The Man in Black: An Historical Novel of the Days of Queen Anne

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER XX.

  Emily's night was not peaceful. The very idea that her father's fatewas in the power of any other man, was, in itself, trouble enough; butin the present case there was more. Why, or wherefore, she knew not;but there was something told her that, in spite of all Mrs. Hazleton'scommendations, and the fair portrait she had so elaborately drawn,John Ayliffe was not a man to use power mercifully. She tried eagerlyto discover what had created this impression: she thought of everylook and every word which she had seen upon the young man'scountenance, or heard from his lips; and she fixed at length more uponthe menacing scowl which she had marked upon his brow in the cottage,than even upon the menacing language which he had held when herfather's name was mentioned.

  Sleep visited not her eyes for many an hour, and when at length hereyes closed through fatigue, it was restless and dreamful. She fanciedshe saw John Ayliffe holding Sir Philip on the ground, trying tostrangle him. She strove to scream for help, but her lips seemedparalyzed, and there was no sound. That strange anguish of sleep--theanguish of impotent strong will--of powerless passion--of effortwithout effect, was upon her, and soon burst the bonds of slumber. Itwould have been impossible to endure it long. All must have felt thatit is greater than any mortal agony; and that if he could endure morethan a moment, like a treacherous enemy it would slay us in our sleep.

  She awoke unrefreshed, and rose pale and sad. I cannot say that Mrs.Hazleton, when she beheld Emily's changed look, felt any greatcompunction. If she had no great desire to torture, which I will notpretend to say, she did not at all object to see her victim suffer;but Emily's pale cheek and distressed look afforded indications stillmore satisfactory; which Mrs. Hazleton remarked with the satisfactionof a philosopher watching a successful experiment. They showed thatthe preparation she had made for what was coming, was even moreeffectual than she had expected, and so the abstract pleasure ofinflicting pain on one she hated, was increased by the certainty ofsuccess.

  Emily said little--referred not at all to the subject of her thoughts,but dwelt upon it--pondered in silence. To one who knew her she mighthave seemed sullen, sulky; but it was merely that one of those fits ofdeep intense communion with the inner things of the heart--thoseabstracted rambles through the mazy wilderness of thought, whichsometimes fell upon her, was upon her now. At these times it was verydifficult to draw her spirit forth into the waking world again--torouse her to the things about her life. It seemed as if her soul wasabsent far away, and that the mere animal life of the body remained.Great events might have passed before her eyes, without her knowingaught of them.

  On all former occasions but one, these reveries--for so I must callthem--had been of a lighter and more pleasant nature. In them ithad seemed as if her young spirit had been tempted away from thehousehold paths of thought, far into tangled wilds where it had lostitself--tempted, like other children, by the mere pleasure of theramble--led on to catch a butterfly, or chase the rainbow.Feeling--passion, had not mingled with the dream at all, andconsequently there had been no suffering. I am not sure that on otheroccasions, when such absent fits fell upon her, Emily Hastings was notmore joyous, more full of pure delight, than when, in a gay andsparkling mood, she moved her father's wonder at what he thought lightfrivolity. But now it was all bitter: the labyrinth was dark as wellas intricate, and the thorns tore her as she groped for some pathacross the wilderness.

  Before it had lasted very long--before it had at all reached itsconclusion--and as she had sat at the window of the drawing-room,gazing out upon the sky without seeing either white cloud or blue, SirPhilip Hastings himself, on a short journey for some magisterialpurpose, entered the room, spoke a few words to Mrs. Hazleton, andthen turned to his daughter. Had he been half an hour later, Emilywould have cast her arms round his neck and told him all; but as itwas, she remained self-involved, even in his presence--answered indeedmechanically--spoke words of affection with an absent air, and let themind still run on upon the path which it had chosen.

  Sir Philip had no time to stay till this fit was past, and Mrs.Hazleton was glad to get rid of him civilly before any other act ofthe drama began.

  But his daughter's mood did not escape Sir Philip's eyes. I have saidthat for her he was full of observation, though he often read theresults wrongly; and now he marked Emily's mood with doubt, and notwith pleasure. "What can this mean?" he asked himself, "can any thinghave gone wrong? It is strange, very strange. Perhaps her mother wasright after all, and it might have been better to take her to thecapital."

  Thus thinking, Sir Philip himself fell into a reverie, not at allunlike that in which he had found his daughter. Yet he understood nothers, and pondered upon it as something strange and inextricable.

  In the mean time, Emily thought on, till at length Mrs. Hazletonreminded her that they were to go that day to the Waterfall. She rosemechanically, sought her room, dressed, and gazed from the window.

  It is wonderful, however, how small a thing will sometimes take themind, as it were, by the hand, and lead it back out of shadow intosunshine. From the lawn below the window a light bird sprang up intothe air, quivered upon its twinkling wings, uttered a note or two, andthen soared higher, and each moment as it rose up, up, into the sky,the song, like a spirit heavenward bound, grew stronger and morestrong, and flooded the air with melody.

  Emily watched it as it rose, listened to it as it sang. Its upwardflight seemed to carry her spirit above the dark things on which itbrooded; its thrilling voice to waken her to cheerful life again.There is a high holiness in a lark's song; and hard must be the heart,and strong and corrupt, that does not raise the voice and join with itin its praise to God.

  When she went down again into the drawing-room, she was quite adifferent being, and Mrs. Hazleton marvelled what could have happenedso to change her. Had she been told that it was a lark's song, shewould have laughed the speaker to scorn. She was not one to feel it.

  I will not pause upon the journey of the morning, nor describe thebeautiful fall of the river that they visited, or tell how it fellrushing over the precipice, or how the rocks dashed it into diamondsparkles, or how rainbows bannered the conflict of the waters, andboughs waved over the struggling stream like plumes. It was a sweetand pleasant sight, and full of meditation; and Mrs. Hazleton, judgingperhaps of others by herself, imagined that it would produce in themind of Emily those softening influences which teach the heart toyield readily to the harder things of life.

  There is, perhaps, not a more beautiful, nor a more frequentlyapplicable allegory than that of the famous Amreeta Cup--I know notwhether devised by Southey, or borrowed by him from the rich store ofinstructive fable hidden in oriental tradition. It is long, long,since I read it; but yet every word is remembered whenever I see thedifferent effect which scenes, circumstances, and events produce upondifferent characters. It is shown by the poet that the cup of divinewine gave life and immortality, and excellence superhuman, and blissbeyond belief, to the pure heart; but to the lark, earthly, and evil,brought death, destruction, and despair. We may extend the lesson alittle, and see in the Amreeta wine, the spirit of God pervading allhis works, but producing in those who see and taste an effect, forgood or evil, according to the nature of the recipient. The strong,powerful, self-willed, passionate character of Mrs. Hazleton, found,in the calm meditative fall of the cataract, in the ever shifting playof the wild waters, and in the watchful stillness of the air around, asoftening, enfeebling influence. The gentle character of Emily turnedfrom the scene with a heart raised rather than depressed, a spiritbetter prepared to combat with evil and with sorrow, full of love andtrust in God, and a confidence strong beyond the strength of thisworld. There is a voice of prophecy in waterfalls, and mountains, andlakes, and streams, and sunny lands, and clouds, and storms, andbright sunsets, and the face of nature every where, which tells thedestiny, not of one, but of many, and at all events, foreshows theunutterable mercy reserved for those who trust. It is a prophecy--andan exhortation too. The words are, "Be holy, and be ha
ppy!" The Godwho speaks is true and glorious. Be true and inherit glory.

  Emily had been cheerful as they went. As they returned she was calmand firm. Readily she joined in any conversation. Seldom did she fallinto any absent fit of thought, and the effect of that day's drive wasany thing but what Mrs. Hazleton expected or wished.

  When they returned to the house, a letter was delivered to EmilyHastings, with which, the seal unbroken, she retired to her own room.The hand was unknown to her, but with a sort of prescience somethingmore than natural, she divined at once from whom it came, and saw thatthe difficult struggle had commenced. An hour or two before, the verythought would have dismayed her. Now the effect was but small.

  She had no suspicion of the plans against her; no idea whatever thatpeople might be using her as a tool--that there was any interestcontrary to her own, in the conduct or management of others. But yetshe turned the key in the door before she commenced the perusal of theletter, which was to the following effect:

  "I know not," said the writer, in a happier style than perhaps mighthave been expected, "how to prevail upon your goodness to pardon all Iam going to say, knowing that nothing short of the circumstances inwhich I am placed, could excuse my approaching you even in thought. Ihave long known you, though you have known me only for a few shorthours. I have watched you often from childhood up to womanhood, andthere has been growing upon me from very early years a strongattachment, a deep affection, a powerful--overpowering--ardent love,which nothing can ever extinguish. Need I tell you that the last fewdays would have increased that love had increase been possible.

  "All this, however, I know is no justification of my venturing toraise my thoughts to you--still less of my venturing to express thesefeelings boldly; but it has been an excuse to myself, and in somedegree to others, for abstaining hitherto from that which my bestinterests, a mother's fame, and my own rights, required. The time hasnow come when I can no longer remain silent; when I must throw uponyou the responsibility of an important choice; when I am forced totell you how deeply, how devotedly, I love you, in order that you maysay whether you will take the only means of saving me from the mostpainful task I ever undertook, by conferring on me the greatestblessing that woman ever gave to man; or, on the other hand, willdrive me to a task repugnant to all my feelings, but just, necessary,inevitable, in case of your refusal. Let me explain, however, that Iam your cousin--the son of your father's elder brother by a privatemarriage with a peasant girl of this county. The whole case isperfectly clear, and I have proof positive of the marriage in myhands. From fear of a lawsuit, and from the pressure of great poverty,my mother was induced to sacrifice her rights after her husband'searly death, still to conceal her marriage, to bear even sneers andshame, and to live upon a pittance allowed to her by her husband'sfather, and secured to her by him after his own death, when she wasentitled to honor, and birth, and distinction by the law of the land.

  "One of her objects, doubtless, was to secure to herself and her son amoderate competence, as the late Sir John Hastings, my grandfather andyours, had the power of leaving all his estates to any one he pleased,the entail having ended with himself. For this she sacrificed herrights, her name, her fame, and you will find, if you look into yourgrandfather's will, that he took especial care that no infraction ofthe contract between him and her father should give cause for theassertion of her rights. Two or three mysterious clauses in that willwill show you at once, if you read them, that the whole tale I tellyou is correct, and that Sir John Hastings, on the one hand, paidlargely, and on the other threatened sternly, in order to conceal themarriage of his eldest son, and transmit the title to the second. Butmy mother could not bar me of my rights: she could endure unmeritedshame for pecuniary advantages, if she pleased; but she could notentail shame upon me; and were it in the power of any one to depriveme of that which Sir John Hastings left me, or to shut me out from thesuccession to his whole estates, to which--from the fear of disclosinghis great secret--he did not put any bar in his will that would havebeen at once an acknowledgment of my legitimacy, I would stillsacrifice all, and stand alone, friendless and portionless in theworld, rather than leave my mother's fame and my own birthunvindicated. This is one of the strongest desires, the mostoverpowering impulses of my heart; and neither you nor any one couldexpect me to resist it. But there is yet a stronger still--not animpulse, but a passion, and to that every thing must yield. It islove; and whatever may be the difference which you see betweenyourself and me, however inferior I may feel myself to you in allthose qualities which I myself the most admire, still, I feel myselfjustified in placing the case clearly before you--in telling you howtruly, how sincerely, how ardently I love you, and in asking youwhether you will deign to favor my suit even now as I stand, to saveme the pain and grief of contending with the father of her I love, theanguish of stripping him of the property he so well uses, and of therank which he adorns; or will leave me to establish my rights, to takemy just name and station, and then, when no longer appearing humbleand unknown, to plead my cause with no less humility than I do atpresent.

  "That I shall do so then, as now, rest assured--that I would do so ifthe rank and station to which I have a right were a principality, donot doubt; but I would fain, if it were possible, avoid inflicting anypain upon your father. I know not how he may bear the loss of stationand of fortune--I know not what effect the struggles of a court oflaw, and inevitable defeat may produce. Only acquainted with him bygeneral repute, I cannot tell what may be the effect of mortificationand the loss of all he has hitherto enjoyed. He has the reputation ofa good, a just, and a wise man, somewhat vehement in feeling, somewhatproud of his position. You must judge him, rather than I; but, Ibeseech you, consider him in this matter.

  "At any time, and at all times, my love will be the same--nothing canchange me--nothing can alter or affect the deep love I bear you. Whencasting from me the cloud which had hung upon my birth, when assumingthe rank and taking possession of the property that is my own, I shallstill love you as devotedly as ever--still as earnestly seek yourhand. But oh! how I long to avoid all the pangs, the mischances, theanxieties to every one, the ill feeling, the contention, theanimosity, which must ever follow such a struggle as that between yourfather and myself--oh, how I long to owe every thing to you, even thestation, even the property, even the fair name that is my own by rightNay, more, far more, to owe you guidance and direction--to owe yousupport and instruction--to owe you all that may improve, and purify,and elevate me.

  "Oh, Emily, dear cousin, let me be your debtor in all things. You whofirst gave me the thought of rising above fate, and making myselfworthy of the high fortunes which I have long known awaited me,perfect your work, redeem me for ever from all that is unworthy, saveme from bitter regrets, and your father from disappointment, sorrow,and poverty, and render me all that I long to be.

  "Yours, and forever,

  "JOHN HASTINGS."

  Very well done, Mrs. Hazleton!--but somewhat too well done. There wasa difference, a difference so striking, so unaccountable, between thestyle of this letter, both in thought and composition, and theordinary style and manners of John Ayliffe, that it could not fail tostrike the eyes of Emily. For a moment she felt a little confused--notundecided. There was no hesitation, no doubt, as to her own conduct.For an instant it crossed her mind that this young man had deeper,finer feelings in his nature than appeared upon the surface--that hismanner might be more in fault than his nature. But there were thingsin the letter itself which she did not like--that, without any laboredanalysis or deep-searching criticism, brought to her mind theconviction that the words, the arguments, the inducements employedwere those of art rather than of feeling--that the mingling of threatstowards her father, however veiled, with professions of love towardsherself, was in itself ungenerous--that the objects and the means werenot so high-toned as the professions--that there was something sordid,base, ignoble in the whole proceeding. It required no careful thoughtto arrive at such a conclusion--no second reading--a
nd her mind wasmade up at once.

  The deep reverie into which she had fallen in the morning had done hergood--it had disentangled thought, and left the heart and judgmentclear. The fair, natural scene she had passed through since, theintercourse with God's works, had done her still more good--refreshed,and strengthened, and elevated the spirit; and after a very briefpause she drew the table towards her, sat down, and wrote. As she didwrite, she thought of her father, and she believed from her heart thatthe words she used were those which he would wish her to employ. Theywere to the following effect:

  "Sir: Your letter, as you may suppose, has occasioned me great pain,and the more so, as I am compelled to say, not only that I cannotreturn your affection now, but can hold out no hope to you of everreturning it. I am obliged to speak decidedly, as I should considermyself most base if I could for one moment trifle with feelings suchas those which you express.

  "In regard to your claims upon my father's estates, and to the rankwhich he believes himself to hold by just right, I can form nojudgment; and could have wished that they had never been mentioned tome before they had been made known to him.

  "I never in my life knew my father do an unjust or ungenerous thing,and I am quite sure that if convinced another had a just title to allthat he possesses on earth, he would strip himself of it as readily ashe would of a soiled garment. My father would disdain to hold for anhour the rightful property of another. You have therefore only to layyour reasons before him, and you may be sure that they will have justconsideration and yourself full justice. I trust that you will do sosoon, as to give the first intelligence of such claims would be toopainful a task for

  "Your faithful servant,

  "EMILY HASTINGS."

  She read her letter over twice, and was satisfied with it. Sealing itcarefully, she gave it to her own maid for despatch, and then pausedfor a moment, giving way to some temporary curiosity as to who couldhave aided in the composition of the letter she had received, for JohnAyliffe's alone she could not and would not believe it to be. She castsuch thoughts from her very speedily, however, and, strange to say,her heart seemed lightened now that the moment of trial had come andgone, now that a turning-point in her fate seemed to have passed.

  Mrs. Hazleton was surprised to see her re-enter the drawing-room witha look of relief. She saw that the matter was decided, but she was toowise to conclude that it was decided according to her wishes.