitting-room and bed-room. She was neither standing near them, nor passing + accidentally from one room to another at that moment. Still I could not + persuade myself to go on. I thought of many and many an act of kindness + that she had done for me, which I seemed never to have appreciated until + now—I thought of what she had suffered, and might yet suffer, for my + sake—and the longing to see her once more, though only for an + instant, still kept me lingering near the house and looking up vainly at + the lonely windows. + </p> + <p> + It was a bright, cool, autumnal morning; perhaps she might have gone out + into the garden of the square: it used often to be her habit, when I was + at home, to go there and read at this hour. I walked round, outside the + railings, searching for her between gaps in the foliage; and had nearly + made the circuit of the garden thus, before the figure of a lady sitting + alone under one of the trees, attracted my attention. I stopped—looked + intently towards her—and saw that it was Clara. + </p> + <p> + Her face was almost entirely turned from me; but I knew her by her dress, + by her figure—even by her position, simple as it was. She was + sitting with her hands on a closed book which rested on her knee. A little + spaniel that I had given her lay asleep at her feet: she seemed to be + looking down at the animal, as far as I could tell by the position of her + head. When I moved aside, to try if I could see her face, the trees hid + her from sight. I was obliged to be satisfied with the little I could + discern of her, through the one gap in the foliage which gave me a clear + view of the place where she was sitting. To speak to her, to risk the + misery to both of us of saying farewell, was more than I dared trust + myself to do. I could only stand silent, and look at her—it might be + for the last time!—until the tears gathered in my eyes, so that I + could see nothing more. I resisted the temptation to dash them away. While + they still hid her from me—while I could not see her again, if I + would—I turned from the garden view, and left the Square. + </p> + <p> + Amid all the thoughts which thronged on me, as I walked farther and + farther away from the neighbourhood of what was once my home; amid all the + remembrances of past events—from the first day when I met Margaret + Sherwin to the day when I stood by her grave—which were recalled by + the mere act of leaving London, there now arose in my mind, for the first + time, a doubt, which from that day to this has never left it; a doubt + whether Mannion might not be tracking me in secret along every step of my + way. + </p> + <p> + I stopped instinctively, and looked behind me. Many figures were moving in + the distance; but the figure that I had seen in the churchyard was nowhere + visible among them. A little further on, I looked back again, and still + with the same result. After this, I let a longer interval elapse before I + stopped; and then, for the third time, I turned round, and scanned the + busy street-scene behind me, with eager, suspicious eyes. Some little + distance back, on the opposite side of the way, I caught sight of a man + who was standing still (as I was standing), amid the moving throng. His + height was like Mannion’s height; and he wore a cloak like the cloak I had + seen on Mannion, when he approached me at Margaret’s grave. More than this + I could not detect, without crossing over. The passing vehicles and + foot-passengers constantly intercepted my view, from the position in which + I stood. + </p> + <p> + Was this figure, thus visible only by intervals, the figure of Mannion? + and was he really tracking my steps? As the suspicion strengthened in my + mind that it was so, the remembrance of his threat in the churchyard: “You + may shield yourself behind your family and your friends: I will strike at + you through the dearest and the bravest of them—” suddenly recurred + to me; and brought with it a thought which urged me instantly to proceed + on my way. I never looked behind me again, as I now walked on; for I said + within myself:—“If he is following me, I must not, and will not + avoid him: it will be the best result of my departure, that I shall draw + after me that destroying presence; and thus at least remove it far and + safely away from my family and my home!” + </p> + <p> + So, I neither turned aside from the straight direction, nor hurried my + steps, nor looked back any more. At the time I had resolved on, I left + London for Cornwall, without making any attempt to conceal my departure. + And though I knew that he must surely be following me, still I never saw + him again: never discovered how close or how far off he was on my track. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Two months have passed since that period; and I know no more about him <i>now</i> + than I knew <i>then.</i> + </p> +<p class="c"> + JOURNAL. +</p> + <p> + October 19th—My retrospect is finished. I have traced the history of + my errors and misfortunes, of the wrong I have done and the punishment I + have suffered for it, from the past to the present time. + </p> + <p> + The pages of my manuscript (many more than I thought to write at first) + lie piled together on the table before me. I dare not look them over: I + dare not read the lines which my own hand has traced. There may be much in + my manner of writing that wants alteration; but I have no heart to return + to my task, and revise and reconsider as I might if I were intent on + producing a book which was to be published during my lifetime. Others will + be found, when I am no more, to carve, and smooth, and polish to the + popular taste of the day this rugged material of Truth which I shall leave + behind me. + </p> + <p> + But now, while I collect these leaves, and seal them up, never to be + opened again by my hands, can I feel that I have related all which it is + necessary to tell? No! While Mannion lives—while I am ignorant of + the changes that may yet be wrought in the home from which I am exiled—there + remains for me a future which must be recorded, as the necessary sequel to + the narrative of the past. What may yet happen worthy of record, I know + not: what sufferings I may yet undergo, which may unfit me for continuing + the labour now terminated for a time, I cannot foresee. I have not hope + enough in the future, or in myself; to believe that I shall have the time + or the energy to write hereafter, as I have written already, from + recollection. It is best, then, that I should note down events daily as + they occur; and so ensure, as far as may be, a continuation of my + narrative, fragment by fragment, to the very last. + </p> + <p> + But, first, as a fit beginning to the Journal I now propose to keep, let + me briefly reveal something, in this place, of the life that I am leading + in my retirement on the Cornish coast. + </p> + <p> + The fishing hamlet in which I have written the preceding pages, is on the + southern shore of Cornwall, not more than a few miles distant from the + Land’s End. The cottage I inhabit is built of rough granite, rudely + thatched, and has but two rooms. I possess no furniture but my bed, my + table, and my chair; and some half-dozen fishermen and their families are + my only neighbours. But I feel neither the want of luxuries, nor the want + of society: all that I wished for in coming here, I have—the + completest seclusion. + </p> + <p> + My arrival produced, at first, both astonishment and suspicion. The + fishermen of Cornwall still preserve almost all the superstitions, even to + the grossest, which were held dear by their humble ancestors, centuries + back. My simple neighbours could not understand why I had no business to + occupy me; could not reconcile my worn, melancholy face with my youthful + years. Such loneliness as mine looked unnatural—especially to the + women. They questioned me curiously; and the very simplicity of my answer, + that I had only come to Cornwall to live in quiet, and regain my health, + perplexed them afresh. They waited, day after day, when I was first + installed in the cottage, to see letters sent to me—and no letters + arrived: to see my friends join me—and no friends came. This + deepened the mystery to their eyes. They began to recall to memory old + Cornish legends of solitary, secret people who had lived, years and years + ago, in certain parts of the county—coming, none knew whence; + existing, none knew by what means; dying and disappearing, none knew when. + They felt half inclined to identify me with these mysterious visitors—to + consider me as some being, a stranger to the whole human family, who had + come to waste away under a curse, and die ominously and secretly among + them. Even the person to whom I first paid money for my necessaries, + questioned, for a moment, the lawfulness and safety of receiving it! + </p> + <p> + But these doubts gradually died away; this superstitious curiosity + insensibly wore off, among my poor neighbours. They became used to my + solitary, thoughtful, and (to them) inexplicable mode of existence. One or + two little services of kindness which I rendered, soon after my arrival, + to their children, worked wonders in my favour; and I am pitied now, + rather than distrusted. When the results of the fishing are abundant, a + little present has been often made to me, out of the nets. Some weeks ago, + after I had gone out in the morning, I found on my return, two or three + gulls’ eggs placed in a basket before my door. They had been left there by + the children, as ornaments for my cottage window—the only ornaments + they had to give; the only ornaments they had ever heard of. + </p> + <p> + I can now go out unnoticed, directing my steps up the ravine in which our + hamlet is situated, towards the old grey stone church which stands + solitary on the hill-top, surrounded by the lonesome moor. If any children + happen to be playing among the scattered tombs, they do not start and run + away, when they see me sitting on the coffin stone at the entrance of the + churchyard, or wandering round the sturdy granite tower, reared by hands + which have mouldered into dust centuries ago. My approach has ceased to be + of evil omen for my little neighbours. They just look up at me, for a + moment, with bright smiles, and then go on with their game. + </p> + <p> + From the churchyard, I look down the ravine, on fine days, towards the + sea. Mighty piles of granite soar above the fishermen’s cottages on each + side; the little strip of white beach which the cliffs shut in, glows pure + in the sunlight; the inland stream that trickles down the bed of the + rocks, sparkles, at places, like a rivulet of silver-fire; the round white + clouds, with their violet shadows and bright wavy edges, roll on + majestically above me; the cries of the sea-birds, the endless, dirging + murmur of the surf, and the far music of the wind among the ocean caverns, + fall, now together, now separately on my ear. Nature’s voice and Nature’s + beauty—God’s soothing and purifying angels of the soul—speak + to me most tenderly and most happily, at such times as these. + </p> + <p> + It is when the rain falls, and wind and sea arise together—when, + sheltered among the caverns in the side of the precipice, I look out upon + the dreary waves and the leaping spray—that I feel the unknown + dangers which hang over my head in all the horror of their uncertainty. + Then, the threats of my deadly enemy strengthen their hold fearfully on + all my senses. I see the dim and ghastly personification of a fatality + that is lying in wait for me, in the strange shapes of the mist which + shrouds the sky, and moves, and whirls, and brightens, and darkens in a + weird glory of its own over the heaving waters. Then, the crash of the + breakers on the reef howls upon me with a sound of judgment; and the voice + of the wind, growling and battling behind me in the hollows of the cave, + is, ever and ever, the same thunder-voice of doom and warning in my ear. + </p> + <p> + Does this foreboding that Mannion’s eye is always on me, that his + footsteps are always secretly following mine, proceed only from the + weakness of my worn-out energies? Could others in my situation restrain + themselves from fearing, as I do, that he is still incessantly watching me + in secret? It is possible. It may be, that his terrible connection with + all my sufferings of the past, makes me attach credit too easily to the + destroying power which he arrogates to himself in the future. Or it may + be, that all resolution to resist him is paralysed in me, not so much by + my fear of his appearance, as by my uncertainty of the time when it will + take place—not so much by his menaces themselves, as by the delay in + their execution. Still, though I can estimate fairly the value of these + considerations, they exercise over me no lasting influence of + tranquillity. I remember what this man <i>has</i> done; and in spite of + all reasoning, I believe in what he has told me he will yet do. Madman + though he may be, I have no hope of defence or escape from him in any + direction, look where I will. + </p> + <p> + But for the occupation which the foregoing narrative has given to my mind; + but for the relief which my heart can derive from its thoughts of Clara, I + must have sunk under the torment of suspense and suspicion in which my + life is now passed. My sister! Even in this self-imposed absence from her, + I have still found a means of connecting myself remotely with something + that she loves. I have taken, as the assumed name under which I live, and + shall continue to live until my father has given me back his confidence + and his affection, the name of a little estate that once belonged to my + mother, and that now belongs to her daughter. Even the most wretched have + their caprice, their last favourite fancy. I possess no memorial of Clara, + not even a letter. The name that I have taken from the place which she was + always fondest and proudest of, is, to me, what a lock of hair, a ring, + any little loveable keepsake, is to others happier than I am. + </p> + <p> + I have wandered away from the simple details of my life in this place. + Shall I now return to them? Not to-day; my head burns, my hand is weary. + If the morrow should bring with it no event to write of, on the morrow I + can resume the subject from which I now break off. + </p> + <p> + October 20th.—After laying aside my pen, I went out yesterday for + the purpose of renewing that former friendly intercourse with my poor + neighbours, which has been interrupted for the last three weeks by + unintermitting labour at the latter portions of my narrative. + </p> + <p> + In the course of my walk among the cottages and up to the old church on + the moor, I saw fewer of the people of the district than usual. The + behaviour of those whom I did chance to meet, seemed unaccountably + altered; perhaps it was mere fancy, but I thought they avoided me. One + woman abruptly shut her cottage door as I approached. A fisherman, when I + wished him good day, hardly answered; and walked on without stopping to + gossip with me as usual. Some children, too, whom I overtook on the road + to the church, ran away from me, making gestures to each other which I + could not understand. Is the first superstitious distrust of me returning + after I thought it had been entirely overcome? Or are my neighbours only + showing their resentment at my involuntary neglect of them for the last + three weeks? I must try to find out to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + 21st—I have discovered all! The truth, which I was strangely slow to + suspect yesterday, has forced itself on me to-day. + </p> + <p> + I went out this morning, as I had purposed, to discover whether my + neighbours had really changed towards me, or not, since the interval of my + three weeks’ seclusion. At the cottage-door nearest to mine, two young + children were playing, whom I knew I had succeeded in attaching to me soon + after my arrival. I walked up to speak to them; but, as I approached, + their mother came out, and snatched them from me with a look of anger and + alarm. Before I could question her, she had taken them inside the cottage, + and had closed the door. + </p> + <p> + Almost at the same moment, as if by a preconcerted signal, three or four + other women came out from their abodes at a little distance, warned me in + loud, angry voices not to come near them, or their children; and + disappeared, shutting their doors. Still not suspecting the truth, I + turned back, and walked towards the beach. The lad whom I employ to serve + me with provisions, was lounging there against the side of an old boat. At + seeing me, he started up, and walked away a few steps—then stopped, + and called out— + </p> + <p> + “I’m not to bring you anything more; father says he won’t sell to you + again, whatever you pay him.” + </p> + <p> + I asked the boy why his father had said that; but he ran back towards the + village without answering me. + </p> + <p> + “You had best leave us,” muttered a voice behind me. “If you don’t go of + your own accord, our people will starve you out of the place.” + </p> + <p> + The man who said these words, had been one of the first to set the example + of friendliness towards me, after my arrival; and to him I now turned for + the explanation which no one else would give me. + </p> + <p> + “You know what we mean, and why we want you to go, well enough,” was his + reply. + </p> + <p> + I assured him that I did not; and begged him so earnestly to enlighten me, + that he stopped as he was walking away. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you about it,” he said; “but not now; I don’t want to be seen + with you.” (As he spoke he looked back at the women, who were appearing + once more in front of their cottages.) “Go home again, and shut yourself + up; I’ll come at dusk.” + </p> + <p> + And he came as he had promised. But when I asked him to enter my cottage, + he declined, and said he would talk to me outside, at my window. This + disinclination to be under my roof, reminded me that my supplies of food + had, for the last week, been left on the window-ledge, instead of being + brought into my room as usual. I had been too constantly occupied to pay + much attention to the circumstance at the time; but I thought it very + strange now. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me you don’t suspect why we want to get you out of + our place here?” said the man, looking in distrustfully at me through the + window. + </p> + <p> + I repeated that I could not imagine why they had all changed towards me, + or what wrong they thought I had done them. + </p> + <p> + “Then I’ll soon let you know it,” he continued. “We want you gone from + here, because—” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” interrupted another voice behind him, which I recognised as his + wife’s, “because you’re bringing a blight on us, and our houses—because + <i>we want our children’s faces left as God made them</i>—” + </p> + <p> + “Because,” interposed a second woman, who had joined her, “you’re bringing + devil’s vengeances among Christian people! Come back, John! he’s not safe + for a true man to speak to.” + </p> + <p> + They dragged the fisherman away with them before he could say another + word. I had heard enough. The fatal truth burst at once on my mind. + Mannion <i>had</i> followed me to Cornwall: his threats were executed to + the very letter! + </p> + <p> + (10 o’clock.)—I have lit my candle for the last time in this + cottage, to add a few lines to my journal. The hamlet is quiet; I hear no + footstep outside—and yet, can I be certain that Mannion is not + lurking near my door at this moment? + </p> + <p> + I must go when the morning comes; I must leave this quiet retreat, in + which I have lived so calmly until now. There is no hope that I can + reinstate myself in the opinions of my poor neighbours. He has arrayed + against me the pitiless hostility of their superstition. He has found out + the dormant cruelties, even in the hearts of these simple people; and has + awakened them against me, as he said he would. The evil work must have + been begun within the last three weeks, while I was much within doors, and + there was little chance of meeting me in my usual walks. How that work was + accomplished it is useless to inquire; my only object now, must be to + prepare myself at once for departure. + </p> + <p> + (11 o’clock.)—While I was putting up my few books, a minute ago, a + little embroidered marker fell out of one of them, which I had not + observed in the pages before; and which I recognised as having been worked + for me by Clara. I have a memorial of my sister in my possession, after + all! Trifling as it is, I shall preserve it about me, as a messenger of + consolation in the time of adversity and peril. + </p> + <p> + (1 o’clock.)—The wind sweeps down on us, from off the moorland, in + fiercer and fiercer gusts; the waves dash heavily against our rock + promontory; the rain drifts wildly past my windows; and the densest + darkness overspreads the whole sky. The storm which has been threatening + for some days, is gathering fast. + </p> + <p> + (Village of Treen, October 22nd.)—The events of this one day have + changed the whole future of my life. I must force myself to write of them + at once. Something warns me that if I delay, though only till to-morrow, I + shall be incapable of relating them at all. + </p> + <p> + It was still early in the morning—I think about seven o’clock—when + I closed my cottage door behind me, never to open it again. I met only one + or two of my neighbours as I left the hamlet. They drew aside to let me + advance, without saying a word. With a heavy heart, grieved more than I + could have imagined possible at departing as an enemy from among the + people with whom I had lived as a friend, I passed slowly by the last + cottages, and ascended the cliff path which led to the moor. + </p> + <p> + The storm had raged at its fiercest some hours back. Soon after daylight + the wind sank; but the majesty of the mighty sea had lost none of its + terror and grandeur as yet. The huge Atlantic waves still hurled + themselves, foaming and furious, against the massive granite of the + Cornish cliffs. Overhead, the sky was hidden in a thick white mist, now + hanging, still and dripping, down to the ground; now rolling in shapes + like vast smoke-wreaths before the light wind which still blew at + intervals. At a distance of more than a few yards, the largest objects + were totally invisible. I had nothing to guide me, as I advanced, but the + ceaseless roaring of the sea on my right hand. + </p> + <p> + It was my purpose to get to Penzance by night. Beyond that, I had no + project, no thought of what refuge I should seek next. Any hope I might + have formerly felt of escaping from Mannion, had now deserted me for ever. + I could not discover by any outward indications, that he was still + following my footsteps. The mist obscured all objects behind me from view; + the ceaseless crashing of the shore-waves overwhelmed all landward sounds, + but I never doubted for a moment that he was watching me, as I proceeded + along my onward way. + </p> + <p> + I walked slowly, keeping from the edge of the precipices only by keeping + the sound of the sea always at the same distance from my ear; knowing that + I was advancing in the proper direction, though very circuitously, as long + as I heard the waves on my right hand. To have ventured on the shorter + way, by the moor and the cross-roads beyond it, would have been only to + have lost myself past all chance of extrication, in the mist. + </p> + <p> + In this tedious manner I had gone on for some time, before it struck me + that the noise of the sea was altering completely to my sense of hearing. + It seemed to be sounding very strangely on each side of me—both on + my right hand and on my left. I stopped and strained my eyes to look + through the mist, but it was useless. Crags only a few yards off, seemed + like shadows in the thick white vapour. Again, I went on a little; and, + ere long, I heard rolling towards me, as it were, under my own feet, and + under the roaring of the sea, a howling, hollow, intermittent sound—like + thunder at a distance. I stopped again, and rested against a rock. After + some time, the mist began to part to seaward, but remained still as thick + as ever on each side of me. I went on towards the lighter sky in front—the + thunder-sound booming louder and louder, in the very heart, as it seemed, + of the great cliff. + </p> + <p> + The mist brightened yet a little more, and showed me a landmark to ships, + standing on the highest point of the surrounding rocks. I climbed to it, + recognised the glaring red and white pattern in which it was painted, and + knew that I had wandered, in the mist, away from the regular line of + coast, out on one of the great granite promontories which project into the + sea, as natural breakwaters, on the southern shore of Cornwall. + </p> + <p> + I had twice penetrated as far as this place, at the earlier period of my + sojourn in the fishing-hamlet, and while I now listened to the + thunder-sound, I knew from what cause it proceeded. + </p> + <p> + Beyond the spot where I stood, the rocks descended suddenly, and almost + perpendicularly, to the range below them. In one of the highest parts of + the wall-side of granite thus formed, there opened a black, yawning hole + that slanted nearly straight downwards, like a tunnel, to unknown and + unfathomable depths below, into which the waves found entrance through + some subterranean channel. Even at calm times the sea was never silent in + this frightful abyss, but on stormy days its fury was terrific. The wild + waves boiled and thundered in their imprisonment, till they seemed to + convulse the solid cliff about them, like an earthquake. But, high as they + leapt up in the rocky walls of the chasm, they never leapt into sight from + above. Nothing but clouds of spray indicated to the eye, what must be the + horrible tumult of the raging waters below. + </p> + <p> + With my recognition of the place to which I had now wandered, came + remembrance of the dangers I had left behind me on the rock-track that led + from the mainland to the promontory—dangers of narrow ledges and + treacherous precipices, which I had passed safely, while unconscious of + them in the mist, but which I shrank from tempting again, now that I + recollected them, until the sky had cleared, and I could see my way well + before me. The atmosphere was still brightening slowly over the tossing, + distant waves: I determined to wait until it had lost all its obscurity, + before I ventured to retrace my steps. + </p> + <p> + I moved down towards the lower range of rocks, to seek a less exposed + position than that which I now occupied. As I neared the chasm, the + terrific howling of the waves inside it was violent enough to drown, not + only the crashing sound of the surf on the outward crags of the + promontory, but even the shrill cries of the hundreds on hundreds of + sea-birds that whirled around me, except when their flight was immediately + over my head. At each side of the abyss, the rocks, though very + precipitous, afforded firm hold for hand and foot. As I descended them, + the morbid longing to look on danger, which has led many a man to the very + brink of a precipice, even while he dreaded it, led me to advance as near + as I durst to the side of the great hole, and to gaze down into it. I + could see but little of its black, shining, interior walls, or of the + fragments of rock which here and there jutted out from them, crowned with + patches of long, lank, sea-weed waving slowly to and fro in empty space—I + could see but little of these things, for the spray from the bellowing + water in the invisible depths below, steamed up almost incessantly, like + smoke, and shot, hissing in clouds out of the mouth of the chasm, on to a + huge flat rock, covered with sea-weed, that lay beneath and in front of + it. The very sight of this smooth, slippery plane of granite, shelving + steeply downward, right into the gaping depths of the hole, made my head + swim; the thundering of the water bewildered and deafened me—I moved + away while I had the power: away, some thirty or forty yards in a lateral + direction, towards the edges of the promontory which looked down on the + sea. Here, the rocks rose again in wild shapes, forming natural caverns + and penthouses. Towards one of these I now advanced, to shelter myself + till the sky had cleared. + </p> + <p> + I had just entered the place, close to the edge of the cliff, when a hand + was laid suddenly and firmly on my arm; and, through the crashing of the + waves below, the thundering of the water in the abyss behind, and the + shrieking of the seabirds overhead, I heard these words, spoken close to + my ear:— + </p> + <p> + “Take care of your life. It is not your’s to throw away—it is <i>mine!</i>” + </p> + <p> + I turned, and saw Mannion standing by me. No shade concealed the hideous + distortion of his face. His eye was on me, as he pointed significantly + down to the surf foaming two hundred feet beneath us. + </p> + <p> + “Suicide!” he said slowly—“I suspected it, and, this time, I + followed close: followed, to fight with death, which should have you.” + </p> + <p> + As I moved back from the edge of the precipice, and shook him from me, I + marked the vacancy that glared even through the glaring triumph of his + eye, and remembered how I had been warned against him at the hospital. + </p> + <p> + The mist was thickening again, but thickening now in clouds that parted + and changed minute by minute, under the influence of the light behind + them. I had noticed these sudden transitions before, and knew them to be + the signs which preceded the speedy clearing of the atmosphere. + </p> + <p> + When I looked up at the sky, Mannion stepped back a few paces, and pointed + in the direction of the fishing-hamlet from which I had departed. + </p> + <p> + “Even in that remote place,” he said, “and among those ignorant people, my + deformed face has borne witness against you, and Margaret’s death has been + avenged, as I said it should. You have been expelled as a pest and a + curse, by a community of poor fishermen; you have begun to live your life + of excommunication, as I lived mine. Superstition!—barbarous, + monstrous superstition, which I found ready made to my use, is the scourge + with which I have driven you from that hiding-place. Look at me now! I + have got back my strength; I am no longer the sick refuse of the hospital. + Where you go, I have the limbs and the endurance to go too! I tell you + again, we are linked together for life; I cannot leave you if I would. The + horrible joy of hunting you through the world, leaps in my blood like + fire! Look! look out on those tossing waves. There is no rest for <i>them;</i> + there shall be no rest for <i>you!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The sight of him, standing close by me in that wild solitude; the hoarse + sound of his voice, as he raised it almost to raving in his exultation + over my helplessness; the incessant crashing of the sea on the outer + rocks; the roaring of the tortured waters imprisoned in the depths of the + abyss behind us; the obscurity of the mist, and the strange, wild shapes + it began to take, as it now rolled almost over our heads—-all that I + saw, all that I heard, seemed suddenly to madden me, as Mannion uttered + his last words. My brain felt turned to fire; my heart to ice. A horrible + temptation to rid myself for ever of the wretch before me, by hurling him + over the precipice at my feet, seized on me. I felt my hands stretching + themselves out towards him without my willing it—if I had waited + another instant, I should have dashed him or myself to destruction. But I + turned back in time; and, reckless of all danger, fled from the sight of + him, over the rugged and perilous surface of the cliff. + </p> + <p> + The shock of a fall among the rocks, before I had advanced more than a few + yards, partly restored my self-possession. Still, I dared not look back to + see if Mannion was following me, so long as the precipice behind him was + within view. + </p> + <p> + I began to climb to the higher range of rocks almost at the same spot by + which I had descended from them—judging by the close thunder of the + water in the chasm. Halfway up, I stopped at a broad resting-place; and + found that I must proceed a little, either to the right or to the left, in + a horizontal direction, before I could easily get higher. At that moment, + the mist was slowly brightening again. I looked first to the left, to see + where I could get good foothold—then to the right, towards the outer + sides of the riven rocks close at hand. + </p> + <p> + At the same instant, I caught sight dimly of the figure of Mannion, moving + shadow-like below and beyond me, skirting the farther edge of the slippery + plane of granite that shelved into the gaping mouth of the hole. The + brightening atmosphere showed him that he had risked himself, in the mist, + too near to a dangerous place. He stopped—looked up and saw me + watching him—raised his hand—and shook it threateningly in the + air. The ill-calculated violence of his action, in making that menacing + gesture, destroyed his equilibrium—he staggered—tried to + recover himself—swayed half round where he stood—then fell + heavily backward, right on to the steep shelving rock. + </p> + <p> + The wet sea-weed slipped through his fingers, as they madly clutched at + it. He struggled frantically to throw himself towards the side of the + declivity; slipping further and further down it at every effort. Close to + the mouth of the abyss, he sprang up as if he had been shot. A tremendous + jet of spray hissed out upon him at the same moment. I heard a scream, so + shrill, so horribly unlike any human cry, that it seemed to silence the + very thundering of the water. The spray fell. For one instant, I saw two + livid and bloody hands tossed up against the black walls of the hole, as + he dropped into it. Then, the waves roared again fiercely in their hidden + depths; the spray flew out once more; and when it cleared off; nothing was + to be seen at the yawning mouth of the chasm—nothing moved over the + shelving granite, but some torn particles of sea-weed sliding slowly + downwards in the running ooze. + </p> + <p> + The shock of that sight must have paralysed within me the power of + remembering what followed it; for I can recall nothing, after looking on + the emptiness of the rock below, except that I crouched on the ledge under + my feet, to save myself from falling off it—that there was an + interval of oblivion—and that I seemed to awaken again, as it were, + to the thundering of the water in the abyss. When I rose and looked around + me, the seaward sky was lovely in its clearness; the foam of the leaping + waves flashed gloriously in the sunlight: and all that remained of the + mist was one great cloud of purple shadow, hanging afar off over the whole + inland view. + </p> + <p> + I traced my way back along the promontory feebly and slowly. My weakness + was so great, that I trembled in every limb. A strange uncertainty about + directing myself in the simplest actions, overcame my mind. Sometimes, I + stopped short, hesitating in spite of myself at the slightest obstacles in + my path. Sometimes, I grew confused without any cause, about the direction + in which I was proceeding, and fancied I was going back to the fishing + village.. The sight that I had witnessed, seemed to be affecting me + physically, far more than mentally. As I dragged myself on my weary way + along the coast, there was always the same painful vacancy in my thoughts: + there seemed to be no power in them yet, of realising Mannion’s appalling + death. + </p> + <p> + By the time I arrived at this village, my strength was so utterly + exhausted, that the people at the inn were obliged to help me upstairs. + Even now, after some hours’ rest, the mere exertion of dipping my pen in + the ink begins to be a labour and a pain to me. There is a strange + fluttering at my heart; my recollections are growing confused again—I + can write no more. + </p> + <p> + 23rd.—The frightful scene that I witnessed yesterday still holds the + same disastrous influence over me. I have vainly endeavoured to think, not + of Mannion’s death, but of the free prospect which that death has opened + to my view. Waking or sleeping, it is as if some fatality kept all my + faculties imprisoned within the black walls of the chasm. I saw the livid, + bleeding hands flying past them again, in my dreams, last night. And now, + while the morning is clear and the breeze is fresh, no repose, no change + comes to my thoughts. Time bright beauty of unclouded daylight seems to + have lost the happy influence over me which it used formerly to possess. + </p> + <p> + 25th.—All yesterday I had not energy enough even to add a line to + this journal. The strength to control myself seems to have gone from me. + The slightest accidental noise in the house, throws me into a fit of + trembling which I cannot subdue. Surely, if ever the death of one human + being brought release and salvation to another, the death of Mannion has + brought them to me; and yet, the effect left on my mind by the horror of + having seen it, is still not lessened—not even by the knowledge of + all that I have gained by being freed from the deadliest and most + determined enemy that man ever had. + </p> + <p> + 26th.—Visions—half waking, half dreaming—all through the + night. Visions of my last lonely evening in the fishing-hamlet—of + Mannion again—the livid hands whirling to and fro over my head in + the darkness—then, glimpses of home; of Clara reading to me in my + study—then, a change to the room where Margaret died—the sight + of her again, with her long black hair streaming over her face—then, + oblivion for a little while—then, Mannion once more; walking + backwards and forwards by my bedside—his death, seeming like a + dream; his watching me through the night like a reality to which I had + just awakened—Clara walking opposite to him on the other side—Ralph + between them, pointing at me. + </p> + <p> + 27th.—I am afraid my mind is seriously affected; it must have been + fatally weakened before I passed through the terrible scenes among the + rocks of the promontory. My nerves must have suffered far more than I + suspected at the time, under the constant suspense in which I have been + living since I left London, and under the incessant strain and agitation + of writing the narrative of all that has happened to me. Shall I send a + letter to Ralph? No—not yet. It might look like impatience, like not + being able to bear my necessary absence as calmly and resolutely as I + ought. + </p> + <p> + 28th.—A wakeful night—tormented by morbid apprehensions that + the reports about me in the fishing-village may spread to this place; that + inquiries may be made after Mannion; and that I may be suspected of having + caused his death. + </p> + <p> + 29th.—The people at the inn have sent to get me medical advice. The + doctor came to-day. He was kindness itself; but I fell into a fit of + trembling, the moment he entered the room—grew confused in + attempting to tell him what was the matter with me—and, at last, + could not articulate a single word distinctly. He looked very grave as he + examined me and questioned the landlady. I thought I heard him say + something about sending for my friends, but could not be certain. + </p> + <p> + 31st.—Weaker and weaker. I tried in despair, to-day, to write to + Ralph; but knew not how to word the letter. The simplest forms of + expression confused themselves inextricably in my mind. I was obliged to + give it up. It is a surprise to me to find that I can still add with my + pencil to the entries in this Journal! When I am no longer able to + continue, in some sort, the employment to which I have been used for so + many weeks past, what will become of me? Shall I have lost the only + safeguard that keeps me in my senses? + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Worse! worse! I have forgotten what day of the month it is; and cannot + remember it for a moment together, when they tell me—cannot even + recollect how long I have been confined to my bed. I feel as if my heart + was wasting away. Oh! if I could only see Clara again. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The doctor and a strange man have been looking among my papers. + </p> + <p> + My God! am I dying? dying at the very time when there is a chance of + happiness for my future life? + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Clara!—far from her—nothing but the little book-marker she + worked for me—leave it round my neck when I— + </p> + <p> + I can’t move, or breathe, or think—if I could only be taken back—if + my father could see me as I am now! Night again—the dreams that will + come—always of home; sometimes, the untried home in heaven, as well + as the familiar home on earth— + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Clara! I shall die out of my senses, unless Clara—break the news + gently—it may kill her— + </p> + <p> + Her face so bright and calm! her watchful, weeping eyes always looking at + me, with a light in them that shines steady through the quivering tears. + While the light lasts, I shall live; when it begins to die out—* + </p> +<p class="c"> + NOTE BY THE EDITOR. + + * There are some lines of writing beyond this point; but they are + illegible. +</p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LETTERS IN CONCLUSION. + </h2> + <p> + LETTER I. + </p> + <p> + FROM WILLIAM PENHALE, MINER, AT BARTALLOCK, IN CORNWALL, TO HIS WIFE IN + LONDON. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR MARY, + </p> + <p> + I received your letter yesterday, and was more glad than I can say, at + hearing that our darling girl Susan has got such a good place in London, + and likes her new mistress so well. My kind respects to your sister and + her husband, and say I don’t grumble about the money that’s been spent in + sending you with Susan to take care of her. She was too young, poor child, + to be trusted to make the journey alone; and, as I was obliged to stop at + home and work to keep the other children, and pay back what we borrowed + for the trip, of course you were the proper person, after me, to go with + Susan—whose welfare is a more precious possession to us than any + money, I am sure. Besides, when I married you, and took you away to + Cornwall, I always promised you a trip to London to see your friends + again; and now that promise is performed. So, once again, don’t fret about + the money that’s been spent: I shall soon pay it back. + </p> + <p> + I’ve got some very strange news for you, Mary. You know how bad work was + getting at the mine, before you went away—so bad, that I thought to + myself after you had gone, “Hadn’t I better try what I can do in the + fishing at Treen?” And I went there; and, thank God, have got on well by + it. I can turn my hand to most things; and the fishing has been very good + this year. So I have stuck to my work. And now I come to my news. + </p> + <p> + The landlady at the inn here, is, as you know, a sort of relation of mine. + Well, the third afternoon after you had gone, I was stopping to say a word + to her at her own door, on my way to the beach, when we saw a young + gentleman, quite a stranger, coming up to us. He looked very pale and + wild-like, I thought, when he asked for a bed; and then got faint all of a + sudden—so faint and ill, that I was obliged to lend a hand in + getting him upstairs. The next morning I heard he was worse: and it was + just the same story the morning after. He quite frightened the landlady, + he was so restless, and talked to himself in such a strange way; specially + at night. He wouldn’t say what was the matter with him, or who he was: we + could only find out that he had been stopping among the fishing people + further west: and that they had not behaved very well to him at last—more + shame for them! I’m sure they could take no hurt from the poor young + fellow, let him be whom he may. Well, the end of it was that I went and + fetched the doctor for him myself, and when we got into his room, we found + him all pale and trembling, and looking at us, poor soul, as if he thought + we meant to murder him. The doctor gave his complaint some hard names + which I don’t know how to write down; but it seems there’s more the matter + with his mind than his body, and that he must have had some great fright + which has shaken his nerves all to pieces. The only way to do him good, as + the doctor said, was to have him carefully nursed by his relations, and + kept quiet among people he knew; strange faces about him being likely to + make him worse. The doctor asked where his friends lived; but he wouldn’t + say, and, lately, he’s got so much worse that he can’t speak clearly to us + at all. + </p> + <p> + Yesterday evening, he gave us all a fright. The doctor hearing me below, + asking after him, said I was to come up stairs and help to move him to + have his bed made. As soon as I raised him up (though I’m sure I touched + him as gently as I could), he fainted dead away. While he was being + brought to, a little piece of something that looked like card-board, + prettily embroidered with beads and silk, came away from a string that + held it round his neck, and dropped off the bedside. I picked it up; for I + remembered the time, Mary, when you and I were courting, and how precious + the least thing was to me that belonged to you. So I took care of it for + him, thinking it might be a keepsake from his sweetheart. And sure enough, + when he came to, he put up his thin white hands to his neck, and looked so + thankful at me when I tied the little thing again to the string! Just as I + had done that, the doctor beckons me to the other end of the room. + </p> + <p> + “This won’t do,” says he to me in a whisper. “If he goes on like this, + he’ll lose his reason, if not his life. I must search his papers, to find + out what friends he has; and you must be my witness.” + </p> + <p> + So the doctor opens his little bag, and takes out a square sealed packet + first; then two or three letters tied together; the poor soul looking all + the while as if he longed to prevent us from touching them. Well, the + doctor said there was no occasion to open the packet, for the direction + was the same on all the letters, and the name corresponded with his + initials marked on his linen. + </p> + <p> + “I’m next to certain this is where he lives, or did live; so this is where + I’ll write,” says the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Shall my wife take the letter, Sir?” says I. “She’s in London with our + girl, Susan; and, if his friends should be gone away from where you are + writing to, she may be able to trace them.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right, Penhale!” says he; “we’ll do that. Write to your wife, and + put my letter inside yours.” + </p> + <p> + I did as he told me, at once; and his letter is inside this, with the + direction of the house and the street. + </p> + <p> + Now, Mary, dear, go at once, and see what you can find out. The direction + on the doctor’s letter may be his home; and if it isn’t, there may be + people there who can tell you where it is. So go at once, and let us know + directly what luck you have had, for there is no time to be lost; and if + you saw the young gentleman, you would pity him as much as we do. + </p> + <p> + This has got to be such a long letter, that I have no room left to write + any more. God bless you, Mary, and God bless my darling Susan! Give her a + kiss for father’s sake, and believe me, Your loving husband, + </p> +<p class="c"> + WILLIAM PENHALE. + +</p> + <hr /> + <p> + LETTER II. FROM MARY PENHALE TO HER HUSBAND DEAREST WILLIAM, + </p> + <p> + Susan sends a hundred kisses, and best loves to you and her brothers and + sisters. She’s getting on nicely; and her mistress is as kind and fond of + her as can be. Best respects, too, from my sister Martha, and her husband. + And now I’ve done giving you all my messages, I’ll tell you some good news + for the poor young gentleman who is so bad at Treen. + </p> + <p> + As soon as I had seen Susan, and read your letter to her, I went to the + place where the doctor’s letter directed me. Such a grand house, William! + I was really afraid to knock at the door. So I plucked up courage, and + gave a pull at the bell; and a very fat, big man, with his head all + plastered over with powder, opened the door, almost before I had done + ringing. “If you please, Sir,” says I, showing him the name on the + doctor’s letter, “do any friends of this gentleman live here?” “To be sure + they do,” says he; “his father and sister live here: but what do you want + to know for?” “I want them to read this letter,” says I. “It’s to tell + them that the young gentleman is very bad in health down in our country.” + “You can’t see my master,” says he, “for he’s confined to his bed by + illness: and Miss Clara is very poorly too—you had better leave the + letter with me.” Just as he said this, an elderly lady crossed the hall (I + found out she was the housekeeper, afterwards), and asked what I wanted. + When I told her, she looked quite startled. “Step this way, ma’am,” says + she; “you will do Miss Clara more good than all the doctors put together. + But you must break the news to her carefully, before she sees the letter. + Please to make it out better news than it is, for the young lady is in + very delicate health.” We went upstairs—such stair-carpets! I was + almost frightened to step on them, after walking through the dirty + streets. The housekeeper opened a door, and said a few words inside, which + I could not hear, and then let me in where the young lady was. + </p> + <p> + Oh, William! she had the sweetest, kindest face I ever saw in my life. But + it was so pale, and there was such a sad look in her eyes when she asked + me to sit down, that it went to my heart, when I thought of the news I had + to tell her. I couldn’t speak just at first; and I suppose she thought I + was in some trouble—for she begged me not to tell her what I wanted, + till I was better. She said it with such a voice and such a look, that, + like a great fool, I burst out crying, instead of answering as I ought. + But it did me good, though, and made me able to tell her about her brother + (breaking it as gently as I could) before I gave her the doctor’s letter. + She never opened it; but stood up before me as if she was turned to stone—not + able to cry, or speak, or move. It frightened me so, to see her in such a + dreadful state, that I forgot all about the grand house, and the + difference there was between us; and took her in my arms, making her sit + down on the sofa by me—just as I should do, if I was consoling our + own Susan under some great trouble. Well! I soon made her look more like + herself, comforting her in every way I could think of: and she laid her + poor head on my shoulder, and I took and kissed her, (not remembering a + bit about its being a born lady and a stranger that I was kissing); and + the tears came at last, and did her good. As soon as she could speak, she + thanked God her brother was found, and had fallen into kind hands. She + hadn’t courage to read the doctor’s letter herself, and asked me to do it. + Though he gave a very bad account of the young gentleman, he said that + care and nursing, and getting him away from a strange place to his own + home and among his friends, might do wonders for him yet. When I came to + this part of the letter, she started up, and asked me to give it to her. + Then she inquired when I was going back to Cornwall; and I said, “as soon + as possible,” (for indeed, it’s time I was home, William). “Wait; pray + wait till I have shown this letter to my father!” says she. And she ran + out of the room with it in her hand. + </p> + <p> + After some time, she came back with her face all of a flush, like; looking + quite different to what she did before, and saying that I had done more to + make the family happy by coming with that letter, than she could ever + thank me for as she ought. A gentleman followed her in, who was her eldest + brother (she said); the pleasantest, liveliest gentleman I ever saw. He + shook hands as if he had known me all his life; and told me I was the + first person he had ever met with who had done good in a family by + bringing them bad news. Then he asked me whether I was ready to go to + Cornwall the next morning with him, and the young lady, and a friend of + his who was a doctor. I had thought already of getting the parting over + with poor Susan, that very day: so I said, “Yes.” After that, they + wouldn’t let me go away till I had had something to eat and drink; and the + dear, kind young lady asked me all about Susan, and where she was living, + and about you and the children, just as if she had known us like + neighbours. Poor thing! she was so flurried, and so anxious for the next + morning, that it was all the gentleman could do to keep her quiet, and + prevent her falling into a sort of laughing and crying fit, which it seems + she had been liable to lately. At last they let me go away: and I went and + stayed with Susan as long as I could before I bid her good-bye. She bore + the parting bravely—poor, dear child! God in heaven bless her; and + I’m sure he will; for a better daughter no mother ever had. + </p> + <p> + My dear husband, I am afraid this letter is very badly written; but the + tears are in my eyes, thinking of Susan; and I feel so wearied and + flurried after what has happened. We are to go off very early to-morrow + morning in a carriage, which is to be put on the railway. Only think of my + riding home in a fine carriage, with gentlefolks!—how surprised + Willie, and Nancy, and the other children will be! I shall get to Treen + almost as soon as my letter; but I thought I would write, so that you + might have the good news, the first moment it could get to you, to tell + the poor young gentleman. I’m sure it must make him better, only to hear + that his brother and sister are coming to fetch him home. + </p> + <p> + I can’t write any more, dear William, I’m so very tired; except that I + long to see you and the little ones again; and that I am, + </p> +<p class="c"> + Your loving and dutiful wife, +</p> + <p> + MARY PENHALE. + </p> +<p class="c"> + +LETTER III. +</p> + <p> + TO MR. JOHN BERNARD, FROM THE WRITER OF THE FORE-GOING AUTOBIOGRAPHY. + </p> + <p> + [This letter is nearly nine years later in date than the letters which + precede it.] + </p> +<p class="c"> + Lanreath Cottage, Breconshire. +</p> + <p> + MY DEAR FRIEND, + </p> + <p> + I find, by your last letter, that you doubt whether I still remember the + circumstances under which I made a certain promise to you, more than eight + years ago. You are mistaken: not one of those circumstances has escaped my + memory. To satisfy you of this, I will now recapitulate them. You will + own, I think, that I have forgotten nothing. + </p> + <p> + After my removal from Cornwall (shall I ever forget the first sight of + Clara and Ralph at my bedside!), when the nervous malady from which I + suffered so long, had yielded to the affectionate devotion of my family—aided + by the untiring exercise of your skill—one of my first anxieties was + to show that I could gratefully appreciate your exertions for my good, by + reposing the same confidence in you, which I should place in my nearest + and dearest relatives. From the time when we first met at the hospital, + your services were devoted to me, through much misery of mind and body, + with the delicacy and the self-denial of a true friend. I felt that it was + only your due that you should know by what trials I had been reduced to + the situation in which you found me, when you accompanied my brother and + sister to Cornwall—I felt this; and placed in your hands, for your + own private perusal, the narrative which I had written of my error and of + its terrible consequences. To tell you all that had happened to me, with + my own lips, was more than I could do then—and even after this lapse + of years, would be more than I could do now. + </p> + <p> + After you had read the narrative, you urged me, on returning it into my + possession, to permit its publication during my lifetime. I granted the + justness of the reasons which led you to counsel me thus; but I told you, + at the same time, that an obstacle, which I was bound to respect, would + prevent me from following your advice. While my father lived, I could not + suffer a manuscript in which he was represented (no matter under what + excess of provocation) as separating himself in the bitterest hostility + from his own son, to be made public property. I could not suffer events of + which we never afterwards spoke ourselves, to be given to others in the + form of a printed narrative which might perhaps fall under his own eye. + You acknowledged, I remember, the justice of these considerations and + promised, in case I died before him, to keep back my manuscript from + publication as long as my father lived. In binding yourself to that + engagement, however, you stipulated, and I agreed, that I should + reconsider your arguments in case I outlived him. This was my promise, and + these were the circumstances under which it was made. You will allow, I + think, that my memory is more accurate than you had imagined it to be. + </p> + <p> + And now, you write to remind me of <i>my</i> part of our agreement—forbearing, + with your accustomed delicacy, to introduce the subject, until more than + six months have elapsed since my father’s death. You have done well. I + have had time to feel all the consolation afforded to me by the + remembrance that, for years past, my life was of some use in sweetening my + father’s; that his death has occurred in the ordinary course of Nature; + and that I never, to my own knowledge, gave him any cause to repent the + full and loving reconciliation which took place between us, as soon as we + could speak together freely after my return to home. + </p> + <p> + Still I am not answering your question:—Am I now willing to permit + the publication of my narrative, provided all names and places mentioned + in it remained concealed, and I am known to no one but yourself, Ralph, + and Clara, as the writer of my own story? I reply that I am willing. In a + few days, you will receive the manuscript by a safe hand. Neither my + brother nor my sister object to its being made public on the terms I have + mentioned; and I feel no hesitation in accepting the permission thus + accorded to me. I have not glossed over the flightiness of Ralph’s + character; but the brotherly kindness and manly generosity which lie + beneath it, are as apparent, I hope, in my narrative as they are in fact. + And Clara, dear Clara!—all that I have said of her is only to be + regretted as unworthy of the noblest subject that my pen, or any other + pen, can have to write on. + </p> + <p> + One difficulty, however, still remains:—How are the pages which I am + about to send you to be concluded? In the novel-reading sense of the word, + my story has no real conclusion. The repose that comes to all of us after + trouble—to <i>me,</i> a repose in life: to others, how often a + repose only in the grave!—is the end which must close this + autobiography: an end, calm, natural, and uneventful; yet not, perhaps, + devoid of all lesson and value. Is it fit that I should set myself, for + the sake of effect, to <i>make</i> a conclusion, and terminate by fiction + what has begun, and thus far, has proceeded in truth? In the interests of + Art, as well as in the interests of Reality, surely not! + </p> + <p> + Whatever remains to be related after the last entry in my journal, will be + found expressed in the simplest, and therefore, the best form, by the + letters from William and Mary Penhale, which I send you with this. When I + revisited Cornwall, to see the good miner and his wife, I found, in the + course of the inquiries which I made as to the past, that they still + preserved the letters they had written about me, while I lay ill at Treen. + I asked permission to take copies of these two documents, as containing + materials, which I could but ill supply from my own resources, for filling + up a gap in my story. They at once consented; telling me that they had + always kept each other’s letters after marriage, as carefully as they kept + them before, in token that their first affection remained to the last + unchanged. At the same time they entreated me, with the most earnest + simplicity, to polish their own homely expressions; and turn them, as they + phrased, it, into proper reading. You may easily imagine that I knew + better than to do this; and you will, I am sure, agree with me that both + the letters I send should be printed as literally as they were copied by + my hand. + </p> + <p> + Having now provided for the continuation of my story to the period of my + return home, I have a word or two to say on the subject of preparing the + autobiography for press. Failing in the resolution, even now, to look over + my manuscript again, I leave the corrections it requires to others—but + on one condition. Let none of the passages in which I have related events, + or described characters, be either softened or suppressed. I am well aware + of the tendency, in some readers, to denounce truth itself as improbable, + unless their own personal experience has borne witness to it; and it is on + this very account that I am firm in my determination to allow of no + cringing beforehand to anticipated incredulities. What I have written is + Truth; and it shall go into the world as Truth should—entirely + uncompromised. Let my style be corrected as completely as you will; but + leave characters and events which are taken from realities, real as they + are. + </p> + <p> + In regard to the surviving persons with whom this narrative associates me, + I have little to say which it can concern the reader to know. The man whom + I have presented in the preceding pages under the name of Sherwin is, I + believe, still alive, and still residing in France—whither he + retreated soon after the date of the last events mentioned in my + autobiography. A new system had been introduced into his business by his + assistant, which, when left to his own unaided resources, he failed to + carry out. His affairs became involved; a commercial crisis occurred, + which he was wholly unable to meet; and he was made a bankrupt, having + first dishonestly secured to himself a subsistence for life, out of the + wreck of his property. I accidentally heard of him, a few years since, as + maintaining among the English residents of the town he then inhabited, the + character of a man who had undeservedly suffered from severe family + misfortunes, and who bore his afflictions with the most exemplary piety + and resignation. + </p> + <p> + To those once connected with him, who are now no more, I need not and + cannot refer again. That part of the dreary Past with which they are + associated, is the part which I still shrink in terror from thinking on. + There are two names which my lips have not uttered for years; which, in + this life, I shall never pronounce again. The night of Death is over them: + a night to look away from for evermore. + </p> + <p> + To look away from—but, towards what object? The Future? That way, I + see but dimly even yet. It is on the Present that my thoughts are fixed, + in the contentment which desires no change. + </p> + <p> + For the last five months I have lived here with Clara—here, on the + little estate which was once her mother’s, which is now hers. Long before + my father’s death we often talked, in the great country house, of future + days which we might pass together, as we pass them now, in this place. + Though we may often leave it for a time, we shall always look back to + Lanreath Cottage as to our home. The years of retirement which I spent at + the Hall, after my recovery, have not awakened in me a single longing to + return to the busy world. Ralph—now the head of our family; now + aroused by his new duties to a sense of his new position—Ralph, + already emancipated from many of the habits which once enthralled and + degraded him, has written, bidding me employ to the utmost the resources + which his position enables him to offer me, if I decide on entering into + public life. But I have no such purpose; I am still resolved to live on in + obscurity, in retirement, in peace. I have suffered too much; I have been + wounded too sadly, to range myself with the heroes of Ambition, and fight + my way upward from the ranks. The glory and the glitter which I once + longed to look on as my own, would dazzle and destroy me, now. Such shocks + as I have endured, leave that behind them which changes the character and + the purpose of a life. The mountain-path of Action is no longer a path for + <i>me;</i> my future hope pauses with my present happiness in the shadowed + valley of Repose. + </p> + <p> + Not a repose which owns no duty, and is good for no use; not a repose + which Thought cannot ennoble, and Affection cannot sanctify. To serve the + cause of the poor and the ignorant, in the little sphere which now + surrounds me; to smooth the way for pleasure and plenty, where pain and + want have made it rugged too long; to live more and more worthy, with + every day, of the sisterly love which, never tiring, never changing, + watches over me in this last retreat, this dearest home—these are + the purposes, the only purposes left, which I may still cherish. Let me + but live to fulfil them, and life will have given to me all that I can + ask! + </p> + <p> + I may now close my letter. I have communicated to you all the materials I + can supply for the conclusion of my autobiography, and have furnished you + with the only directions I wish to give in reference to its publication. + Present it to the reader in any form, and at any time, that you think fit. + On its reception by the public I have no wish to speculate. It is enough + for me to know that, with all its faults, it has been written in sincerity + and in truth. I shall not feel false shame at its failure, or false pride + at its success. + </p> + <p> + If there be any further information which you think it necessary to + possess, and which I have forgotten to communicate, write to me on the + subject—or, far better, come here yourself, and ask of me with your + own lips all that you desire to know. Come, and judge of the life I am now + leading, by seeing it as it really is. Though it be only for a few days, + pause long enough in your career of activity and usefulness, of fame and + honour, to find leisure time for a visit to the cottage where we live. + This is as much Clara’s invitation as mine. She will never forget (even if + I could!) all that I have owed to your friendship—will never weary + (even if I should tire!) of showing you that we are capable of deserving + it. Come, then, and see <i>her</i> as well as <i>me</i>—see her, + once more, my sister of old times! I remember what you said of Clara, when + we last met, and last talked of her; and I believe you will be almost as + happy to see her again in her old character as I am. + </p> + <p> + Till then, farewell! Do not judge hastily of my motives for persisting in + the life of retirement which I have led for so many years past. Do not + think that calamity has chilled my heart, or enervated my mind. Past + suffering may have changed, but it has not deteriorated me. It has + fortified my spirit with an abiding strength; it has told me plainly, much + that was but dimly revealed to me before; it has shown me uses to which I + may put my existence, that have their sanction from other voices than the + voices of fame; it has taught me to feel that bravest ambition which is + vigorous enough to overleap the little life here! Is there no aspiration + in the purposes for which I would now live?—Bernard! whatever we can + do of good, in this world, with our affections or our faculties, rises to + the Eternal World above us, as a song of praise from Humanity to God. Amid + the thousand, thousand tones ever joining to swell the music of that song, + are those which sound loudest and grandest <i>here,</i> the tones which + travel sweetest and purest to the Imperishable Throne; which mingle in the + perfectest harmony with the anthem of the angel-choir! Ask your own heart + that question—and then say, may not the obscurest life—even a + life like mine—be dignified by a lasting aspiration, and dedicated + to a noble aim? + </p> + <p> + I have done. The calm summer evening has stolen on me while I have been + writing to you; and Clara’s voice—now the happy voice of the happy + old times—calls to me from our garden seat to come out and look at + the sunset over the distant sea. Once more—farewell! + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Basil, by Wilkie Collins + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BASIL *** + +***** This file should be named 4605-h.htm or 4605-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/6/0/4605/ + +Produced by James Rusk + +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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