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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. 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