diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4605-0.txt | 11822 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4605-0.zip | bin | 0 -> 256637 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4605-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 267315 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4605-h/4605-h.htm | 13230 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4605.txt | 11822 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4605.zip | bin | 0 -> 255914 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/bslwc10.txt | 12092 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/bslwc10.zip | bin | 0 -> 261728 bytes |
11 files changed, 48982 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4605-0.txt b/4605-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4a2588f --- /dev/null +++ b/4605-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11822 @@ +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 + + + + + +BASIL + +By Wilkie Collins + + + + +LETTER OF DEDICATION. + +TO CHARLES JAMES WARD, ESQ. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +Allow me to dwell a moment longer on the story which these pages +contain. + +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 _within_ 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) _beyond_ 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. + +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. + +One word more on the manner in which the purpose of the following pages +is worked out--and I have done. + +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. + +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. + + ***** + +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. + +“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. + +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. + + +WILKIE COLLINS. + +Harley Street, London, July, 1862. + + + + + +BASIL. + + + + +PART I. + + +I. + +WHAT am I now about to write? + +The history of little more than the events of one year, out of the +twenty-four years of my life. + +Why do I undertake such an employment as this? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +II. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +III. + +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. + +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 _him._ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _him,_ the servant was +often forgiven; if towards _her,_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +IV. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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 _his_ +part, he missed the conversation of his witty Polish Countess, and +longed for another pancake-supper with his favourite _grisettes._ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +V. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _her._ 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. + +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! + +How long I might linger over all that she has done for _me!_ 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. + +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. + +Not merely all that I _have_ 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. + +VI. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _our_ common; and trees +that might have been transplanted expressly for her, from _our_ park. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It happened thus: + +VII. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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 _too_ 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! + +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. + +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 _her._ 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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +My last inquiry addressed to the boy was the most important of all. Did +he know what Mr. Sherwin’s profession or employment was? + +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. + +Enough? If he had spoken the truth, I had heard too much. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _his_ 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. + +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. + +“There, Minnie!” she cried laughingly, “you have caught the runaway +sugar, and now you shall keep it!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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: + +“Will you forgive me, Clara, for having deprived you of your ride +to-day? I am afraid I have but a bad excuse--” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Basil, how pale you look! Are you ill?” + +“No; the heat has been a little too much for me--nothing more.” + +“Has anything happened? I only ask, because if I can be of any use--if +you want me to stay at home--” + +“Certainly not, love. I wish you all success and pleasure at the ball.” + +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? + +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.” + +“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?” + +“I will try at least.” + +“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!” + +“Thank you, Clara; but I think the nosegay is fitter for your hand than +my table.” + +“Good night, Basil.” + +“Good night.” + +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. + +VIII. + +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! + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. _This_ irregularity, _this_ 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. + +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 _her._ 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. + +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. + +(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.) + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +This is what I dreamed: + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Here the dream ended, and I awoke. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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: + + “Hope is a lover’s staff; walk hence with that, + And manage it against despairing thoughts.” + +IX. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Are you in Mr. Sherwin’s service?”--I asked, as I got to the garden +gate. + +“As plain cook, Sir,” answered the girl, administering to her face a +final and furious rub of the apron. + +“Should you be very much surprised if I asked you to do me a great +favour?” + +“Well--really, Sir--you’re quite a stranger to me--I’m _sure_ I don’t +know!” She stopped, and transferred the apron-rubbing to her arms. + +“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?” + +“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 _this_ 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 _you_ of it, +Sir--and--and thank you, Sir, for what you’ve given me, all the same!” + +“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?” + +“That I can, Sir! I’ve kep’ a many secrets since I’ve been out at +service.” + +“Well: I want you to find me an opportunity of speaking to your young +lady--” + +“To Miss Margaret, Sir?” + +“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.” + +“Oh Lord, Sir! I couldn’t dare to do it!” + +“Come! come! Can’t you guess why I want to see your young lady, and what +I want to say to her?” + +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!” + +“Very well; but you can tell me at least, whether Miss Margaret ever +goes out to take a walk?” + +“Oh, yes, Sir; mostly every day.” + +“Do you ever go out with her?--just to take care of her when no one else +can be spared?” + +“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!” + +“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?” + +“Yes, Sir, I’m sure I would!--being so kind and so civil to _me,_ too!” + (a fresh arrangement of the cap followed this speech.) + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +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?” + +“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!” + +“That’s a good girl,” I said. “Now tell me, when does Miss Margaret go +out to-day; and who goes with her?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Oh, please don’t, Sir--I wish I hadn’t told you--I oughtn’t, indeed I +oughtn’t!” + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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 _him_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +--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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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! + +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. + +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. + +“But if this difference did not exist,” I said: “if we were both living +in the same rank, Margaret--” + +She looked up quickly; then moved away a step or two, as I addressed her +by her Christian name. + +“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?” + +No: she ought not to be offended with me, or with anybody, for doing +that. + +“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?” + +I must not ask her that--it was no use--the difference in rank _did_ +exist. + +“Perhaps I have met you too late?--perhaps you are already--” + +“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. + +“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--” + +I attempted to take her hand a second time; but she broke from me, and +hurried into the house. + +What more could I desire? What more could the modesty and timidity of a +young girl concede to me? + +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. + +After a long delay--long to _me;_ 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. + +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! + +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. + +X. + +On my arrival at North Villa, I was shown into what I presumed was the +drawing-room. + +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. + +I was not kept waiting long. Another violent crack from the new door, +announced the entrance of Mr. Sherwin himself. + +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. + +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. + +I felt some difficulty in opening my business to him. It was necessary +to speak, however, at once--I began with an apology. + +“I am afraid, Mr. Sherwin, that this intrusion on the part of a perfect +stranger--” + +“Not entirely a stranger, Sir, if I may be allowed to say so.” + +“Indeed!” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Just so. May I offer you anything?--a glass of sherry, a--” + +“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?” + +“Certainly--most certainly--the strictest secrecy of course--pray go +on.” + +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. + +“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--” + +“My daughter! Bless my soul--God bless my soul, I really can’t +imagine--” + +He stopped, half-breathless, bending forward towards me, and crumpling +my card between his fingers into the smallest possible dimensions. + +“Rather more than a week ago,” I continued, “I accidentally met Miss +Sherwin in an omnibus, accompanied by a lady older than herself--” + +“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. + +“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?” + +“In books, Sir.” He tapped one of the morocco-bound volumes on the +table, and smiled--a curious smile, partly deferential and partly +sarcastic. + +“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, _out_ 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.” + +“Upon my soul this is the most extraordinary proceeding----!” + +“Pray hear me out, Mr. Sherwin: you will not condemn my conduct, I +think, if you hear all I have to say.” + +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. + +“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). + +“Well, Sir! to what?” + +The tone in which he said this was harsh enough to rouse me. It gave me +back my self-possession immediately. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. _Pray_ let me +offer you a glass of wine!” + +“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--” + +“Yes--yes?” + +He bent forward again eagerly towards me, as he spoke; looking more +inquisitive and more cunning than ever. + +“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.” + +“Ah--yes, yes! I understand. She would do nothing without my authority, +of course?” + +“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.” + +“Ah! she said that, did she? Exactly so--she saw a difficulty there? +Yes--yes! high principles, Sir--high principles, thank God!” + +“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 _me,_ 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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“He has expressed no disapproval, Mr. Sherwin.” + +“You don’t say so!” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“We must keep both the courtship and the marriage secret.” + +“Secret! Good gracious, I don’t at all see my way--” + +“Yes, secret--a profound secret among ourselves, until I can divulge my +marriage to my father, with the best chance of--” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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--_my_ money is out in my +speculations--_I_ can do nothing. Upon my word, you have placed me in a +position that I never was placed in before.” + +“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.” + +“Ah!--well--yes. There’s something in that, certainly.” + +“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--” + +“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--” + +“I am sure, Mr. Sherwin--” + +“--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!--” + +“Permit me to assure you, Mr. Sherwin--” + +“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--” + +“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: + +“Mr. Mannion is my confidential clerk, Sir--a most superior person, most +highly talented, and well read, and all that.” + +“Is he a young man?” + +“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---” + +“I beg your pardon, but I think we are wandering away from the point, a +little.” + +“I beg _yours_--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--“. + +“I hope you will consider my anxieties, Mr. Sherwin, and let me know the +result of your deliberations as soon as possible.” + +“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?” + +“Certainly.” + +“And between that time and this, you will engage not to hold any +communication with my daughter?” + +“I promise not, Mr. Sherwin--because I believe that your answer will be +favourable.” + +“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.” + +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? + +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! + +XI. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The oppression was still on my spirits. Even the sight of the house +where Margaret lived failed to invigorate or arouse me. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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--_there,_ 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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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!” + +“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. + +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. + +“You are taking nothing yourself, Mrs. Sherwin,” I said. + +“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_ call it; pleasure I hope it will be to _you_.” + +Mrs. Sherwin coughed--a very weak, small cough, half-stifled in its +birth. + +“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.” + +“Oh, I am much better, thank you--it was only a little--” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 _were_ in the way of business, +and it’s my opinion you always will be.” + +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. + +Mr. Sherwin helped himself to a second glass of wine, without taking the +smallest notice of this. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 +_you_ 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?” + +“Quite fair, Mr. Sherwin.” + +“Just so. Now, in the first place, my daughter is too young to be +married yet. She was only seventeen last birthday.” + +“You astonish me! I should have imagined her three years older at +least.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +He stopped, and ran his fingers through his hair, in all directions; his +features fidgetting and distorting themselves ominously, while he looked +at me. + +“Pray explain yourself, Mr. Sherwin. Your silence gives me some +uneasiness at this particular moment, I assure you.” + +“Quite so--I understand. Now, you must promise me not to be +huffed--offended, I should say--at what I am going to propose.” + +“Certainly not.” + +“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?” + +“I must confess I do not.” + +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. + +“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.” + +He evidently felt that he got fluent on wine; and helped himself, at +this juncture, to another glass. + +“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.” + +“But the case could not happen--I am astonished you can imagine it +possible. I have told you already, I am of age.” + +“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--_at +nothing_--I recollect you said so. Now, knowing this, my dear +Sir--though I have the most perfect confidence in _your_ honour, and +_your_ 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!” + +“In Heaven’s name, Mr. Sherwin, pass over all these impossible +difficulties of yours! and let me hear what you have finally to +propose.” + +“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?” + +I was too astounded, too overwhelmed, to say anything at that moment; +Mr. Sherwin went on: + +“This plan of mine, you see, reconciles everything. If any accident +_does_ 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. + +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: + +“I accept your conditions--I accept them with all my heart.” + +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. + +“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!” + +“We may consider all difficulties finally settled then,” I said, anxious +to close my interview with Mr. Sherwin as speedily as possible. + +“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.” + +“Then I presume there will be no objection to my seeing Miss Sherwin +now?” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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 _you_ 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!” + +XII. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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! + +“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. + +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. + +“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?” + +An excuse--no! not an excuse; let me call things by their right names +in these pages--a _lie_ 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. + +“Stop,” he said coldly, while the red flush which meant so much when it +rose on _his_ 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 _will_ 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.” + +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. + +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. + +Clara stepped quietly to my side; and sitting down by me in silence, put +her arm round my neck. + +When I was calmer, she said gently: + +“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--” + +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: + +“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: _do_ let +me!” + +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. + +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 _me_ feel happy about you, Basil; I will +make _him_ feel happy too,” and Clara was gone. + +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. + +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. + +The events of that week, so fraught with importance for the future of my +life, passed with ominous rapidity. + +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. + +The day came. I had not slept during the night that preceded it; so I +rose early to look out on the morning. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Clara whispered (in such low, trembling tones that I could hardly hear +her): + +“Think of what you promised in your study, Basil, whenever you think of +_me:_ I will write often.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +_Married!_ 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? + +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! + +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? + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And this was my wedding-night! This was how the day ended which had +begun by my marriage with Margaret Sherwin! + + + + +PART II. + + +I. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_her_ heart was beating, _her_ 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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +I am straying from my task. Let me return to my narrative: its course +begins to darken before me apace, while I now write. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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? + +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. + +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. + +II. + +The first change that passed over the calm uniformity of the life at +North Villa, came in this manner: + +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. + +“News, my dear sir!” he said. “Mr. Mannion has come back--at least two +days before I expected him!” + +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. + +Margaret and I sat down as usual with our books about us. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“What can you tell me about him yourself, Mr. Sherwin?” + +“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!” + +“Do you know how he was employed before he came to you?” + +“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.” + +“There does not seem much chance for me, Mr. Sherwin, after what you +have said.” + +“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.” + +“One more question: is he married or single?” + +“Single, to be sure--a regular old bachelor, if ever there was one yet.” + +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. + +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! + +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. + +III. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“My house is close by,” said my companion, just as quietly and +deliberately as usual--“pray step in, Sir, until the storm is over.” + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“In what respect, Mr. Mannion?” I asked, a little startled by the +abruptness of the question. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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--” + +Just as the last words passed my lips, the thunder pealed awfully over +the house. I said no more: the sound silenced me. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 _you._ If you were of my age, Sir, and in my +position, you would understand it.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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--” + +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 _me;_ to be wailing over +_him;_ 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. + +“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.” + +“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--” + +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. + +“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?” + +How he had found that out? At any rate, he was right; and I told him so +candidly. + +“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 _has_ +asked, and _will_ 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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +When the darkness had come again, I bade him good night--first +mechanically repeating what I had just said, almost in the same words. + +I walked home thoughtful. That night had given me much matter to think +of. + +IV. + +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. + +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:-- + +“I tell you, mamma, I must and will have the dress, whether papa chooses +or not.” + +This was spoken loudly and resolutely; in such tones as I had never +heard from Margaret before. + +“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.” + +“I won’t be allowanced. _His_ sister isn’t allowanced: why should I be?” + +“My dear love, surely there is some difference--” + +“I’m sure there isn’t, now I am his wife. I shall ride some day in my +carriage, just as his sister does. _He_ gives me my way in everything; +and so ought you.” + +“It isn’t _me,_ 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.” + +“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--” + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +“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 _her_ cat!” + +“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. + +“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--” + +“Hold your tongue, you wretch! How dare you hold me?--let me go!” + +“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.” + +“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 _will_ go!” + +“I’ll let the cat go first, Miss, as sure as my name’s Susan!” + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Ere long, however, circumstances decided me as to the course I should +take with Mr. Mannion. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +V. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +At last, a letter arrived from Clara, containing a summons to the +country, which I could not disobey. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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?” + +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: + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 _your_ case. You are of age, and must know your +own responsibilities and mine. Choose at once, between saying nothing, +and saying all.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Immediately on my return to London I repaired to North Villa. + +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 _me!_ + +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. + +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. + +VI. + +About six weeks after I had left the Hall, my father and Clara returned +to London for the season. + +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. + + * * * * * * + +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. + +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:-- + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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’ve_ tried to do it--mind _you_ 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. + +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. + +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. + + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _him_ 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. + +“My good Sir!” he said, in sharp, querulous tones, “do, for once, allow +me to know what’s best. You’ll have it all _your_ way to-morrow--just +let me have _mine,_ 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 _he’s_ with +her. So you see there’s nothing to make a fuss about, after all.” + +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. + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“I said she oughtn’t to go at all, whatever her aunt wrote--_I_ said +that.” + +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 _her,_ 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. + +“Damn it, Mrs. S.!” roared her husband in a fury, “will you hold your +tongue? What the devil do you mean by giving _your_ 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!” + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +VII. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +Going home already! An hour and a half before it was time to return! +Why? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +What did this mean? Why were they not going straight home? + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“A lady and gentleman came into this hotel a little while ago.” + +“What may your business be?”--He hesitated, and added in an altered +tone, “I mean, what may you want with them, Sir?” + +“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.” + +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?” + +“I promise.” + +“This way then, Sir--and mind you don’t forget to step soft.” + +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. + +I listened; and through the thin partition, I heard voices--_her_ voice, +and _his_ voice. _I heard and I knew_--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! + +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. + +Erelong, the power of thinking began to return to me by degrees. + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 will +kill him when he comes out._ My mind never swerved for an instant from +this thought--never swerved towards myself; never swerved towards _her._ +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. + +Once, while I stood on the watch, a sharp agony of suspense tried me +fiercely. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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?--_Was_ 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + + + +PART III. + + +I. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Soon, these thoughts began to take a form that I could recognise. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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! + + * * * * * + +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 _this_ +period. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +II. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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! + +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! + +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. + +On the last page, and close to the end, I read these lines: + + “MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE. + +“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.” + + + +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: + +“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.” + + + +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. + +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: + + + “North Villa, Hollyoake Square. + +“DEAR SIR, + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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, + +“I remain, dear Sir, + +“Your faithful, obedient servant, + + “STEPHEN SHERWIN. + +“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.” + + + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +“Why, you have been walking till it is quite dark, Clara!” + +“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.” + +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: + +“Can’t you imagine what the subject was? It was you, Basil. Papa is +coming here directly, to speak to you.” + +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. + +“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.” + +She hurriedly left the room. The next minute, my father entered it. + +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. + +“I have come to speak to you,” he said, “on a subject about which I had +much rather you had spoken to me first.” + +“I think, Sir, I know to what subject you refer. I--” + +“I must beg you will listen to me as patiently as you can,” he rejoined; +“I have not much to say.” + +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! + +“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.” + +“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--” + +“The words you spoke in your delirium--words which I heard, but will not +judge you by--justified the worst forebodings.” + +“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--” + +“I do not _suspect_--I feel but too _sure,_ 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.” + +“My brother!--my brother’s faults mine! Ralph!” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“It is not with him, Sir, that I can well begin. I must go back--” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“All? your tones mean more than your words--_they_ 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!” + +“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.” + +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. + +“No more to-night, Basil,” he said, hurriedly, but very gently; “no more +on this subject till to-morrow.” + +“I can speak now, Sir; it is better to speak at once.” + +“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.” + +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. + +After the morrow was over, would he ever give me that hand again? + +III. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“My master, Sir, desires me to say that, if you feel well enough, he +wishes to see you in his own room.” + +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. + +“Think of what I said last night, Basil,” she whispered, “and, if hard +words are spoken to you, think of _me._ All that our mother would have +done for you, if she had been still among us, _I_ will do. Remember +that, and keep heart and hope to the very last.” + +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. + +“This was left for you, Sir, a little while ago. The messenger who +brought it said he was not to wait for an answer.” + +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. + +I went at once into my father’s room. + +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-- + +“Take any time you like, Basil, to compose and collect yourself. This +morning my time is yours.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +Minute after minute glided on, inexorably fast; and yet I never broke +silence. My eyes turned anxiously and slowly on my father. + +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 _felt_ that I was looking at him; for he suddenly +discontinued his employment, turned round towards me, and spoke-- + +“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 _your_ place, Ralph would have +spoken before this.” + +Ralph, and Ralph’s example quoted to me again!--I could remain silent no +longer. + +“My brother’s faults towards you, and towards his family, are not such +faults as mine, Sir,” I began. “I have _not_ imitated his vices; I have +acted as he would _not_ 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.” + +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. + +“What do you mean by ‘disgraceful?’” he asked abruptly; “what do you +mean by associating such a word as _disgrace_ with your conduct--with +the conduct of a son of mine?” + +“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--” + +“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 _is_ Mr. Sherwin?” + +“He lives--” + +“I don’t ask where he lives. Who is he? What is he?” + +“Mr. Sherwin is a linen-draper--” + +“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 _‘friend!’_ 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 _is_ disgrace; how +much do you owe? Where are your dishonoured acceptances? Where have you +used _my_ name and _my_ credit? Tell me at once--I insist on it!” + +He spoke rapidly and contemptuously, and rising from his chair as he +ended, walked impatiently up and down the room. + +“I owe no money to Mr. Sherwin, Sir--no money to any one.” + +He stopped suddenly: + +“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?” + +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: + +“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 _her_--I return to _you._ I insist on +knowing how far your vices have compromised you with that vicious +woman.” + +“She has wronged me--cruelly, horribly, wronged me--” I could say no +more. My head drooped on my breast; my shame overpowered me. + +“Who is she? You called her Margaret, in your illness--who is she?” + +“She is Mr. Sherwin’s daughter--” The words that I would fain have +spoken next, seemed to suffocate me. I was silent again. + +I heard him mutter to himself: + +_“That_ man’s daughter!--a worse bait than the bait of money!” + +He bent forward, and looked at me searchingly. A frightful paleness flew +over his face in an instant. + +“Basil!” he cried, “in God’s name, answer me at once! What is Mr. +Sherwin’s daughter to _you?_” + +“She is my wife!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +“Have you anything more to say to me?” + +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. + +“Spare me any more details,” he said, bitterly, “you have humiliated me +sufficiently--you have spoken enough.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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 _not_ 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--” + +He stopped, shuddering. When he proceeded, his voice faltered, and his +head drooped low. + +“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 _you_ 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!” + +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. + +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. + +“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 _you._” + +I had listened to him hitherto without pleading a word in my own behalf; +but his last speech roused me. Some of _his_ 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. + +“Stop!” he cried. “Do you pretend that you have not understood me?” + +“It is _because_ 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.” + +“Insult! After what has happened, is it for _you_ 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!” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +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. + +“You refuse?” he said quickly. + +“I have already told you, Sir--” + +“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!” + +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. + +It opened a little--then shut again--then opened wide. Slowly and +noiselessly, Clara came into the room. + +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. + +“Clara!” he exclaimed again, still in the same whispering tones. + +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. + +“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?” + +“Yes, Sir, I hear you,” she answered. “God grant that my mother in +heaven may not hear you too!” + +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? + +“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 _command_ you to leave him?” + +The deeply planted instinct of gentleness and obedience prevailed; she +dropped my hand, but did not move away from me, even yet. + +“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.” + +She clasped her trembling fingers together, and sighed heavily. + +“I cannot go, Sir,” she said quickly and breathlessly. + +“Must I tell you for the first time in your life, that you are acting +disobediently?” he asked. + +“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.” + +“For _his_ offence there is neither atonement nor forgiveness. Clara! +are you so changed, that you can disobey me to my face?” + +He walked away from us as he said this. + +“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 _my_ 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 _me._ My poor mother, (I _must_ +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 _his_ home no longer? Punish +_me,_ 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!” + +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. + +“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. + +He rose instantly from his chair. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +I never entered it again--I have never seen my father since. + +IV. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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 _me._ + +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-- + +“Miss Margaret”--(she still gave her that name!)--“Miss Margaret is +upstairs, Sir. I suppose you would like--” + +“I have no wish to see her: I want to speak to Mr. Sherwin.” + +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. + +He advanced, holding out his hand; but his restless eyes wandered +unsteadily, looking away from me towards the screen. + +“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--?” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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_ shall sit +down. _You_ 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 _my_ girl +downstairs, and to show yourself the gentleman, or do you not?” + +“You have written me two letters, Mr. Sherwin--” + +“Yes: and took devilish good care you should get them--I left them +myself.” + +“In writing those letters, you were either grossly deceived; and, in +that case, are only to be pitied, or--” + +“Pitied! what the devil do you mean by that? Nobody wants your pity +here.” + +“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.” + +“Oh, that’s your tack, is it? By God, I expected as much the moment you +came in! What! you don’t believe _my_ 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!” + +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. + +“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.” + +He turned round quickly, staring at me with a face of mingled fury and +dismay. + +“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 +_my_ 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 _my_ girl’s an honest girl!” + +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. + +“I say _my_ 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 _all?_ 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!” + +“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 _her_ voice and _his_ 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.” + +“But you _shall_ 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 _my_ 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 _my_ girl, if she goes to the parish to appeal +against you! _Your_ 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?” + +_“I believe it!”_ + +The third voice which pronounced those words was Mrs. Sherwin’s. + +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? + +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 _her_ 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. + +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. + +“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 _has_ 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?” + +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 _his_ gross nature felt the shock. I saw him shrink--his +sallow cheeks whitened, he moved his chair away, and said no more. + +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. + +“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 _you,_ 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.” + +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. + +“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_ 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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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 _you._ 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! _That_ 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 _him;_ 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 _you._ 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!” + +Her voice died away for a moment, in faint, breathless murmurings. She +struggled to recover it, and repeated in a whisper: + +“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!” + +She took my hand, and pressed it to her cold lips. The tears gushed into +my eyes, as I tried to speak to her. + +“No tears for _me!_” 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 _you_ have forgiven +me! And, for _her?_--oh! who will pray for _her_ when I am gone?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +I was told, afterwards, how she died. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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 _must_ tell +you about it!” + +I gave her a little time to compose herself; and then asked what she had +to say. + +“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?” + +“Yes: I saw him.” + +“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--” + +“Why, Susan?--tell me candidly why?” + +“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--” + +“Go on, Susan--speak as freely and as truly to me as ever.” + +“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.” + +She held out a letter. I hesitated before I looked at it. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“I know as little about it, Susan, as you do.” + +“But ought I to take it up-stairs, Sir? only tell me that!” + +“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.” + +“I’m very sorry to hear you say that, Sir; very, very sorry. But what +would you advise me to do?” + +“Let me look at the letter once more.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“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 _you,_ 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.” + +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! + +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. + +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. + +I took out the letter, opened it with trembling fingers, and looked +through the cramped, closely-written pages for the signature. + +It was “ROBERT MANNION.” + +V. + +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. + +“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 _me._ 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 _her?_ not disclose the mystery in which the +motives of _her_ 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:-- + + + + “St. Helen’s Hospital. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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: _willingly_ 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. + +“I have told you Margaret Sherwin is guilty. Why was she guilty? What +was the secret of my influence over her? + +“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!” + + ***** + +“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. + +“Does this declaration surprise you? Read on, and you will understand +it. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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 _did_ 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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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 _your father._ 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. + +“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. + +“More of myself to-morrow--my letter will be a long one: I must pause +often over it, as I pause to-day.” + + ***** + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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! + +“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. + +“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 _her_ 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! + +“With this event, my long strife and struggle with the world ended. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“He _did_ believe in it; and he granted what I asked. Through his +interference and recommendation, I entered the service of Mr. Sherwin.-- + +“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.” + + ***** + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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 _me:_ 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. + +“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! + +“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. + +“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 _me,_ as I doubted +_her;_ 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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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 _me?_--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. + +“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; _they_ were as incapable of inspiring, as +_she_ 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. + + ***** + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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 +_you._ + +“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. + + ***** + +“Let us get back to England. + +“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! + +“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. + +“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 _me._ 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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Such were your chances against me; and such was the manner in which +you misused them. On _my_ 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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + + ***** + +“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. + +“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 _them,_ but with _me._ + +“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. + +“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). + +“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 _my_ +existence, so the events of that night when you followed me shall affect +_yours._ Your father shall see you living the life to which his evidence +against _my_ father condemned _me_--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. + +“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? + +“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. + +“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! + + “ROBERT MANNION.” + + + +“We shall meet soon!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +VI. + +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. + +I looked at him in speechless astonishment. It was my elder brother! It +was Ralph himself who now walked into the room! + +“Well, Basil! how are you?” he said, with his old off-hand manner and +hearty voice. + +“Ralph! You in England!--you here!” + +“I came back from Italy last night. Basil, how awfully you’re changed! I +hardly know you again.” + +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 _he_ had changed +since that time, and knew, as I never knew before, how miserably _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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 _me,_ and nothing +ever will be.” + +He stopped to knock the ash off his cigar, and settle himself more +comfortably on my bed; then proceeded. + +“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 _he_ 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. + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“Gently, Basil! _Doucement mon ami!_ 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.” + +“Go on, Ralph: speak as you please.” + +“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 _that_ 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 +_may_ 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?” + +I told my brother of the struggle with Mannion in the Square. + +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?” + +“In the hospital.” + +Ralph laughed heartily, and jumped back on the bed. I remembered +Mannion’s letter, and shuddered as I thought of it. + +“The next question is about the girl,” said my brother. “What has become +of her? Where was she all the time of your illness?” + +“At her father’s house; she is there still.” + +“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?” + +“I have a letter, a long letter from her accomplice, containing a +confession of his guilt and hers.” + +“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?” + +“I was at the house, yesterday.” + +“The deuce you were! And who did you see?--The father? Did you bring him +to terms? did you do business with Mr. Shopkeeper?” + +“His manner was brutal: his language, the language of a bully--?” + +“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?” + +“As it began:--in threats on his part, in endurance on mine.” + +“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?” + +“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 _me,_ to abandon to him the only money I +have of my own--the little income left me by our mother.” + +“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.” + +“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 _shall_ see it.” + +“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!” + +“I can’t allow you, Ralph, to ask my father for what I would not ask him +myself--” + +“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 _me,_ 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! _Au revoir,_ my dear fellow--_au revoir._” + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +Mannion? But would he come thus? openly, fairly, in the broad daylight, +through the populous street? + +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! + +“Basil!” she exclaimed, before I could speak--“has Ralph been here?” + +“Yes, love--yes.” + +“Where has he gone? what has he done for you? He promised me--” + +“And he has kept his promise nobly, Clara: he is away helping me now.” + +“Thank God! thank God!” + +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! + +“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?” + +“None, Clara--none, indeed!” + +“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?” + +“Your hope is far off fulfilment, indeed, Clara, if it is hope from my +father!” + +“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.” + +“I wish I could believe it, love; but my remembrance of yesterday--” + +“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.” + +“And as I _will_ hope, Clara, though it be from no stronger motive than +gratitude to you.” + +“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?” + +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! + +“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--” + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +“What do you mean?” + +“She has eloped to the hospital!” + +“Mannion!” + +“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!” + +“Never mind how I look, Ralph--pray go on!” + +“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 +_me_ ‘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.” + +“And how did he answer you?” + +“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?” + +“Yes: almost word for word.” + +“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. _We_ keep our opinion of +your daughter’s guilt--_you_ keep your opinion of her innocence. _We_ +have silence to buy, and _you_ have silence to sell, once a quarter; and +if either of us break our conditions, we both have our remedy--_your’s_ +the easy remedy, _our’s_ 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.’” + +“The reverse side! What reverse side, Ralph? What could you possibly say +more?” + +“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 _you_ altogether.’” + +“Ralph! Ralph! how could you--” + +“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. _He_ began +to stammer, and _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.” + +“Did he object to that?” + +“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.” + +I took the letter, and read (in Mannion’s handwriting) these words, +dated from the hospital:-- + + + +“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. + +“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. + +“R. M.” + + +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. + +“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.” + +“But, Ralph, do you think--” + +“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 _him_ 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!); _he_ has no marriage +certificate to shake over our heads, at any rate. What’s the matter +now?--you’re looking pale again.” + +I _felt_ 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 +_him_ in the life-long persecution which menaced _me._ When he repeated +his remark about my sudden paleness, I merely accounted for it by some +common-place excuse, and begged him to proceed. + +“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?” + +“I see it, Ralph!” + +“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!” + +VII. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Bernard! Jack Bernard! Have you come to England, of all the men in the +world!” + +“Why not?” was the answer. “I got every surgical testimonial the _Hotel +Dieu_ 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.” + +“You don’t mean that you belong to _this_ hospital?” + +“My dear fellow, I am regularly on the staff; I’m here every day of my +life.” + +“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.” + +“Are you bringing your brother to the hospital to follow my mad +example?” asked Mr. Bernard, as he shook hands with me. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“Now, Bernard,” he said, “you have a man here, who calls himself Mr. +Turner?” + +“Are _you_ 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.” + +“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.” + +“Certainly not!” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“I understand,” said Ralph; “just as some women run into the wrong +omnibus, when the right one is straight before them.” + +“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.” + +“Has nobody asked where?” + +“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 _should_ 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?” + +“No, indeed; not at all. I have just recovered from a serious +illness--but pray go on.” + +“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 +_will_ 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.” + +“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?” + +Mr. Bernard hesitated a moment, and considered. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +While Mr. Bernard went to the opposite end of the room, in search of +writing materials, Ralph whispered to me-- + +“If he wrote to _my_ 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.” + +Here Mr. Bernard brought us pen and ink. While Ralph was writing my +address, his friend said to me: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +We left the room. As we crossed the hall, a gentleman came forward, and +spoke to Mr. Bernard. + +“That man’s fever in the Victoria Ward has declared itself at last,” he +said. “This morning the new symptoms have appeared.” + +“And what do they indicate?” + +“Typhus of the most malignant character--not a doubt of it. Come up, and +look at him.” + +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. + +After talking together in whispers for a few moments, they rejoined me. +Mr. Bernard was explaining the different theories of infection to Ralph. + +_“My_ 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.” + +“You will write the moment you hear anything?” said Ralph, shaking hands +with him. + +“The very moment. I have your brother’s address safe in my pocket.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + + +“Private. + +“Friday. + +“My DEAR SIR, + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“I remain, dear Sir, + +“Faithfully yours, + +“JOHN BERNARD. + +“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.” + + + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +As I took the candle from her hand, I saw that Mr. Bernard was +approaching me from the stairs. + +“You can do no good, I am afraid,” he said, “but I am glad you have +come.” + +“There is no hope, then?” + +“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?” + +“Does she still speak of me in her wanderings?” + +“Yes, as incessantly as ever.” + +“Then I am ready to go to her bedside.” + +“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!” + +I felt his sympathy and delicacy too strongly to thank him in words; I +could only _look_ my gratitude as he asked me to follow him up stairs. + +We entered the room softly. Once more, and for the last time in this +world, I stood in the presence of Margaret Sherwin. + +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!” + +“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. + +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!” + +“He is here,” repeated Mr. Bernard loudly. “Look! look up at him!” + +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. + +“Compose yourself,” whispered the doctor. “Now she is quiet, speak to +her; speak to her before she begins again; call her by her name.” + +Her name! Could my lips utter it at such a moment as this? + +“Quick! quick!” cried Mr. Bernard. “Try her while you have the chance.” + +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! + +“Margaret,” I said, “Margaret, you asked for me, and I have come.” + +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. + +“I am afraid she is too far gone,” said the doctor; “but make another +trial.” + +“Margaret,” I said again, “have you forgotten me? Margaret!” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +“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 _must_ 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 _will_ ride in my own carriage: you must keep things secret enough to +let me do that. I say I _will_ ride in my carriage: and I’ll go where +father walks to business: I don’t care if I splash him with _my_ +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 _him_ 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!” + +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. + +“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! _His_ face? _his_ 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!” + +“Hush, Margaret! hush! drink this, and you will be cool again.” I gave +her some lemonade, which stood by the bedside. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +(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?) + +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. + +While I felt among the different objects under my hands for a box of +matches: Margaret’s voice strengthened again. + +“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!” + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +As I struck a light, her voice repeated close at my ear: + +“His hands are on me: he’s feeling my face to feel if I’m dead!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +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! + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Don’t disturb her,” I whispered, “she is asleep; surely she is asleep!” + +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. + +“Yes, she is asleep,” he said gravely; “asleep, never to wake again. She +is dead.” + +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. + +“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.” + + + +Calmly? + +Yes! at that moment it was fit that I should be calm; for I could +remember that I had forgiven her. + +VIII. + +On the fourth day from the morning when she had died, I stood alone in +the churchyard by the grave of Margaret Sherwin. + +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!-- + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“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 _your_ father might have found _my_ father changed, +if he had seen him on the morning of his execution, standing under the +gallows, with the cap over his face?” + +Still I could neither speak nor move. I could only look away from him in +horror, and fix my eyes on the ground. + +He lowered the shade to its former position on his face, then spoke +again. + +“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 _you,_ and +I watched _her._ 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!” + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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?” + +“No, Ralph--no. What have you to tell me?” + +“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.” + +“Good heavens! how?” + +“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.” + +“No! no! tell me yourself, Ralph--tell me how she bears his +displeasure!” + +“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 _him,_ and her opposite notions, just as +strong, of her sisterly duties to _you,_ 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 _your_ business to stop this, and _my_ +business to tell you how.” + +“I will do anything you wish--anything for Clara’s sake!” + +“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.” + +“Never mind _my_ interests. Clara! I can only think of Clara!” + +“But you _have_ 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 _was_ 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.” + +“I _will_ go, Ralph; you have more than convinced me that I ought! I +will go to-morrow, though where--” + +“You have the rest of the day to think where. _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!” + +“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.” + +“That’s right, Basil! that’s acting and speaking like a man!” + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +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. + + ***** + +Two months have passed since that period; and I know no more about him +_now_ than I knew _then._ + + + + JOURNAL. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _has_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +21st--I have discovered all! The truth, which I was strangely slow to +suspect yesterday, has forced itself on me to-day. + +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. + +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-- + +“I’m not to bring you anything more; father says he won’t sell to you +again, whatever you pay him.” + +I asked the boy why his father had said that; but he ran back towards +the village without answering me. + +“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.” + +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. + +“You know what we mean, and why we want you to go, well enough,” was his +reply. + +I assured him that I did not; and begged him so earnestly to enlighten +me, that he stopped as he was walking away. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +I repeated that I could not imagine why they had all changed towards me, +or what wrong they thought I had done them. + +“Then I’ll soon let you know it,” he continued. “We want you gone from +here, because--” + +“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 _we want our children’s faces left as God made them_--” + +“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.” + +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 _had_ followed me to Cornwall: his threats were executed to the +very letter! + + + +(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? + +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. + +(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. + +(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. + + + +(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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + +“Take care of your life. It is not your’s to throw away--it is _mine!_” + +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. + +“Suicide!” he said slowly--“I suspected it, and, this time, I followed +close: followed, to fight with death, which should have you.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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 _them;_ there shall be no rest for _you!_” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +The doctor and a strange man have been looking among my papers. + +My God! am I dying? dying at the very time when there is a chance of +happiness for my future life? + + * * * * * + +Clara!--far from her--nothing but the little book-marker she worked for +me--leave it round my neck when I-- + +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-- + + * * * * * + +Clara! I shall die out of my senses, unless Clara--break the news +gently--it may kill her-- + +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--* + + + NOTE BY THE EDITOR. + + * There are some lines of writing beyond this point; but they are + illegible. + + + + + +LETTERS IN CONCLUSION. + + + +LETTER I. + +FROM WILLIAM PENHALE, MINER, AT BARTALLOCK, IN CORNWALL, TO HIS WIFE IN +LONDON. + +MY DEAR MARY, + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“I’m next to certain this is where he lives, or did live; so this is +where I’ll write,” says the doctor. + +“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.” + +“Quite right, Penhale!” says he; “we’ll do that. Write to your wife, and +put my letter inside yours.” + +I did as he told me, at once; and his letter is inside this, with the +direction of the house and the street. + +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. + +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, + + WILLIAM PENHALE. + + ***** + +LETTER II. + +FROM MARY PENHALE TO HER HUSBAND + +DEAREST WILLIAM, + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, + + Your loving and dutiful wife, + +MARY PENHALE. + + + +LETTER III. + +TO MR. JOHN BERNARD, FROM THE WRITER OF THE FORE-GOING AUTOBIOGRAPHY. + +[This letter is nearly nine years later in date than the letters which +precede it.] + + Lanreath Cottage, Breconshire. + +MY DEAR FRIEND, + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And now, you write to remind me of _my_ 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. + +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. + +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 _me,_ 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 _make_ 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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _me;_ my future hope pauses with my present happiness +in the shadowed valley of Repose. + +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! + +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. + +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 _her_ as well as _me_--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. + +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 +_here,_ 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? + +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! + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Basil, by Wilkie Collins + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BASIL *** + +***** This file should be named 4605-0.txt or 4605-0.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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’ WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/4605-0.zip b/4605-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..89877c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/4605-0.zip diff --git a/4605-h.zip b/4605-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0912e68 --- /dev/null +++ b/4605-h.zip 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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’ WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> diff --git a/4605.txt b/4605.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba1ff69 --- /dev/null +++ b/4605.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11822 @@ +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: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BASIL *** + + + + +Produced by James Rusk + + + + + +BASIL + +By Wilkie Collins + + + + +LETTER OF DEDICATION. + +TO CHARLES JAMES WARD, ESQ. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +Allow me to dwell a moment longer on the story which these pages +contain. + +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 _within_ 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) _beyond_ 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. + +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. + +One word more on the manner in which the purpose of the following pages +is worked out--and I have done. + +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. + +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. + + ***** + +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. + +"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. + +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. + + +WILKIE COLLINS. + +Harley Street, London, July, 1862. + + + + + +BASIL. + + + + +PART I. + + +I. + +WHAT am I now about to write? + +The history of little more than the events of one year, out of the +twenty-four years of my life. + +Why do I undertake such an employment as this? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +II. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +III. + +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. + +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 _him._ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _him,_ the servant was +often forgiven; if towards _her,_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +IV. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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 _his_ +part, he missed the conversation of his witty Polish Countess, and +longed for another pancake-supper with his favourite _grisettes._ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +V. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _her._ 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. + +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! + +How long I might linger over all that she has done for _me!_ 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. + +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. + +Not merely all that I _have_ 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. + +VI. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _our_ common; and trees +that might have been transplanted expressly for her, from _our_ park. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It happened thus: + +VII. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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 _too_ 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! + +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. + +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 _her._ 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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +My last inquiry addressed to the boy was the most important of all. Did +he know what Mr. Sherwin's profession or employment was? + +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. + +Enough? If he had spoken the truth, I had heard too much. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _his_ 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. + +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. + +"There, Minnie!" she cried laughingly, "you have caught the runaway +sugar, and now you shall keep it!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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: + +"Will you forgive me, Clara, for having deprived you of your ride +to-day? I am afraid I have but a bad excuse--" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Basil, how pale you look! Are you ill?" + +"No; the heat has been a little too much for me--nothing more." + +"Has anything happened? I only ask, because if I can be of any use--if +you want me to stay at home--" + +"Certainly not, love. I wish you all success and pleasure at the ball." + +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? + +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." + +"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?" + +"I will try at least." + +"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!" + +"Thank you, Clara; but I think the nosegay is fitter for your hand than +my table." + +"Good night, Basil." + +"Good night." + +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. + +VIII. + +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! + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. _This_ irregularity, _this_ 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. + +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 _her._ 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. + +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. + +(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.) + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +This is what I dreamed: + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Here the dream ended, and I awoke. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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: + + "Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, + And manage it against despairing thoughts." + +IX. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Are you in Mr. Sherwin's service?"--I asked, as I got to the garden +gate. + +"As plain cook, Sir," answered the girl, administering to her face a +final and furious rub of the apron. + +"Should you be very much surprised if I asked you to do me a great +favour?" + +"Well--really, Sir--you're quite a stranger to me--I'm _sure_ I don't +know!" She stopped, and transferred the apron-rubbing to her arms. + +"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?" + +"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 _this_ 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 _you_ of it, +Sir--and--and thank you, Sir, for what you've given me, all the same!" + +"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?" + +"That I can, Sir! I've kep' a many secrets since I've been out at +service." + +"Well: I want you to find me an opportunity of speaking to your young +lady--" + +"To Miss Margaret, Sir?" + +"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." + +"Oh Lord, Sir! I couldn't dare to do it!" + +"Come! come! Can't you guess why I want to see your young lady, and what +I want to say to her?" + +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!" + +"Very well; but you can tell me at least, whether Miss Margaret ever +goes out to take a walk?" + +"Oh, yes, Sir; mostly every day." + +"Do you ever go out with her?--just to take care of her when no one else +can be spared?" + +"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!" + +"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?" + +"Yes, Sir, I'm sure I would!--being so kind and so civil to _me,_ too!" +(a fresh arrangement of the cap followed this speech.) + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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?" + +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?" + +"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!" + +"That's a good girl," I said. "Now tell me, when does Miss Margaret go +out to-day; and who goes with her?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Oh, please don't, Sir--I wish I hadn't told you--I oughtn't, indeed I +oughtn't!" + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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 _him_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +--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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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! + +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. + +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. + +"But if this difference did not exist," I said: "if we were both living +in the same rank, Margaret--" + +She looked up quickly; then moved away a step or two, as I addressed her +by her Christian name. + +"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?" + +No: she ought not to be offended with me, or with anybody, for doing +that. + +"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?" + +I must not ask her that--it was no use--the difference in rank _did_ +exist. + +"Perhaps I have met you too late?--perhaps you are already--" + +"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. + +"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--" + +I attempted to take her hand a second time; but she broke from me, and +hurried into the house. + +What more could I desire? What more could the modesty and timidity of a +young girl concede to me? + +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. + +After a long delay--long to _me;_ 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. + +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! + +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. + +X. + +On my arrival at North Villa, I was shown into what I presumed was the +drawing-room. + +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. + +I was not kept waiting long. Another violent crack from the new door, +announced the entrance of Mr. Sherwin himself. + +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. + +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. + +I felt some difficulty in opening my business to him. It was necessary +to speak, however, at once--I began with an apology. + +"I am afraid, Mr. Sherwin, that this intrusion on the part of a perfect +stranger--" + +"Not entirely a stranger, Sir, if I may be allowed to say so." + +"Indeed!" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Just so. May I offer you anything?--a glass of sherry, a--" + +"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?" + +"Certainly--most certainly--the strictest secrecy of course--pray go +on." + +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. + +"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--" + +"My daughter! Bless my soul--God bless my soul, I really can't +imagine--" + +He stopped, half-breathless, bending forward towards me, and crumpling +my card between his fingers into the smallest possible dimensions. + +"Rather more than a week ago," I continued, "I accidentally met Miss +Sherwin in an omnibus, accompanied by a lady older than herself--" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"In books, Sir." He tapped one of the morocco-bound volumes on the +table, and smiled--a curious smile, partly deferential and partly +sarcastic. + +"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, _out_ 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." + +"Upon my soul this is the most extraordinary proceeding----!" + +"Pray hear me out, Mr. Sherwin: you will not condemn my conduct, I +think, if you hear all I have to say." + +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. + +"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). + +"Well, Sir! to what?" + +The tone in which he said this was harsh enough to rouse me. It gave me +back my self-possession immediately. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. _Pray_ let me +offer you a glass of wine!" + +"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--" + +"Yes--yes?" + +He bent forward again eagerly towards me, as he spoke; looking more +inquisitive and more cunning than ever. + +"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." + +"Ah--yes, yes! I understand. She would do nothing without my authority, +of course?" + +"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." + +"Ah! she said that, did she? Exactly so--she saw a difficulty there? +Yes--yes! high principles, Sir--high principles, thank God!" + +"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 _me,_ 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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"He has expressed no disapproval, Mr. Sherwin." + +"You don't say so!" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"We must keep both the courtship and the marriage secret." + +"Secret! Good gracious, I don't at all see my way--" + +"Yes, secret--a profound secret among ourselves, until I can divulge my +marriage to my father, with the best chance of--" + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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--_my_ money is out in my +speculations--_I_ can do nothing. Upon my word, you have placed me in a +position that I never was placed in before." + +"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." + +"Ah!--well--yes. There's something in that, certainly." + +"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--" + +"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--" + +"I am sure, Mr. Sherwin--" + +"--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!--" + +"Permit me to assure you, Mr. Sherwin--" + +"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--" + +"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: + +"Mr. Mannion is my confidential clerk, Sir--a most superior person, most +highly talented, and well read, and all that." + +"Is he a young man?" + +"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---" + +"I beg your pardon, but I think we are wandering away from the point, a +little." + +"I beg _yours_--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--". + +"I hope you will consider my anxieties, Mr. Sherwin, and let me know the +result of your deliberations as soon as possible." + +"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?" + +"Certainly." + +"And between that time and this, you will engage not to hold any +communication with my daughter?" + +"I promise not, Mr. Sherwin--because I believe that your answer will be +favourable." + +"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." + +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? + +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! + +XI. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The oppression was still on my spirits. Even the sight of the house +where Margaret lived failed to invigorate or arouse me. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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--_there,_ 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +"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. + +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. + +"You are taking nothing yourself, Mrs. Sherwin," I said. + +"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_ call it; pleasure I hope it will be to _you_." + +Mrs. Sherwin coughed--a very weak, small cough, half-stifled in its +birth. + +"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." + +"Oh, I am much better, thank you--it was only a little--" + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _were_ in the way of business, +and it's my opinion you always will be." + +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. + +Mr. Sherwin helped himself to a second glass of wine, without taking the +smallest notice of this. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 +_you_ 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?" + +"Quite fair, Mr. Sherwin." + +"Just so. Now, in the first place, my daughter is too young to be +married yet. She was only seventeen last birthday." + +"You astonish me! I should have imagined her three years older at +least." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +He stopped, and ran his fingers through his hair, in all directions; his +features fidgetting and distorting themselves ominously, while he looked +at me. + +"Pray explain yourself, Mr. Sherwin. Your silence gives me some +uneasiness at this particular moment, I assure you." + +"Quite so--I understand. Now, you must promise me not to be +huffed--offended, I should say--at what I am going to propose." + +"Certainly not." + +"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?" + +"I must confess I do not." + +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. + +"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." + +He evidently felt that he got fluent on wine; and helped himself, at +this juncture, to another glass. + +"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." + +"But the case could not happen--I am astonished you can imagine it +possible. I have told you already, I am of age." + +"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--_at +nothing_--I recollect you said so. Now, knowing this, my dear +Sir--though I have the most perfect confidence in _your_ honour, and +_your_ 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!" + +"In Heaven's name, Mr. Sherwin, pass over all these impossible +difficulties of yours! and let me hear what you have finally to +propose." + +"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?" + +I was too astounded, too overwhelmed, to say anything at that moment; +Mr. Sherwin went on: + +"This plan of mine, you see, reconciles everything. If any accident +_does_ 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. + +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: + +"I accept your conditions--I accept them with all my heart." + +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. + +"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!" + +"We may consider all difficulties finally settled then," I said, anxious +to close my interview with Mr. Sherwin as speedily as possible. + +"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." + +"Then I presume there will be no objection to my seeing Miss Sherwin +now?" + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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 _you_ 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!" + +XII. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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! + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +An excuse--no! not an excuse; let me call things by their right names +in these pages--a _lie_ 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. + +"Stop," he said coldly, while the red flush which meant so much when it +rose on _his_ 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 _will_ 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." + +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. + +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. + +Clara stepped quietly to my side; and sitting down by me in silence, put +her arm round my neck. + +When I was calmer, she said gently: + +"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--" + +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: + +"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: _do_ let +me!" + +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. + +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 _me_ feel happy about you, Basil; I will +make _him_ feel happy too," and Clara was gone. + +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. + +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. + +The events of that week, so fraught with importance for the future of my +life, passed with ominous rapidity. + +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. + +The day came. I had not slept during the night that preceded it; so I +rose early to look out on the morning. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Clara whispered (in such low, trembling tones that I could hardly hear +her): + +"Think of what you promised in your study, Basil, whenever you think of +_me:_ I will write often." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +_Married!_ 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? + +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! + +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? + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And this was my wedding-night! This was how the day ended which had +begun by my marriage with Margaret Sherwin! + + + + +PART II. + + +I. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_her_ heart was beating, _her_ 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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +I am straying from my task. Let me return to my narrative: its course +begins to darken before me apace, while I now write. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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? + +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. + +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. + +II. + +The first change that passed over the calm uniformity of the life at +North Villa, came in this manner: + +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. + +"News, my dear sir!" he said. "Mr. Mannion has come back--at least two +days before I expected him!" + +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. + +Margaret and I sat down as usual with our books about us. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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. + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"What can you tell me about him yourself, Mr. Sherwin?" + +"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!" + +"Do you know how he was employed before he came to you?" + +"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." + +"There does not seem much chance for me, Mr. Sherwin, after what you +have said." + +"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." + +"One more question: is he married or single?" + +"Single, to be sure--a regular old bachelor, if ever there was one yet." + +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. + +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! + +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. + +III. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"My house is close by," said my companion, just as quietly and +deliberately as usual--"pray step in, Sir, until the storm is over." + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"In what respect, Mr. Mannion?" I asked, a little startled by the +abruptness of the question. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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--" + +Just as the last words passed my lips, the thunder pealed awfully over +the house. I said no more: the sound silenced me. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _you._ If you were of my age, Sir, and in my +position, you would understand it." + +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. + +"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." + +"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--" + +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 _me;_ to be wailing over +_him;_ 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. + +"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." + +"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--" + +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. + +"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?" + +How he had found that out? At any rate, he was right; and I told him so +candidly. + +"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 _has_ +asked, and _will_ 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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +When the darkness had come again, I bade him good night--first +mechanically repeating what I had just said, almost in the same words. + +I walked home thoughtful. That night had given me much matter to think +of. + +IV. + +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. + +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:-- + +"I tell you, mamma, I must and will have the dress, whether papa chooses +or not." + +This was spoken loudly and resolutely; in such tones as I had never +heard from Margaret before. + +"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." + +"I won't be allowanced. _His_ sister isn't allowanced: why should I be?" + +"My dear love, surely there is some difference--" + +"I'm sure there isn't, now I am his wife. I shall ride some day in my +carriage, just as his sister does. _He_ gives me my way in everything; +and so ought you." + +"It isn't _me,_ 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." + +"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--" + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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 _her_ cat!" + +"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. + +"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--" + +"Hold your tongue, you wretch! How dare you hold me?--let me go!" + +"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." + +"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 _will_ go!" + +"I'll let the cat go first, Miss, as sure as my name's Susan!" + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Ere long, however, circumstances decided me as to the course I should +take with Mr. Mannion. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +V. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +At last, a letter arrived from Clara, containing a summons to the +country, which I could not disobey. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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?" + +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: + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _your_ case. You are of age, and must know your +own responsibilities and mine. Choose at once, between saying nothing, +and saying all." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Immediately on my return to London I repaired to North Villa. + +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 _me!_ + +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. + +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. + +VI. + +About six weeks after I had left the Hall, my father and Clara returned +to London for the season. + +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. + + * * * * * * + +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. + +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:-- + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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've_ tried to do it--mind _you_ 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. + +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. + +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. + + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _him_ 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. + +"My good Sir!" he said, in sharp, querulous tones, "do, for once, allow +me to know what's best. You'll have it all _your_ way to-morrow--just +let me have _mine,_ 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 _he's_ with +her. So you see there's nothing to make a fuss about, after all." + +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. + +"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!" + +"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." + +"I said she oughtn't to go at all, whatever her aunt wrote--_I_ said +that." + +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 _her,_ 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. + +"Damn it, Mrs. S.!" roared her husband in a fury, "will you hold your +tongue? What the devil do you mean by giving _your_ 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!" + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +VII. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +Going home already! An hour and a half before it was time to return! +Why? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +What did this mean? Why were they not going straight home? + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"A lady and gentleman came into this hotel a little while ago." + +"What may your business be?"--He hesitated, and added in an altered +tone, "I mean, what may you want with them, Sir?" + +"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." + +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?" + +"I promise." + +"This way then, Sir--and mind you don't forget to step soft." + +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. + +I listened; and through the thin partition, I heard voices--_her_ voice, +and _his_ voice. _I heard and I knew_--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! + +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. + +Erelong, the power of thinking began to return to me by degrees. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 will +kill him when he comes out._ My mind never swerved for an instant from +this thought--never swerved towards myself; never swerved towards _her._ +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. + +Once, while I stood on the watch, a sharp agony of suspense tried me +fiercely. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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?--_Was_ 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + + + + +PART III. + + +I. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Soon, these thoughts began to take a form that I could recognise. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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! + + * * * * * + +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 _this_ +period. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +II. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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! + +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! + +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. + +On the last page, and close to the end, I read these lines: + + "MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE. + +"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." + + + +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: + +"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." + + + +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. + +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: + + + "North Villa, Hollyoake Square. + +"DEAR SIR, + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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, + +"I remain, dear Sir, + +"Your faithful, obedient servant, + + "STEPHEN SHERWIN. + +"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." + + + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +"Why, you have been walking till it is quite dark, Clara!" + +"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." + +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: + +"Can't you imagine what the subject was? It was you, Basil. Papa is +coming here directly, to speak to you." + +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. + +"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." + +She hurriedly left the room. The next minute, my father entered it. + +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. + +"I have come to speak to you," he said, "on a subject about which I had +much rather you had spoken to me first." + +"I think, Sir, I know to what subject you refer. I--" + +"I must beg you will listen to me as patiently as you can," he rejoined; +"I have not much to say." + +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! + +"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." + +"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--" + +"The words you spoke in your delirium--words which I heard, but will not +judge you by--justified the worst forebodings." + +"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--" + +"I do not _suspect_--I feel but too _sure,_ 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." + +"My brother!--my brother's faults mine! Ralph!" + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"It is not with him, Sir, that I can well begin. I must go back--" + +"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." + +"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." + +"All? your tones mean more than your words--_they_ 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!" + +"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." + +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. + +"No more to-night, Basil," he said, hurriedly, but very gently; "no more +on this subject till to-morrow." + +"I can speak now, Sir; it is better to speak at once." + +"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." + +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. + +After the morrow was over, would he ever give me that hand again? + +III. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"My master, Sir, desires me to say that, if you feel well enough, he +wishes to see you in his own room." + +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. + +"Think of what I said last night, Basil," she whispered, "and, if hard +words are spoken to you, think of _me._ All that our mother would have +done for you, if she had been still among us, _I_ will do. Remember +that, and keep heart and hope to the very last." + +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. + +"This was left for you, Sir, a little while ago. The messenger who +brought it said he was not to wait for an answer." + +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. + +I went at once into my father's room. + +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-- + +"Take any time you like, Basil, to compose and collect yourself. This +morning my time is yours." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +Minute after minute glided on, inexorably fast; and yet I never broke +silence. My eyes turned anxiously and slowly on my father. + +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 _felt_ that I was looking at him; for he suddenly +discontinued his employment, turned round towards me, and spoke-- + +"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 _your_ place, Ralph would have +spoken before this." + +Ralph, and Ralph's example quoted to me again!--I could remain silent no +longer. + +"My brother's faults towards you, and towards his family, are not such +faults as mine, Sir," I began. "I have _not_ imitated his vices; I have +acted as he would _not_ 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." + +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. + +"What do you mean by 'disgraceful?'" he asked abruptly; "what do you +mean by associating such a word as _disgrace_ with your conduct--with +the conduct of a son of mine?" + +"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--" + +"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 _is_ Mr. Sherwin?" + +"He lives--" + +"I don't ask where he lives. Who is he? What is he?" + +"Mr. Sherwin is a linen-draper--" + +"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 _'friend!'_ 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 _is_ disgrace; how +much do you owe? Where are your dishonoured acceptances? Where have you +used _my_ name and _my_ credit? Tell me at once--I insist on it!" + +He spoke rapidly and contemptuously, and rising from his chair as he +ended, walked impatiently up and down the room. + +"I owe no money to Mr. Sherwin, Sir--no money to any one." + +He stopped suddenly: + +"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?" + +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: + +"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 _her_--I return to _you._ I insist on +knowing how far your vices have compromised you with that vicious +woman." + +"She has wronged me--cruelly, horribly, wronged me--" I could say no +more. My head drooped on my breast; my shame overpowered me. + +"Who is she? You called her Margaret, in your illness--who is she?" + +"She is Mr. Sherwin's daughter--" The words that I would fain have +spoken next, seemed to suffocate me. I was silent again. + +I heard him mutter to himself: + +_"That_ man's daughter!--a worse bait than the bait of money!" + +He bent forward, and looked at me searchingly. A frightful paleness flew +over his face in an instant. + +"Basil!" he cried, "in God's name, answer me at once! What is Mr. +Sherwin's daughter to _you?_" + +"She is my wife!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +"Have you anything more to say to me?" + +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. + +"Spare me any more details," he said, bitterly, "you have humiliated me +sufficiently--you have spoken enough." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 _not_ 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--" + +He stopped, shuddering. When he proceeded, his voice faltered, and his +head drooped low. + +"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 _you_ 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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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 _you._" + +I had listened to him hitherto without pleading a word in my own behalf; +but his last speech roused me. Some of _his_ 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. + +"Stop!" he cried. "Do you pretend that you have not understood me?" + +"It is _because_ 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." + +"Insult! After what has happened, is it for _you_ 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!" + +"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." + +"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!" + +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. + +"You refuse?" he said quickly. + +"I have already told you, Sir--" + +"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!" + +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. + +It opened a little--then shut again--then opened wide. Slowly and +noiselessly, Clara came into the room. + +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. + +"Clara!" he exclaimed again, still in the same whispering tones. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Yes, Sir, I hear you," she answered. "God grant that my mother in +heaven may not hear you too!" + +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? + +"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 _command_ you to leave him?" + +The deeply planted instinct of gentleness and obedience prevailed; she +dropped my hand, but did not move away from me, even yet. + +"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." + +She clasped her trembling fingers together, and sighed heavily. + +"I cannot go, Sir," she said quickly and breathlessly. + +"Must I tell you for the first time in your life, that you are acting +disobediently?" he asked. + +"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." + +"For _his_ offence there is neither atonement nor forgiveness. Clara! +are you so changed, that you can disobey me to my face?" + +He walked away from us as he said this. + +"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 _my_ 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 _me._ My poor mother, (I _must_ +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 _his_ home no longer? Punish +_me,_ 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!" + +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. + +"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. + +He rose instantly from his chair. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +I never entered it again--I have never seen my father since. + +IV. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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 _me._ + +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-- + +"Miss Margaret"--(she still gave her that name!)--"Miss Margaret is +upstairs, Sir. I suppose you would like--" + +"I have no wish to see her: I want to speak to Mr. Sherwin." + +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. + +He advanced, holding out his hand; but his restless eyes wandered +unsteadily, looking away from me towards the screen. + +"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--?" + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +"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_ shall sit +down. _You_ 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 _my_ girl +downstairs, and to show yourself the gentleman, or do you not?" + +"You have written me two letters, Mr. Sherwin--" + +"Yes: and took devilish good care you should get them--I left them +myself." + +"In writing those letters, you were either grossly deceived; and, in +that case, are only to be pitied, or--" + +"Pitied! what the devil do you mean by that? Nobody wants your pity +here." + +"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." + +"Oh, that's your tack, is it? By God, I expected as much the moment you +came in! What! you don't believe _my_ 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!" + +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. + +"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." + +He turned round quickly, staring at me with a face of mingled fury and +dismay. + +"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 +_my_ 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 _my_ girl's an honest girl!" + +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. + +"I say _my_ 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 _all?_ 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!" + +"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 _her_ voice and _his_ 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." + +"But you _shall_ 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 _my_ 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 _my_ girl, if she goes to the parish to appeal +against you! _Your_ 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?" + +_"I believe it!"_ + +The third voice which pronounced those words was Mrs. Sherwin's. + +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? + +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 _her_ 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. + +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. + +"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 _has_ 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?" + +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 _his_ gross nature felt the shock. I saw him shrink--his +sallow cheeks whitened, he moved his chair away, and said no more. + +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. + +"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 _you,_ 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." + +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. + +"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_ 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." + +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. + +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. + +"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 _you._ 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! _That_ 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 _him;_ 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 _you._ 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!" + +Her voice died away for a moment, in faint, breathless murmurings. She +struggled to recover it, and repeated in a whisper: + +"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!" + +She took my hand, and pressed it to her cold lips. The tears gushed into +my eyes, as I tried to speak to her. + +"No tears for _me!_" 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 _you_ have forgiven +me! And, for _her?_--oh! who will pray for _her_ when I am gone?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +I was told, afterwards, how she died. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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 _must_ tell +you about it!" + +I gave her a little time to compose herself; and then asked what she had +to say. + +"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?" + +"Yes: I saw him." + +"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--" + +"Why, Susan?--tell me candidly why?" + +"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--" + +"Go on, Susan--speak as freely and as truly to me as ever." + +"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." + +She held out a letter. I hesitated before I looked at it. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I know as little about it, Susan, as you do." + +"But ought I to take it up-stairs, Sir? only tell me that!" + +"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." + +"I'm very sorry to hear you say that, Sir; very, very sorry. But what +would you advise me to do?" + +"Let me look at the letter once more." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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 _you,_ 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." + +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! + +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. + +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. + +I took out the letter, opened it with trembling fingers, and looked +through the cramped, closely-written pages for the signature. + +It was "ROBERT MANNION." + +V. + +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. + +"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 _me._ 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 _her?_ not disclose the mystery in which the +motives of _her_ 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:-- + + + + "St. Helen's Hospital. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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: _willingly_ 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. + +"I have told you Margaret Sherwin is guilty. Why was she guilty? What +was the secret of my influence over her? + +"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!" + + ***** + +"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. + +"Does this declaration surprise you? Read on, and you will understand +it. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _did_ 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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _your father._ 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. + +"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. + +"More of myself to-morrow--my letter will be a long one: I must pause +often over it, as I pause to-day." + + ***** + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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! + +"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. + +"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 _her_ 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! + +"With this event, my long strife and struggle with the world ended. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"He _did_ believe in it; and he granted what I asked. Through his +interference and recommendation, I entered the service of Mr. Sherwin.-- + +"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." + + ***** + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _me:_ 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. + +"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! + +"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. + +"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 _me,_ as I doubted +_her;_ 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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _me?_--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. + +"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; _they_ were as incapable of inspiring, as +_she_ 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. + + ***** + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 +_you._ + +"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. + + ***** + +"Let us get back to England. + +"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! + +"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. + +"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 _me._ 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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Such were your chances against me; and such was the manner in which +you misused them. On _my_ 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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + + ***** + +"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. + +"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 _them,_ but with _me._ + +"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. + +"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). + +"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 _my_ +existence, so the events of that night when you followed me shall affect +_yours._ Your father shall see you living the life to which his evidence +against _my_ father condemned _me_--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. + +"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? + +"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. + +"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! + + "ROBERT MANNION." + + + +"We shall meet soon!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +VI. + +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. + +I looked at him in speechless astonishment. It was my elder brother! It +was Ralph himself who now walked into the room! + +"Well, Basil! how are you?" he said, with his old off-hand manner and +hearty voice. + +"Ralph! You in England!--you here!" + +"I came back from Italy last night. Basil, how awfully you're changed! I +hardly know you again." + +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 _he_ had changed +since that time, and knew, as I never knew before, how miserably _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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _me,_ and nothing +ever will be." + +He stopped to knock the ash off his cigar, and settle himself more +comfortably on my bed; then proceeded. + +"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 _he_ 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. + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"Gently, Basil! _Doucement mon ami!_ 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." + +"Go on, Ralph: speak as you please." + +"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 _that_ 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 +_may_ 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?" + +I told my brother of the struggle with Mannion in the Square. + +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?" + +"In the hospital." + +Ralph laughed heartily, and jumped back on the bed. I remembered +Mannion's letter, and shuddered as I thought of it. + +"The next question is about the girl," said my brother. "What has become +of her? Where was she all the time of your illness?" + +"At her father's house; she is there still." + +"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?" + +"I have a letter, a long letter from her accomplice, containing a +confession of his guilt and hers." + +"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?" + +"I was at the house, yesterday." + +"The deuce you were! And who did you see?--The father? Did you bring him +to terms? did you do business with Mr. Shopkeeper?" + +"His manner was brutal: his language, the language of a bully--?" + +"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?" + +"As it began:--in threats on his part, in endurance on mine." + +"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?" + +"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 _me,_ to abandon to him the only money I +have of my own--the little income left me by our mother." + +"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." + +"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 _shall_ see it." + +"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!" + +"I can't allow you, Ralph, to ask my father for what I would not ask him +myself--" + +"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 _me,_ 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! _Au revoir,_ my dear fellow--_au revoir._" + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +Mannion? But would he come thus? openly, fairly, in the broad daylight, +through the populous street? + +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! + +"Basil!" she exclaimed, before I could speak--"has Ralph been here?" + +"Yes, love--yes." + +"Where has he gone? what has he done for you? He promised me--" + +"And he has kept his promise nobly, Clara: he is away helping me now." + +"Thank God! thank God!" + +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! + +"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?" + +"None, Clara--none, indeed!" + +"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?" + +"Your hope is far off fulfilment, indeed, Clara, if it is hope from my +father!" + +"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." + +"I wish I could believe it, love; but my remembrance of yesterday--" + +"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." + +"And as I _will_ hope, Clara, though it be from no stronger motive than +gratitude to you." + +"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?" + +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! + +"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--" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +"What do you mean?" + +"She has eloped to the hospital!" + +"Mannion!" + +"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!" + +"Never mind how I look, Ralph--pray go on!" + +"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 +_me_ '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." + +"And how did he answer you?" + +"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?" + +"Yes: almost word for word." + +"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. _We_ keep our opinion of +your daughter's guilt--_you_ keep your opinion of her innocence. _We_ +have silence to buy, and _you_ have silence to sell, once a quarter; and +if either of us break our conditions, we both have our remedy--_your's_ +the easy remedy, _our's_ 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.'" + +"The reverse side! What reverse side, Ralph? What could you possibly say +more?" + +"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 _you_ altogether.'" + +"Ralph! Ralph! how could you--" + +"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. _He_ began +to stammer, and _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." + +"Did he object to that?" + +"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." + +I took the letter, and read (in Mannion's handwriting) these words, +dated from the hospital:-- + + + +"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. + +"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. + +"R. M." + + +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. + +"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." + +"But, Ralph, do you think--" + +"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 _him_ 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!); _he_ has no marriage +certificate to shake over our heads, at any rate. What's the matter +now?--you're looking pale again." + +I _felt_ 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 +_him_ in the life-long persecution which menaced _me._ When he repeated +his remark about my sudden paleness, I merely accounted for it by some +common-place excuse, and begged him to proceed. + +"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?" + +"I see it, Ralph!" + +"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!" + +VII. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Bernard! Jack Bernard! Have you come to England, of all the men in the +world!" + +"Why not?" was the answer. "I got every surgical testimonial the _Hotel +Dieu_ 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." + +"You don't mean that you belong to _this_ hospital?" + +"My dear fellow, I am regularly on the staff; I'm here every day of my +life." + +"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." + +"Are you bringing your brother to the hospital to follow my mad +example?" asked Mr. Bernard, as he shook hands with me. + +"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." + +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." + +"Now, Bernard," he said, "you have a man here, who calls himself Mr. +Turner?" + +"Are _you_ 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." + +"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." + +"Certainly not!" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"I understand," said Ralph; "just as some women run into the wrong +omnibus, when the right one is straight before them." + +"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." + +"Has nobody asked where?" + +"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 _should_ 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?" + +"No, indeed; not at all. I have just recovered from a serious +illness--but pray go on." + +"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 +_will_ 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." + +"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?" + +Mr. Bernard hesitated a moment, and considered. + +"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." + +"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." + +While Mr. Bernard went to the opposite end of the room, in search of +writing materials, Ralph whispered to me-- + +"If he wrote to _my_ 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." + +Here Mr. Bernard brought us pen and ink. While Ralph was writing my +address, his friend said to me: + +"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." + +"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." + +We left the room. As we crossed the hall, a gentleman came forward, and +spoke to Mr. Bernard. + +"That man's fever in the Victoria Ward has declared itself at last," he +said. "This morning the new symptoms have appeared." + +"And what do they indicate?" + +"Typhus of the most malignant character--not a doubt of it. Come up, and +look at him." + +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. + +After talking together in whispers for a few moments, they rejoined me. +Mr. Bernard was explaining the different theories of infection to Ralph. + +_"My_ 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." + +"You will write the moment you hear anything?" said Ralph, shaking hands +with him. + +"The very moment. I have your brother's address safe in my pocket." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + + +"Private. + +"Friday. + +"My DEAR SIR, + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"I remain, dear Sir, + +"Faithfully yours, + +"JOHN BERNARD. + +"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." + + + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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." + +As I took the candle from her hand, I saw that Mr. Bernard was +approaching me from the stairs. + +"You can do no good, I am afraid," he said, "but I am glad you have +come." + +"There is no hope, then?" + +"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?" + +"Does she still speak of me in her wanderings?" + +"Yes, as incessantly as ever." + +"Then I am ready to go to her bedside." + +"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!" + +I felt his sympathy and delicacy too strongly to thank him in words; I +could only _look_ my gratitude as he asked me to follow him up stairs. + +We entered the room softly. Once more, and for the last time in this +world, I stood in the presence of Margaret Sherwin. + +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!" + +"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. + +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!" + +"He is here," repeated Mr. Bernard loudly. "Look! look up at him!" + +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. + +"Compose yourself," whispered the doctor. "Now she is quiet, speak to +her; speak to her before she begins again; call her by her name." + +Her name! Could my lips utter it at such a moment as this? + +"Quick! quick!" cried Mr. Bernard. "Try her while you have the chance." + +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! + +"Margaret," I said, "Margaret, you asked for me, and I have come." + +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. + +"I am afraid she is too far gone," said the doctor; "but make another +trial." + +"Margaret," I said again, "have you forgotten me? Margaret!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"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 _must_ 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 _will_ ride in my own carriage: you must keep things secret enough to +let me do that. I say I _will_ ride in my carriage: and I'll go where +father walks to business: I don't care if I splash him with _my_ +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 _him_ 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!" + +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. + +"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! _His_ face? _his_ 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!" + +"Hush, Margaret! hush! drink this, and you will be cool again." I gave +her some lemonade, which stood by the bedside. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +(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?) + +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. + +While I felt among the different objects under my hands for a box of +matches: Margaret's voice strengthened again. + +"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!" + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +As I struck a light, her voice repeated close at my ear: + +"His hands are on me: he's feeling my face to feel if I'm dead!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Don't disturb her," I whispered, "she is asleep; surely she is asleep!" + +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. + +"Yes, she is asleep," he said gravely; "asleep, never to wake again. She +is dead." + +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. + +"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." + + + +Calmly? + +Yes! at that moment it was fit that I should be calm; for I could +remember that I had forgiven her. + +VIII. + +On the fourth day from the morning when she had died, I stood alone in +the churchyard by the grave of Margaret Sherwin. + +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!-- + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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 _your_ father might have found _my_ father changed, +if he had seen him on the morning of his execution, standing under the +gallows, with the cap over his face?" + +Still I could neither speak nor move. I could only look away from him in +horror, and fix my eyes on the ground. + +He lowered the shade to its former position on his face, then spoke +again. + +"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 _you,_ and +I watched _her._ 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!" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +"No, Ralph--no. What have you to tell me?" + +"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." + +"Good heavens! how?" + +"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." + +"No! no! tell me yourself, Ralph--tell me how she bears his +displeasure!" + +"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 _him,_ and her opposite notions, just as +strong, of her sisterly duties to _you,_ 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 _your_ business to stop this, and _my_ +business to tell you how." + +"I will do anything you wish--anything for Clara's sake!" + +"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." + +"Never mind _my_ interests. Clara! I can only think of Clara!" + +"But you _have_ 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 _was_ 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." + +"I _will_ go, Ralph; you have more than convinced me that I ought! I +will go to-morrow, though where--" + +"You have the rest of the day to think where. _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!" + +"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." + +"That's right, Basil! that's acting and speaking like a man!" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + + ***** + +Two months have passed since that period; and I know no more about him +_now_ than I knew _then._ + + + + JOURNAL. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _has_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +21st--I have discovered all! The truth, which I was strangely slow to +suspect yesterday, has forced itself on me to-day. + +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. + +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-- + +"I'm not to bring you anything more; father says he won't sell to you +again, whatever you pay him." + +I asked the boy why his father had said that; but he ran back towards +the village without answering me. + +"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." + +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. + +"You know what we mean, and why we want you to go, well enough," was his +reply. + +I assured him that I did not; and begged him so earnestly to enlighten +me, that he stopped as he was walking away. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +I repeated that I could not imagine why they had all changed towards me, +or what wrong they thought I had done them. + +"Then I'll soon let you know it," he continued. "We want you gone from +here, because--" + +"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 _we want our children's faces left as God made them_--" + +"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." + +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 _had_ followed me to Cornwall: his threats were executed to the +very letter! + + + +(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? + +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. + +(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. + +(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. + + + +(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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + +"Take care of your life. It is not your's to throw away--it is _mine!_" + +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. + +"Suicide!" he said slowly--"I suspected it, and, this time, I followed +close: followed, to fight with death, which should have you." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 _them;_ there shall be no rest for _you!_" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +The doctor and a strange man have been looking among my papers. + +My God! am I dying? dying at the very time when there is a chance of +happiness for my future life? + + * * * * * + +Clara!--far from her--nothing but the little book-marker she worked for +me--leave it round my neck when I-- + +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-- + + * * * * * + +Clara! I shall die out of my senses, unless Clara--break the news +gently--it may kill her-- + +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--* + + + NOTE BY THE EDITOR. + + * There are some lines of writing beyond this point; but they are + illegible. + + + + + +LETTERS IN CONCLUSION. + + + +LETTER I. + +FROM WILLIAM PENHALE, MINER, AT BARTALLOCK, IN CORNWALL, TO HIS WIFE IN +LONDON. + +MY DEAR MARY, + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I'm next to certain this is where he lives, or did live; so this is +where I'll write," says the doctor. + +"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." + +"Quite right, Penhale!" says he; "we'll do that. Write to your wife, and +put my letter inside yours." + +I did as he told me, at once; and his letter is inside this, with the +direction of the house and the street. + +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. + +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, + + WILLIAM PENHALE. + + ***** + +LETTER II. + +FROM MARY PENHALE TO HER HUSBAND + +DEAREST WILLIAM, + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, + + Your loving and dutiful wife, + +MARY PENHALE. + + + +LETTER III. + +TO MR. JOHN BERNARD, FROM THE WRITER OF THE FORE-GOING AUTOBIOGRAPHY. + +[This letter is nearly nine years later in date than the letters which +precede it.] + + Lanreath Cottage, Breconshire. + +MY DEAR FRIEND, + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And now, you write to remind me of _my_ 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. + +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. + +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 _me,_ 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 _make_ 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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _me;_ my future hope pauses with my present happiness +in the shadowed valley of Repose. + +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! + +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. + +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 _her_ as well as _me_--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. + +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 +_here,_ 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? + +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! + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Basil, by Wilkie Collins + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BASIL *** + +***** This file should be named 4605.txt or 4605.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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/4605.zip b/4605.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..51a72b3 --- /dev/null +++ b/4605.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a042478 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #4605 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4605) diff --git a/old/bslwc10.txt b/old/bslwc10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f74b28 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/bslwc10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12092 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Basil, by Wilkie Collins +#28 in our series by Wilkie Collins + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg file. + +We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your own disk, +thereby keeping an electronic path open for future readers. + +Please do not remove this. + +This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to +view the etext. Do not change or edit it without written permission. +The words are carefully chosen to provide users with the information +they need to understand what they may and may not do with the etext. +To encourage this, we have moved most of the information to the end, +rather than having it all here at the beginning. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These Etexts Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get etexts, and +further information, is included below. We need your donations. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3) +organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541 +Find out about how to make a donation at the bottom of this file. + + + +Title: Basil + +Author: Wilkie Collins + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +Release Date: November, 2003 [Etext #4605] +[This file was first posted on February 17, 2002] +[Date last updated: May 22, 2005] + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Basil, by Wilkie Collins +*This file should be named bslwc10.txt or bslwc10.zip* + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, bslwc11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, bslwc10a.txt + +Etext by James Rusk, jrusk@mac-email.com +Wilkie Collins web site: http://www.blackmask.com/jrusk/wcollins + + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep etexts in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +The "legal small print" and other information about this book +may now be found at the end of this file. Please read this +important information, as it gives you specific rights and +tells you about restrictions in how the file may be used. + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +Basil + +by Wilkie Collins + + + + +LETTER OF DEDICATION. + +TO CHARLES JAMES WARD, ESQ. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +Allow me to dwell a moment longer on the story which these pages +contain. + +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 _within_ +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) _beyond_ 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. + +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. + +One word more on the manner in which the purpose of the following +pages is worked out--and I have done. + +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. + +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. + + ----- + +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. + +"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. + +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. + + WILKIE COLLINS. + +Harley Street, London, July, 1862. + +BASIL. + +PART I. + +I. + +WHAT am I now about to write? + +The history of little more than the events of one year, out of the +twenty-four years of my life. + +Why do I undertake such an employment as this? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +II. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +III. + +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. + +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 +_him._ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _him,_ the servant +was often forgiven; if towards _her,_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +IV. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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 _his_ part, he +missed the conversation of his witty Polish Countess, and longed for +another pancake-supper with his favourite _grisettes._ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +V. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _her._ 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. + +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! + +How long I might linger over all that she has done for _me!_ 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. + +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. + +Not merely all that I _have_ 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. + +VI. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _our_ common; and +trees that might have been transplanted expressly for her, from _our_ +park. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It happened thus: + +VII. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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 _too_ 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! + +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. + +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 _her._ 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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +My last inquiry addressed to the boy was the most important of all. +Did he know what Mr. Sherwin's profession or employment was? + +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. + +Enough? If he had spoken the truth, I had heard too much. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _his_ 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. + +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. + +"There, Minnie!" she cried laughingly, "you have caught the runaway +sugar, and now you shall keep it!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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: + +"Will you forgive me, Clara, for having deprived you of your ride +to-day? I am afraid I have but a bad excuse--" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Basil, how pale you look! Are you ill?" + +"No; the heat has been a little too much for me--nothing more." + +"Has anything happened? I only ask, because if I can be of any use--if +you want me to stay at home--" + +"Certainly not, love. I wish you all success and pleasure at the +ball." + +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? + +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." + +"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?" + +"I will try at least." + +"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!" + +"Thank you, Clara; but I think the nosegay is fitter for your hand +than my table." + +"Good night, Basil." + +"Good night." + +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. + +VIII. + +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! + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. _This_ irregularity, _this_ +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. + +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 _her._ 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. + +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. + +(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.) + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +This is what I dreamed: + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Here the dream ended, and I awoke. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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: + + "Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, + And manage it against despairing thoughts." + +IX. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Are you in Mr. Sherwin's service?"--I asked, as I got to the garden +gate. + +"As plain cook, Sir," answered the girl, administering to her face a +final and furious rub of the apron. + +"Should you be very much surprised if I asked you to do me a great +favour?" + +"Well--really, Sir--you're quite a stranger to me--I'm _sure_ I don't +know!" She stopped, and transferred the apron-rubbing to her arms. + +"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?" + +"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 _this_ 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 _you_ of it, +Sir--and--and thank you, Sir, for what you've given me, all the same!" + +"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?" + +"That I can, Sir! I've kep' a many secrets since I've been out at +service." + +"Well: I want you to find me an opportunity of speaking to your young +lady--" + +"To Miss Margaret, Sir?" + +"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." + +"Oh Lord, Sir! I couldn't dare to do it!" + +"Come! come! Can't you guess why I want to see your young lady, and +what I want to say to her?" + +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!" + +"Very well; but you can tell me at least, whether Miss Margaret ever +goes out to take a walk?" + +"Oh, yes, Sir; mostly every day." + +"Do you ever go out with her?--just to take care of her when no one +else can be spared?" + +"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!" + +"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?" + +"Yes, Sir, I'm sure I would!--being so kind and so civil to _me,_ +too!" (a fresh arrangement of the cap followed this speech.) + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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?" + +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?" + +"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!" + +"That's a good girl," I said. "Now tell me, when does Miss Margaret go +out to-day; and who goes with her?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Oh, please don't, Sir--I wish I hadn't told you--I oughtn't, indeed I +oughtn't!" + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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 _him_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +--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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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! + +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. + +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. + +"But if this difference did not exist," I said: "if we were both +living in the same rank, Margaret--" + +She looked up quickly; then moved away a step or two, as I addressed +her by her Christian name. + +"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?" + +No: she ought not to be offended with me, or with anybody, for doing +that. + +"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?" + +I must not ask her that--it was no use--the difference in rank _did_ +exist. + +"Perhaps I have met you too late?--perhaps you are already--" + +"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. + +"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--" + +I attempted to take her hand a second time; but she broke from me, and +hurried into the house. + +What more could I desire? What more could the modesty and timidity of +a young girl concede to me? + +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. + +After a long delay--long to _me;_ 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. + +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! + +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. + +X. + +On my arrival at North Villa, I was shown into what I presumed was the +drawing-room. + +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. + +I was not kept waiting long. Another violent crack from the new door, +announced the entrance of Mr. Sherwin himself. + +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. + +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. + +I felt some difficulty in opening my business to him. It was necessary +to speak, however, at once--I began with an apology. + +"I am afraid, Mr. Sherwin, that this intrusion on the part of a +perfect stranger--" + +"Not entirely a stranger, Sir, if I may be allowed to say so." + +"Indeed!" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Just so. May I offer you anything?--a glass of sherry, a--" + +"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?" + +"Certainly--most certainly--the strictest secrecy of course--pray go +on." + +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. + +"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--" + +"My daughter! Bless my soul--God bless my soul, I really can't +imagine--" + +He stopped, half-breathless, bending forward towards me, and crumpling +my card between his fingers into the smallest possible dimensions. + +"Rather more than a week ago," I continued, "I accidentally met Miss +Sherwin in an omnibus, accompanied by a lady older than herself--" + +"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. + +"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?" + +"In books, Sir." He tapped one of the morocco-bound volumes on the +table, and smiled--a curious smile, partly deferential and partly +sarcastic. + +"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, _out_ 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." + +"Upon my soul this is the most extraordinary proceeding----!" + +"Pray hear me out, Mr. Sherwin: you will not condemn my conduct, I +think, if you hear all I have to say." + +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. + +"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). + +"Well, Sir! to what?" + +The tone in which he said this was harsh enough to rouse me. It gave +me back my self-possession immediately. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. _Pray_ let me +offer you a glass of wine!" + +"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--" + +"Yes--yes?" + +He bent forward again eagerly towards me, as he spoke; looking more +inquisitive and more cunning than ever. + +"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." + +"Ah--yes, yes! I understand. She would do nothing without my +authority, of course?" + +"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." + +"Ah! she said that, did she? Exactly so--she saw a difficulty there? +Yes--yes! high principles, Sir--high principles, thank God!" + +"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 _me,_ 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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"He has expressed no disapproval, Mr. Sherwin." + +"You don't say so!" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"We must keep both the courtship and the marriage secret." + +"Secret! Good gracious, I don't at all see my way--" + +"Yes, secret--a profound secret among ourselves, until I can divulge +my marriage to my father, with the best chance of--" + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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--_my_ money is out in my +speculations--_I_ can do nothing. Upon my word, you have placed me in +a position that I never was placed in before." + +"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." + +"Ah!--well--yes. There's something in that, certainly." + +"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--" + +"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--" + +"I am sure, Mr. Sherwin--" + +"--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!--" + +"Permit me to assure you, Mr. Sherwin--" + +"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--" + +"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: + +"Mr. Mannion is my confidential clerk, Sir--a most superior person, +most highly talented, and well read, and all that." + +"Is he a young man?" + +"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---" + +"I beg your pardon, but I think we are wandering away from the point, +a little." + +"I beg _yours_--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--". + +"I hope you will consider my anxieties, Mr. Sherwin, and let me know +the result of your deliberations as soon as possible." + +"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?" + +"Certainly." + +"And between that time and this, you will engage not to hold any +communication with my daughter?" + +"I promise not, Mr. Sherwin--because I believe that your answer will +be favourable." + +"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." + +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? + +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! + +XI. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The oppression was still on my spirits. Even the sight of the house +where Margaret lived failed to invigorate or arouse me. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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--_there,_ 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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +"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. + +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. + +"You are taking nothing yourself, Mrs. Sherwin," I said. + +"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_ call it; pleasure I hope it will be to _you_." + +Mrs. Sherwin coughed--a very weak, small cough, half-stifled in its +birth. + +"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." + +"Oh, I am much better, thank you--it was only a little--" + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _were_ in the way of +business, and it's my opinion you always will be." + +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. + +Mr. Sherwin helped himself to a second glass of wine, without taking +the smallest notice of this. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _you_ 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?" + +"Quite fair, Mr. Sherwin." + +"Just so. Now, in the first place, my daughter is too young to be +married yet. She was only seventeen last birthday." + +"You astonish me! I should have imagined her three years older at +least." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +He stopped, and ran his fingers through his hair, in all directions; +his features fidgetting and distorting themselves ominously, while he +looked at me. + +"Pray explain yourself, Mr. Sherwin. Your silence gives me some +uneasiness at this particular moment, I assure you." + +"Quite so--I understand. Now, you must promise me not to be +huffed--offended, I should say--at what I am going to propose." + +"Certainly not." + +"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?" + +"I must confess I do not." + +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. + +"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." + +He evidently felt that he got fluent on wine; and helped himself, at +this juncture, to another glass. + +"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." + +"But the case could not happen--I am astonished you can imagine it +possible. I have told you already, I am of age." + +"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--_at nothing_--I recollect you said so. Now, knowing this, my dear +Sir--though I have the most perfect confidence in _your_ honour, and +_your_ 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!" + +"In Heaven's name, Mr. Sherwin, pass over all these impossible +difficulties of yours! and let me hear what you have finally to +propose." + +"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?" + +I was too astounded, too overwhelmed, to say anything at that moment; +Mr. Sherwin went on: + +"This plan of mine, you see, reconciles everything. If any accident +_does_ 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. + +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: + +"I accept your conditions--I accept them with all my heart." + +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. + +"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!" + +"We may consider all difficulties finally settled then," I said, +anxious to close my interview with Mr. Sherwin as speedily as +possible. + +"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." + +"Then I presume there will be no objection to my seeing Miss Sherwin +now?" + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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 _you_ 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!" + +XII. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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! + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +An excuse--no! not an excuse; let me call things by their right names +in these pages--a _lie_ 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. + +"Stop," he said coldly, while the red flush which meant so much when +it rose on _his_ 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 _will_ +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." + +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. + +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. + +Clara stepped quietly to my side; and sitting down by me in silence, +put her arm round my neck. + +When I was calmer, she said gently: + +"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--" + +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: + +"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: _do_ let me!" + +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. + +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 _me_ feel happy about you, +Basil; I will make _him_ feel happy too," and Clara was gone. + +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. + +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. + +The events of that week, so fraught with importance for the future of +my life, passed with ominous rapidity. + +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. + +The day came. I had not slept during the night that preceded it; so I +rose early to look out on the morning. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Clara whispered (in such low, trembling tones that I could hardly hear +her): + +"Think of what you promised in your study, Basil, whenever you think +of _me:_ I will write often." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +_Married!_ 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? + +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! + +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? + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And this was my wedding-night! This was how the day ended which had +begun by my marriage with Margaret Sherwin! + +PART II. + +I. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _her_ heart was beating, +_her_ 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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +I am straying from my task. Let me return to my narrative: its course +begins to darken before me apace, while I now write. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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? + +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. + +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. + +II. + +The first change that passed over the calm uniformity of the life at +North Villa, came in this manner: + +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. + +"News, my dear sir!" he said. "Mr. Mannion has come back--at least two +days before I expected him!" + +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. + +Margaret and I sat down as usual with our books about us. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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. + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"What can you tell me about him yourself, Mr. Sherwin?" + +"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!" + +"Do you know how he was employed before he came to you?" + +"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." + +"There does not seem much chance for me, Mr. Sherwin, after what you +have said." + +"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." + +"One more question: is he married or single?" + +"Single, to be sure--a regular old bachelor, if ever there was one +yet." + +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. + +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! + +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. + +III. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"My house is close by," said my companion, just as quietly and +deliberately as usual--"pray step in, Sir, until the storm is over." + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"In what respect, Mr. Mannion?" I asked, a little startled by the +abruptness of the question. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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--" + +Just as the last words passed my lips, the thunder pealed awfully over +the house. I said no more: the sound silenced me. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _you._ If you were of my +age, Sir, and in my position, you would understand it." + +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. + +"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." + +"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--" + +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 _me;_ to be +wailing over _him;_ 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. + +"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." + +"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--" + +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. + +"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?" + +How he had found that out? At any rate, he was right; and I told him +so candidly. + +"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 +_has_ asked, and _will_ 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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +When the darkness had come again, I bade him good night--first +mechanically repeating what I had just said, almost in the same words. + +I walked home thoughtful. That night had given me much matter to think +of. + +IV. + +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. + +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:-- + +"I tell you, mamma, I must and will have the dress, whether papa +chooses or not." + +This was spoken loudly and resolutely; in such tones as I had never +heard from Margaret before. + +"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." + +"I won't be allowanced. _His_ sister isn't allowanced: why should I +be?" + +"My dear love, surely there is some difference--" + +"I'm sure there isn't, now I am his wife. I shall ride some day in my +carriage, just as his sister does. _He_ gives me my way in everything; +and so ought you." + +"It isn't _me,_ 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." + +"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--" + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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 _her_ cat!" + +"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. + +"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--" + +"Hold your tongue, you wretch! How dare you hold me?--let me go!" + +"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." + +"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 +_will_ go!" + +"I'll let the cat go first, Miss, as sure as my name's Susan!" + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Ere long, however, circumstances decided me as to the course I should +take with Mr. Mannion. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +V. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +At last, a letter arrived from Clara, containing a summons to the +country, which I could not disobey. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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?" + +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: + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _your_ case. You are of age, +and must know your own responsibilities and mine. Choose at once, +between saying nothing, and saying all." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Immediately on my return to London I repaired to North Villa. + +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 _me!_ + +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. + +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. + +VI. + +About six weeks after I had left the Hall, my father and Clara +returned to London for the season. + +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. + + * * * * * * + +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. + +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:-- + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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've_ tried to do it--mind _you_ 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. + +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. + +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. + + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _him_ 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. + +"My good Sir!" he said, in sharp, querulous tones, "do, for once, +allow me to know what's best. You'll have it all _your_ way +to-morrow--just let me have _mine,_ 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 _he's_ with her. So you see there's nothing to make +a fuss about, after all." + +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. + +"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!" + +"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." + +"I said she oughtn't to go at all, whatever her aunt wrote--_I_ said +that." + +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 _her,_ 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. + +"Damn it, Mrs. S.!" roared her husband in a fury, "will you hold your +tongue? What the devil do you mean by giving _your_ 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!" + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +VII. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +Going home already! An hour and a half before it was time to return! +Why? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +What did this mean? Why were they not going straight home? + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"A lady and gentleman came into this hotel a little while ago." + +"What may your business be?"--He hesitated, and added in an altered +tone, "I mean, what may you want with them, Sir?" + +"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." + +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?" + +"I promise." + +"This way then, Sir--and mind you don't forget to step soft." + +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. + +I listened; and through the thin partition, I heard voices--_her_ +voice, and _his_ voice. _I heard and I knew_--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! + +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. + +Erelong, the power of thinking began to return to me by degrees. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +will kill him when he comes out._ My mind never swerved for an instant +from this thought--never swerved towards myself; never swerved towards +_her._ 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. + +Once, while I stood on the watch, a sharp agony of suspense tried me +fiercely. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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?--_Was_ 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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +PART III. + +I. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Soon, these thoughts began to take a form that I could recognise. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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! + + * * * * * + +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 _this_ period. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +II. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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! + +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! + +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. + +On the last page, and close to the end, I read these lines: + + "MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE. + +"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." + + + +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: + +"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." + + + +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. + +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: + + + "North Villa, Hollyoake Square. + +"DEAR SIR, + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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, + +"I remain, dear Sir, +"Your faithful, obedient servant, + + "STEPHEN SHERWIN. + +"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." + + + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +"Why, you have been walking till it is quite dark, Clara!" + +"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." + +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: + +"Can't you imagine what the subject was? It was you, Basil. Papa is +coming here directly, to speak to you." + +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. + +"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." + +She hurriedly left the room. The next minute, my father entered it. + +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. + +"I have come to speak to you," he said, "on a subject about which I +had much rather you had spoken to me first." + +"I think, Sir, I know to what subject you refer. I--" + +"I must beg you will listen to me as patiently as you can," he +rejoined; "I have not much to say." + +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! + +"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." + +"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--" + +"The words you spoke in your delirium--words which I heard, but will +not judge you by--justified the worst forebodings." + +"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--" + +"I do not _suspect_--I feel but too _sure,_ 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." + +"My brother!--my brother's faults mine! Ralph!" + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"It is not with him, Sir, that I can well begin. I must go back--" + +"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." + +"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." + +"All? your tones mean more than your words--_they_ 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!" + +"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." + +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. + +"No more to-night, Basil," he said, hurriedly, but very gently; "no +more on this subject till to-morrow." + +"I can speak now, Sir; it is better to speak at once." + +"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." + +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. + +After the morrow was over, would he ever give me that hand again? + +III. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"My master, Sir, desires me to say that, if you feel well enough, he +wishes to see you in his own room." + +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. + +"Think of what I said last night, Basil," she whispered, "and, if hard +words are spoken to you, think of _me._ All that our mother would have +done for you, if she had been still among us, _I_ will do. Remember +that, and keep heart and hope to the very last." + +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. + +"This was left for you, Sir, a little while ago. The messenger who +brought it said he was not to wait for an answer." + +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. + +I went at once into my father's room. + +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-- + +"Take any time you like, Basil, to compose and collect yourself. This +morning my time is yours." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +Minute after minute glided on, inexorably fast; and yet I never broke +silence. My eyes turned anxiously and slowly on my father. + +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 _felt_ that I was looking at him; for he +suddenly discontinued his employment, turned round towards me, and +spoke-- + +"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 _your_ place, +Ralph would have spoken before this." + +Ralph, and Ralph's example quoted to me again!--I could remain silent +no longer. + +"My brother's faults towards you, and towards his family, are not such +faults as mine, Sir," I began. "I have _not_ imitated his vices; I +have acted as he would _not_ 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." + +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. + +"What do you mean by 'disgraceful?'" he asked abruptly; "what do you +mean by associating such a word as _disgrace_ with your conduct--with +the conduct of a son of mine?" + +"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--" + +"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 _is_ Mr. +Sherwin?" + +"He lives--" + +"I don't ask where he lives. Who is he? What is he?" + +"Mr. Sherwin is a linen-draper--" + +"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 _'friend!'_ 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 _is_ disgrace; how much do you owe? Where are your +dishonoured acceptances? Where have you used _my_ name and _my_ +credit? Tell me at once--I insist on it!" + +He spoke rapidly and contemptuously, and rising from his chair as he +ended, walked impatiently up and down the room. + +"I owe no money to Mr. Sherwin, Sir--no money to any one." + +He stopped suddenly: + +"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?" + +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: + +"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 _her_-- I return to +_you._ I insist on knowing how far your vices have compromised you +with that vicious woman." + +"She has wronged me--cruelly, horribly, wronged me--" I could say no +more. My head drooped on my breast; my shame overpowered me. + +"Who is she? You called her Margaret, in your illness--who is she?" + +"She is Mr. Sherwin's daughter--" The words that I would fain have +spoken next, seemed to suffocate me. I was silent again. + +I heard him mutter to himself: + +_"That_ man's daughter!--a worse bait than the bait of money!" + +He bent forward, and looked at me searchingly. A frightful paleness +flew over his face in an instant. + +"Basil!" he cried, "in God's name, answer me at once! What is Mr. +Sherwin's daughter to _you?_" + +"She is my wife!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +"Have you anything more to say to me?" + +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. + +"Spare me any more details," he said, bitterly, "you have humiliated +me sufficiently--you have spoken enough." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 _not_ 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--" + +He stopped, shuddering. When he proceeded, his voice faltered, and his +head drooped low. + +"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 _you_ 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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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 +_you._" + +I had listened to him hitherto without pleading a word in my own +behalf; but his last speech roused me. Some of _his_ 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. + +"Stop!" he cried. "Do you pretend that you have not understood me?" + +"It is _because_ 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." + +"Insult! After what has happened, is it for _you_ 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!" + +"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." + +"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!" + +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. + +"You refuse?" he said quickly. + +"I have already told you, Sir--" + +"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!" + +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. + +It opened a little--then shut again--then opened wide. Slowly and +noiselessly, Clara came into the room. + +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. + +"Clara!" he exclaimed again, still in the same whispering tones. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Yes, Sir, I hear you," she answered. "God grant that my mother in +heaven may not hear you too!" + +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? + +"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 _command_ you to leave him?" + +The deeply planted instinct of gentleness and obedience prevailed; she +dropped my hand, but did not move away from me, even yet. + +"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." + +She clasped her trembling fingers together, and sighed heavily. + +"I cannot go, Sir," she said quickly and breathlessly. + +"Must I tell you for the first time in your life, that you are acting +disobediently?" he asked. + +"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." + +"For _his_ offence there is neither atonement nor forgiveness. Clara! +are you so changed, that you can disobey me to my face?" + +He walked away from us as he said this. + +"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 +_my_ 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 _me._ My poor +mother, (I _must_ 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 _his_ +home no longer? Punish _me,_ 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!" + +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. + +"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. + +He rose instantly from his chair. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +I never entered it again--I have never seen my father since. + +IV. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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 _me._ + +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-- + +"Miss Margaret"--(she still gave her that name!)--"Miss Margaret is +upstairs, Sir. I suppose you would like--" + +"I have no wish to see her: I want to speak to Mr. Sherwin." + +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. + +He advanced, holding out his hand; but his restless eyes wandered +unsteadily, looking away from me towards the screen. + +"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--?" + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +"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_ +shall sit down. _You_ 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 +_my_ girl downstairs, and to show yourself the gentleman, or do you +not?" + +"You have written me two letters, Mr. Sherwin--" + +"Yes: and took devilish good care you should get them--I left them +myself." + +"In writing those letters, you were either grossly deceived; and, in +that case, are only to be pitied, or--" + +"Pitied! what the devil do you mean by that? Nobody wants your pity +here." + +"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." + +"Oh, that's your tack, is it? By God, I expected as much the moment +you came in! What! you don't believe _my_ 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!" + +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. + +"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." + +He turned round quickly, staring at me with a face of mingled fury and +dismay. + +"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 _my_ 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 _my_ girl's an honest girl!" + +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. + +"I say _my_ 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 _all?_ 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!" + +"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 _her_ voice and _his_ 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." + +"But you _shall_ 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 _my_ 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 _my_ girl, if she +goes to the parish to appeal against you! _Your_ 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?" + +_"I believe it!"_ + +The third voice which pronounced those words was Mrs. Sherwin's. + +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? + +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 _her_ 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. + +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. + +"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 _has_ 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?" + +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 _his_ gross nature felt the shock. I saw him +shrink--his sallow cheeks whitened, he moved his chair away, and said +no more. + +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. + +"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 _you,_ 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." + +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. + +"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_ 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." + +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. + +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. + +"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 _you._ 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! _That_ 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 _him;_ 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 _you._ +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!" + +Her voice died away for a moment, in faint, breathless murmurings. She +struggled to recover it, and repeated in a whisper: + +"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!" + +She took my hand, and pressed it to her cold lips. The tears gushed +into my eyes, as I tried to speak to her. + +"No tears for _me!_" 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 _you_ have +forgiven me! And, for _her?_--oh! who will pray for _her_ when I am +gone?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +I was told, afterwards, how she died. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + * * * * * + +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. + +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. + +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 _must_ tell you about it!" + +I gave her a little time to compose herself; and then asked what she +had to say. + +"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?" + +"Yes: I saw him." + +"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--" + +"Why, Susan?--tell me candidly why?" + +"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--" + +"Go on, Susan--speak as freely and as truly to me as ever." + +"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." + +She held out a letter. I hesitated before I looked at it. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I know as little about it, Susan, as you do." + +"But ought I to take it up-stairs, Sir? only tell me that!" + +"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." + +"I'm very sorry to hear you say that, Sir; very, very sorry. But what +would you advise me to do?" + +"Let me look at the letter once more." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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 _you,_ 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." + +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! + +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. + +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. + +I took out the letter, opened it with trembling fingers, and looked +through the cramped, closely-written pages for the signature. + +It was "ROBERT MANNION." + +V. + +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. + +"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 _me._ 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 _her?_ not disclose the +mystery in which the motives of _her_ 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:-- + + + + "St. Helen's Hospital. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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: _willingly_ 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. + +"I have told you Margaret Sherwin is guilty. Why was she guilty? What +was the secret of my influence over her? + +"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!" + + ----- + +"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. + +"Does this declaration surprise you? Read on, and you will understand +it. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _did_ 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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _your father._ 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. + +"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. + +"More of myself to-morrow--my letter will be a long one: I must pause +often over it, as I pause to-day." + + ----- + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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! + +"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. + +"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 _her_ 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! + +"With this event, my long strife and struggle with the world ended. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"He _did_ believe in it; and he granted what I asked. Through his +interference and recommendation, I entered the service of Mr. +Sherwin.-- + +"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." + + ----- + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _me:_ 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. + +"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! + +"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. + +"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 +_me,_ as I doubted _her;_ 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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _me?_--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. + +"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; _they_ were as incapable of +inspiring, as _she_ 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. + + ----- + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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 _you._ + +"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. + + ----- + +"Let us get back to England. + +"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! + +"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. + +"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 +_me._ 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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Such were your chances against me; and such was the manner in which +you misused them. On _my_ 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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + + ----- + +"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. + +"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 +_them,_ but with _me._ + +"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. + +"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). + +"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 _my_ +existence, so the events of that night when you followed me shall +affect _yours._ Your father shall see you living the life to which his +evidence against _my_ father condemned _me_--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. + +"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? + +"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. + +"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! + + "ROBERT MANNION." + + + +"We shall meet soon!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +VI. + +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. + +I looked at him in speechless astonishment. It was my elder brother! +It was Ralph himself who now walked into the room! + +"Well, Basil! how are you?" he said, with his old off-hand manner and +hearty voice. + +"Ralph! You in England!--you here!" + +"I came back from Italy last night. Basil, how awfully you're changed! +I hardly know you again." + +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 +_he_ had changed since that time, and knew, as I never knew before, +how miserably _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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _me,_ and nothing ever will be." + +He stopped to knock the ash off his cigar, and settle himself more +comfortably on my bed; then proceeded. + +"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 _he_ 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. + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"Gently, Basil! _Doucement mon ami!_ 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." + +"Go on, Ralph: speak as you please." + +"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 _that_ 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 _may_ 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?" + +I told my brother of the struggle with Mannion in the Square. + +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?" + +"In the hospital." + +Ralph laughed heartily, and jumped back on the bed. I remembered +Mannion's letter, and shuddered as I thought of it. + +"The next question is about the girl," said my brother. "What has +become of her? Where was she all the time of your illness?" + +"At her father's house; she is there still." + +"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?" + +"I have a letter, a long letter from her accomplice, containing a +confession of his guilt and hers." + +"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?" + +"I was at the house, yesterday." + +"The deuce you were! And who did you see?--The father? Did you bring +him to terms? did you do business with Mr. Shopkeeper?" + +"His manner was brutal: his language, the language of a bully--?" + +"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?" + +"As it began:--in threats on his part, in endurance on mine." + +"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?" + +"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 _me,_ to abandon to him the only +money I have of my own--the little income left me by our mother." + +"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." + +"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 _shall_ see it." + +"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!" + +"I can't allow you, Ralph, to ask my father for what I would not ask +him myself--" + +"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 _me,_ 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! _Au revoir,_ my dear fellow--_au +revoir._" + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +Mannion? But would he come thus? openly, fairly, in the broad +daylight, through the populous street? + +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! + +"Basil!" she exclaimed, before I could speak--"has Ralph been here?" + +"Yes, love--yes." + +"Where has he gone? what has he done for you? He promised me--" + +"And he has kept his promise nobly, Clara: he is away helping me now." + +"Thank God! thank God!" + +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! + +"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?" + +"None, Clara--none, indeed!" + +"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?" + +"Your hope is far off fulfilment, indeed, Clara, if it is hope from my +father!" + +"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." + +"I wish I could believe it, love; but my remembrance of yesterday--" + +"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." + +"And as I _will_ hope, Clara, though it be from no stronger motive +than gratitude to you." + +"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?" + +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! + +"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--" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +"What do you mean?" + +"She has eloped to the hospital!" + +"Mannion!" + +"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!" + +"Never mind how I look, Ralph--pray go on!" + +"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 _me_ '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." + +"And how did he answer you?" + +"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?" + +"Yes: almost word for word." + +"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. _We_ keep our opinion of your daughter's guilt--_you_ keep +your opinion of her innocence. _We_ have silence to buy, and _you_ +have silence to sell, once a quarter; and if either of us break our +conditions, we both have our remedy--_your's_ the easy remedy, _our's_ +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.'" + +"The reverse side! What reverse side, Ralph? What could you possibly +say more?" + +"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 _you_ +altogether.'" + +"Ralph! Ralph! how could you--" + +"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. _He_ began +to stammer, and _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." + +"Did he object to that?" + +"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." + +I took the letter, and read (in Mannion's handwriting) these words, +dated from the hospital:-- + + + +"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. + +"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. + + R. M." + + + +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. + +"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." + +"But, Ralph, do you think--" + +"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 _him_ 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!); _he_ has no +marriage certificate to shake over our heads, at any rate. What's the +matter now?--you're looking pale again." + +I _felt_ 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 _him_ in the life-long persecution which +menaced _me._ When he repeated his remark about my sudden paleness, I +merely accounted for it by some common-place excuse, and begged him to +proceed. + +"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?" + +"I see it, Ralph!" + +"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!" + +VII. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Bernard! Jack Bernard! Have you come to England, of all the men in +the world!" + +"Why not?" was the answer. "I got every surgical testimonial the +_Hotel Dieu_ 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." + +"You don't mean that you belong to _this_ hospital?" + +"My dear fellow, I am regularly on the staff; I'm here every day of my +life." + +"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." + +"Are you bringing your brother to the hospital to follow my mad +example?" asked Mr. Bernard, as he shook hands with me. + +"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." + +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." + +"Now, Bernard," he said, "you have a man here, who calls himself Mr. +Turner?" + +"Are _you_ 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." + +"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." + +"Certainly not!" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"I understand," said Ralph; "just as some women run into the wrong +omnibus, when the right one is straight before them." + +"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." + +"Has nobody asked where?" + +"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 _should_ 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?" + +"No, indeed; not at all. I have just recovered from a serious +illness--but pray go on." + +"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 _will_ 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." + +"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?" + +Mr. Bernard hesitated a moment, and considered. + +"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." + +"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." + +While Mr. Bernard went to the opposite end of the room, in search of +writing materials, Ralph whispered to me-- + +"If he wrote to _my_ 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." + +Here Mr. Bernard brought us pen and ink. While Ralph was writing my +address, his friend said to me: + +"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." + +"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." + +We left the room. As we crossed the hall, a gentleman came forward, +and spoke to Mr. Bernard. + +"That man's fever in the Victoria Ward has declared itself at last," +he said. "This morning the new symptoms have appeared." + +"And what do they indicate?" + +"Typhus of the most malignant character--not a doubt of it. Come up, +and look at him." + +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. + +After talking together in whispers for a few moments, they rejoined +me. Mr. Bernard was explaining the different theories of infection to +Ralph. + +_"My_ 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." + +"You will write the moment you hear anything?" said Ralph, shaking +hands with him. + +"The very moment. I have your brother's address safe in my pocket." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + + +"Private. "Friday. + +"My DEAR SIR, + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"I remain, dear Sir, +"Faithfully yours, + "JOHN BERNARD. + +"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." + + + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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." + +As I took the candle from her hand, I saw that Mr. Bernard was +approaching me from the stairs. + +"You can do no good, I am afraid," he said, "but I am glad you have +come." + +"There is no hope, then?" + +"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?" + +"Does she still speak of me in her wanderings?" + +"Yes, as incessantly as ever." + +"Then I am ready to go to her bedside." + +"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!" + +I felt his sympathy and delicacy too strongly to thank him in words; I +could only _look_ my gratitude as he asked me to follow him up stairs. + +We entered the room softly. Once more, and for the last time in this +world, I stood in the presence of Margaret Sherwin. + +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!" + +"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. + +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!" + +"He is here," repeated Mr. Bernard loudly. "Look! look up at him!" + +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. + +"Compose yourself," whispered the doctor. "Now she is quiet, speak to +her; speak to her before she begins again; call her by her name." + +Her name! Could my lips utter it at such a moment as this? + +"Quick! quick!" cried Mr. Bernard. "Try her while you have the +chance." + +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! + +"Margaret," I said, "Margaret, you asked for me, and I have come." + +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. + +"I am afraid she is too far gone," said the doctor; "but make another +trial." + +"Margaret," I said again, "have you forgotten me? Margaret!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"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 _must_ 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 _will_ ride in my own carriage: you must keep things secret +enough to let me do that. I say I _will_ ride in my carriage: and I'll +go where father walks to business: I don't care if I splash him with +_my_ 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 _him_ 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!" + +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. + +"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! _His_ face? _his_ 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!" + +"Hush, Margaret! hush! drink this, and you will be cool again." I gave +her some lemonade, which stood by the bedside. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +(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?) + +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. + +While I felt among the different objects under my hands for a box of +matches: Margaret's voice strengthened again. + +"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!" + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +As I struck a light, her voice repeated close at my ear: + +"His hands are on me: he's feeling my face to feel if I'm dead!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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! + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Don't disturb her," I whispered, "she is asleep; surely she is +asleep!" + +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. + +"Yes, she is asleep," he said gravely; "asleep, never to wake again. +She is dead." + +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. + +"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." + + + +Calmly? + +Yes! at that moment it was fit that I should be calm; for I could +remember that I had forgiven her. + +VIII. + +On the fourth day from the morning when she had died, I stood alone in +the churchyard by the grave of Margaret Sherwin. + +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!-- + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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 _your_ father might have found _my_ father changed, if +he had seen him on the morning of his execution, standing under the +gallows, with the cap over his face?" + +Still I could neither speak nor move. I could only look away from him +in horror, and fix my eyes on the ground. + +He lowered the shade to its former position on his face, then spoke +again. + +"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 _you,_ +and I watched _her._ 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!" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +"No, Ralph--no. What have you to tell me?" + +"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." + +"Good heavens! how?" + +"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." + +"No! no! tell me yourself, Ralph--tell me how she bears his +displeasure!" + +"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 _him,_ and her opposite notions, just +as strong, of her sisterly duties to _you,_ 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 _your_ business to stop this, and _my_ +business to tell you how." + +"I will do anything you wish--anything for Clara's sake!" + +"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." + +"Never mind _my_ interests. Clara! I can only think of Clara!" + +"But you _have_ 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 _was_ 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." + +"I _will_ go, Ralph; you have more than convinced me that I ought! I +will go to-morrow, though where--" + +"You have the rest of the day to think where. _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!" + +"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." + +"That's right, Basil! that's acting and speaking like a man!" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + + ----- + +Two months have passed since that period; and I know no more about him +_now_ than I knew _then._ + + + + JOURNAL. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_has_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +21st--I have discovered all! The truth, which I was strangely slow to +suspect yesterday, has forced itself on me to-day. + +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. + +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-- + +"I'm not to bring you anything more; father says he won't sell to you +again, whatever you pay him." + +I asked the boy why his father had said that; but he ran back towards +the village without answering me. + +"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." + +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. + +"You know what we mean, and why we want you to go, well enough," was +his reply. + +I assured him that I did not; and begged him so earnestly to enlighten +me, that he stopped as he was walking away. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +I repeated that I could not imagine why they had all changed towards +me, or what wrong they thought I had done them. + +"Then I'll soon let you know it," he continued. "We want you gone from +here, because--" + +"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 _we want our children's faces left as God made +them_--" + +"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." + +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 _had_ followed me to Cornwall: his threats were executed to +the very letter! + + + +(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? + +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. + +(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. + +(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. + + + +(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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:-- + +"Take care of your life. It is not your's to throw away--it is +_mine!_" + +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. + +"Suicide!" he said slowly--"I suspected it, and, this time, I followed +close: followed, to fight with death, which should have you." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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 _them;_ there shall be no +rest for _you!_" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + + * * * * * + +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. + + * * * * * + +The doctor and a strange man have been looking among my papers. + +My God! am I dying? dying at the very time when there is a chance of +happiness for my future life? + + * * * * * + +Clara!--far from her--nothing but the little book-marker she worked +for me--leave it round my neck when I-- + +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-- + + * * * * * + +Clara! I shall die out of my senses, unless Clara--break the news +gently--it may kill her-- + +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--* + + NOTE BY THE EDITOR. + +* There are some lines of writing beyond this point; but they are +illegible. + + + + LETTERS IN CONCLUSION. + +LETTER I. + +FROM WILLIAM PENHALE, MINER, AT BARTALLOCK, IN CORNWALL, TO HIS WIFE +IN LONDON. + +MY DEAR MARY, + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I'm next to certain this is where he lives, or did live; so this is +where I'll write," says the doctor. + +"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." + +"Quite right, Penhale!" says he; "we'll do that. Write to your wife, +and put my letter inside yours." + +I did as he told me, at once; and his letter is inside this, with the +direction of the house and the street. + +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. + +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, + + WILLIAM PENHALE. + + ----- + +LETTER II. + +FROM MARY PENHALE TO HER HUSBAND + +DEAREST WILLIAM, + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, + + Your loving and dutiful wife, + MARY PENHALE. + + + LETTER III. + +TO MR. JOHN BERNARD, FROM THE WRITER OF THE FORE-GOING AUTOBIOGRAPHY. + +[This letter is nearly nine years later in date than the letters which +precede it.] + + Lanreath Cottage, Breconshire. + +MY DEAR FRIEND, + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And now, you write to remind me of _my_ 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. + +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. + +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 _me,_ 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 _make_ 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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _me;_ my +future hope pauses with my present happiness in the shadowed valley of +Repose. + +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! + +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. + +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 _her_ as well +as _me_--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. + +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 _here,_ 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? + +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! + + + + + + + + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Basil, by Wilkie Collins +*This file should be named bslwc10.txt or bslwc10.zip* + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, bslwc11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, bslwc10a.txt + +Etext by James Rusk, jrusk@mac-email.com +Wilkie Collins web site: http://www.blackmask.com/jrusk/wcollins + +More information about this book is at the top of this file. + +We are now trying to release all our etexts one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our Web sites at: +http://gutenberg.net or +http://promo.net/pg + +These Web sites include award-winning information about Project +Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new +etexts, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). + + +Those of you who want to download any Etext before announcement +can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03 + +Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text +files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ +We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): + +eBooks Year Month + + 1 1971 July + 10 1991 January + 100 1994 January + 1000 1997 August + 1500 1998 October + 2000 1999 December + 2500 2000 December + 3000 2001 November + 4000 2001 October/November + 6000 2002 December* + 9000 2003 November* +10000 2004 January* + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people +and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, +Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, +Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, +Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New +Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, +Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South +Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West +Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list +will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. +Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally +request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and +you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, +just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are +not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting +donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to +donate. + +International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about +how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made +deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are +ways. + +The most recent list of states, along with all methods for donations +(including credit card donations and international donations), may be +found online at http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html + +Donations by check or money order may be sent to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + +Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment +method other than by check or money order. + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by +the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN +[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are +tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising +requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be +made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information at: + +http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etexts, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this etext, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the etext, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this header are copyright (C) 2001 by Michael S. Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* + +End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of Basil, by Wilkie Collins + diff --git a/old/bslwc10.zip b/old/bslwc10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..481fe33 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/bslwc10.zip |