CHAPTER XXVI.
There are seasons in the life of man, as well as in the course of theyear; and well, unhappily, have many poets painted them in all theirvarious aspects. But these seasons are subject to variations withdifferent men, as with different years. The summer of one man is allbright and calm--a lapse of tranquil sunshine, and soft airs, andgentle dews. With another, the same season passes in the thunder-stormof passion--the tempests of war or ambition--and often, the gloomydays of autumn or of winter overshadowed the rich land, and spoiledthe promised harvest.
It was an autumn-like period during the next three or four months ofthe family of Sir Philip Hastings. For the first time, uncertainty anddoubt fell upon the family generally. There had been differences oftemper and of character. There had been slight inconveniences. Therehad been occasional sickness and anxiety. There had been all thosethings which in the usual course of events diminished the sum of humanhappiness even to the most happy. But there had been nothing the leastlike uncertainty of position. There had been no wavering anxiety fromday to day as to what the morrow was to bring forth. There had beennone of that poison-drop in which the keenest shafts of fate aredipped, "the looking for of evil."
Now, every day brought some new intelligence, and some newexpectation, and the mass was altogether unfavorable. Had the blowfallen at once--had any one been in power to say, "Sir PhilipHastings, you must resign all your paternal estates, and pay back atonce the rents for nearly twenty years--you must give up the rank andstation which you have hitherto held, and occupy a totally differentposition in society!" Sir Philip would have submitted at once, andwith less discomfort than most of my readers can imagine. But it wasthe wearing, irritating, exciting, yet stupefying progress of alawsuit which had a painful and distressing effect upon his mind. Oneday, he thought he saw the case quite clearly--could track the tricksof his adversary, and expose the insecure foundation of his claim; andthen would come two or three days of doubt and discussion, and thendisappointment, and a new turn where every thing had to begin again.But gradually proofs swelled up, first giving some show of justice tothe pretence that John Ayliffe had some claim, then amounting to aprobability in his favor, then seeming, to unlearned eyes, verypowerful as to his right.
I am no lawyer, and therefore cannot pursue all the stages of theproceeding; but John Ayliffe had for his assistants unscrupulous men,whose only aims were to succeed, and to shield themselves from dangerin case of detection; and their turns, and twists, and new points,were manifold.
Sir Philip Hastings was tortured. It affected his spirits and histemper. He became more gloomy--occasionally irritable, oftensuspicious. He learned to pore over law papers, to seek out flaws anderrors, to look for any thing that might convey a double meaning, totrack the tortuous and narrow paths by which that power which bearsthe name of Justice reaches the clear light of truth, or falls intothe thorny deep of error.
All this disturbed and changed him; and these daily anxieties anddiscomforts affected his family too--Emily, indeed, but little, exceptinasmuch as she was grieved to see her father grieve. But LadyHastings was not only pained and mortified herself--she contrivedto communicate a share of all she felt to others. She becamesad--somewhat sullen--and fancied all the time while she wasdepressing her husband's spirits, and aggravating all he felt bydespondency and murmurs, instead of cheering and supporting him bymaking light of the threatened evils, that she was but participatingsympathetically in his anxieties, and feeling a due share of hissorrows. She had no idea of the duty of cheerfulness, in a wife, andhow often it may prove the very blessing that God intended in givingman a helpmate.
Sickness, it is true, had diminished somewhat the light spirits of heryouth, but she had assuredly become a creature of repinings--amurmurer by habit--fit to double rather than divide any load ofmisfortune which fate might cast upon a husband's shoulders.
Lady Hastings strove rather to look sad, Emily Hastings to be gay andcheerful, and both did it perhaps a little too much for the mood andcircumstances in which Sir Philip then was. He wondered when he camehome, after an anxious day, that Lady Hastings did nothing to cheerhim--that every word was gloomy and sad--that she seemed far moreaffected at the thought of loss of fortune and station than himself.He wondered also that Emily could be so light and playful, so joyousand seemingly unconcerned, when he was suffering such anxiety.
Poor Emily! she was forcing spirits in vain, and playing the kindliestof hypocrites--fashioning every word, and every look, to win him awayfrom painful thought, only to be misunderstood.
But the misunderstanding was heightened and pointed by the hand ofmalice. The emotion which Sir Philip had displayed in the court hadnot been forgotten by some whom a spirit of revenge rendered keen andclear-sighted.
It seemed impossible to mingle Emily's name directly with the lawproceedings which were taking place; but more than once in accidentalcorrespondence it was insinuated that secret information, which hadled to the development of John Ayliffe's claim, had been obtained fromsome near relation of Sir Philip Hastings, and it became generallyrumored and credited in the county, that Emily had indiscreetlybetrayed some secrets of her father's. Of course these rumors did notreach her ears, but they reached Sir Philip Hastings, and he thoughtit strange, and more strange, that Emily had never mentioned to himher several interviews with John Ayliffe, which he had by this timelearned were more than one.
Some strange feelings, disguised doubtless by one of those veils whichvanity or selfishness are ever ready to cast over the naked emotionsof the human heart, withheld him from speaking to his child on thesubject which caused him so much pain. Doubtless it was pride--forpride of a peculiar kind was at the bottom of many of his actions. Hewould not condescend to inquire, he thought, into that which she didnot choose to explain herself, and he went on in reality barring theway against confidence, when, in truth, nothing would have given Emilymore relief than to open her whole heart to her father.
With Marlow, Sir Philip Hastings was more free and communicative thanwith any one else. The young man's clear perceptions, and rapidcomprehensions on any point in the course of the proceedings going on,his zeal, his anxiety, his thoughtfulness, and his keen sense of whatwas just and equitable, raised him every day higher in the opinion ofSir Philip Hastings, and he would consult with him for hours, talk thewhole matter over in all its bearings, and leave him to solve variousquestions of conscience in which he found it difficult himself to cometo a decision. Only on one point Sir Philip Hastings never spoke tohim; and that was Emily's conduct with regard to young Ayliffe. That,the father could not do; and yet, more than once, he longed to do it.
One day, however, towards the end of six months after the firstprocesses had been issued, Sir Philip Hastings, in one of his morningconsultations with Marlow, recapitulated succinctly all the proofswhich young John Ayliffe had brought forward to establish a validmarriage between his mother and the elder brother of the baronet.
"The case is very nearly complete," said Sir Philip. "But two or threelinks in the chain of evidence are wanting, and as soon as I becomemyself convinced that this young man is, beyond all reasonable doubt,the legitimate son of my brother John, my course will be soon taken.It behooves us in the first instance, Marlow, to consider how this mayaffect you. You have sought the hand of a rich man's daughter, and nowI shall be a poor man; for although considerable sums have accumulatedsince my father's death, they will not more than suffice to pay offthe sums due to this young man if his claim be established, and theexpenses of this suit must be saved by hard economy. The property ofLady Hastings will still descend to our child, but neither she nor Ihave the power to alienate even a part of it for our daughter's dowry.It is right, therefore, Marlow, that you should be set free from allengagements."
"When I first asked your daughter's hand, Sir Philip," repliedMarlow, "I heartily wished that our fortunes were more equal. Fate hasgranted that wish, apparently, in making them so; and believe me, Irejoice rather than regret that it is so, as fa
r as I myself amconcerned. We shall have enough for comfort, Sir Philip, and not toomuch for happiness. What need we more? But I cannot help thinking," hecontinued, "that this suit may turn out differently from that whichyou expect. I believe that the mind has its instincts, which, thoughdangerous to trust to, guide us nevertheless, sometimes, more surelythan reason. There is an impression on my mind, which all the evidencehitherto brought forward has been unable to shake, that this claim ofJohn Ayliffe is utterly without foundation--that it is, in fact, atrumped up case, supported by proofs which will fall to pieces underclose examination."
Sir Philip Hastings shook his head. "But one thing more," he said,"and I am myself convinced. I will not struggle against conviction,Marlow; but the moment I feel morally sure that I am defending a badcause, that instant I will yield, be the sacrifice what it may.Nothing on earth," he continued, in a stern abstracted tone, "shallever prevent my doing that which I believe right, and which justiceand honor require me to do. Life itself and all that makes life dearwere but a poor sacrifice in the eyes of an honest man; what then afew thousand acres, and an empty designation?"
"But, my dear Sir Philip," replied Marlow, "let us suppose for onemoment that this claim is a fictitious one, and that it is supportedby fraud and forgery, you will allow that more than a few months arerequired to investigate all the particulars thoroughly, and to detectthe knavery which may have been committed?"
"My dear Marlow," replied Sir Philip, "conviction comes to each mindaccordingly as it is naturally constituted or habitually regulated. Itrust I have studied the nature of evidence well--well enough to besatisfied with much less than mere law will require. In regard to allquestions which come under the decision of the law, there are, infact, two juries who decide upon the merits of the evidence--one,selected from our fellow men--the other in the bosom of the partiesbefore which each man shall scrupulously try the justice of his owncause, and if the verdict be against him, should look upon himself butas an officer to carry the verdict into execution. I will never actagainst conviction. I will always act with it. My mind will try thecause itself; and the moment its decision is pronounced, that instantI will act upon it."
Marlow knew that it was in vain to argue farther, and could only trustthat something would occur speedily to restore Sir Philip's confidencein his own rights.
Sir Philip, however, was now absent very frequently from home. Theunpleasant business in which he was engaged, called him continually tothe county town, and many a long and happy hour might Marlow and Emilyhave passed together had not Lady Hastings at this time assumed asomewhat new character--apparently so only--for it was, in fact,merely a phase of the old one. She became--as far as health andindolence would admit--the most prudent and careful mother in theworld. She insinuated that it was highly improper for Emily to walk orride alone with her acknowledged lover, and broadly asserted thattheir previous rambles had been permitted without her knowledge, andfrom inadvertence. During all Marlow's afternoon visits, she tookespecial care to sit with them the whole time, and thus she sought todeprive them of all means of free and unconstrained communication.Such would have been the result, too, indeed, had it not been for afew morning hours snatched now and then; partly from a habit ofindulgence, and partly from very delicate health, Lady Hastings wasrarely, if ever, down to breakfast, and generally remained in herdrawing-room till the hour of noon was past.
The hours of Sir Philip's absence were generally tedious enough tohimself. Sometimes a day of weary and laborious business occupied thetime; but that was a relief rather than otherwise. In general the daywas spent in a visit to the office of his lawyer, in finding theinformation he wanted, or the case he had desired to be prepared, notready for him, in waiting for it hour after hour, in tedious gloomymeditation, and very often riding home without it, reflecting on theevils of a dilatory system which often, by the refusal of speedyjustice, renders ultimate justice unavailable for any thing but theassertion of an abstract principle. He got tired of this mode ofproceeding: he felt that it irritated and disordered him, and after awhile, whenever he found that he should be detained in suspense, hemounted his horse again, and rode away to amuse his mind with otherthings.
The house of Mrs. Hazleton being so near, he more than once paid her avisit during such intervals. His coming frequently was not altogetherconvenient to her; for John Ayliffe was not an unfrequent visitor ather house, and Mrs. Hazleton had to give the young men a hint to lether see him early in the morning or late in the evening. Nevertheless,Mrs. Hazleton was not at all displeased to cultivate the friendship ofSir Philip Hastings. She had her objects, her purposes, to serve, andwith her when she put on her most friendly looks towards the baronetshe was not moved merely by that every-day instinctive hypocrisy whichleads man to cover the passions he is conscious of, with a veil of themost opposite appearances, but it was a definite hypocrisy, withobjects distinctly seen by herself, and full of purpose.
Thus, and for these reasons, she received Sir Philip Hastings on alloccasions with the highest distinction--assumed, with a certainchameleon quality which some persons have, the color and tone of hismind to a considerable degree, while yet the general features of herown character were preserved sufficiently to shield her from thecharge of affectation. She was easy, graceful, dignified as ever, witha certain languid air, and serious quietness which was very engaging.She never referred in her conversations with Sir Philip to the suitthat was going on against him, and when he spoke of it himself, thoughshe assumed considerable interest, and seemed to have a personalfeeling in the matter, exclaiming, "If this goes on, nobody's estateswill be secure soon!" she soon suffered the subject to drop, and didnot recur to it again.
One day after the conversation between Sir Philip and Marlow, part ofwhich has been already detailed, Sir Philip turned his horse's headtowards Mrs. Hazleton's at a somewhat earlier hour than usual. It wasjust half past ten when he dismounted at the door, but he knew hermatutinal habits and did not expect to find her occupied. The servant,however, instead of showing him into the small room where she usuallysat, took him to the great drawing-room, and as he went, Sir Philipheard the voices of Mrs. Hazleton and another person in quick andapparently eager conversation. There was nothing extraordinary inthis, however, and he turned to the window and gazed out into thepark. He heard the servant go into the morning room, and thenimmediately all sound of voices ceased. Shortly after, a horse's feet,beating the ground rapidly, caught the baronet's ear, but the ridermust have mounted in the courtyard and taken the back way out of thepark; for he came not within Sir Philip's sight. A moment or twoafter, Mrs. Hazleton appeared, and there was an air of eagerness andexcitement about her which was not at all usual. She seated Sir Philipbeside her, however, with one of her blandest looks, and then layingher hand on his, said, in a kind and sisterly tone, "Do tell me, SirPhilip--I am not apt to be curious, or meddle with other people'saffairs; but in this I am deeply interested. A rumor has just reachedme from Hartwell, that you have signified your intention of abandoningyour defence against this ridiculous claim upon your property. Do tellme if this is true?"
"Partly, and partly false," replied Sir Philip, "as all rumors are.Who gave you this information?"
"Oh, some of the people from Hartwell," she replied, "who came overupon business."
"The tidings must have spread fast," replied Sir Philip; "I announcedto my own legal advisers this morning, and told them to announce tothe opposite party, that if they could satisfy me upon one particularpoint, I would not protract the suit, putting them to loss andinconvenience and myself also."
"A noble and generous proceeding, indeed," said Mrs. Hazleton with anenthusiastic burst of admiration. "Ah, dear Emily, I can see yourmediation in this."
Sir Philip started as if a knife had been plunged into him, and with aprofound internal satisfaction, Mrs. Hazleton saw the emotion she hadproduced.
"May I ask," he said, in a dry cold tone, after he had recoveredhimself a little, "May I ask what my daughter can have to do with
thisaffair?"
"Oh, really--in truth I don't know," said Mrs. Hazleton, stammeringand hesitating, "I only thought--but I dare say it is all nonsense.Women are always the peacemakers, you know, Sir Philip, and as Emilyknew both parties well, it seemed natural she should mediate betweenthem."
"Well?--" said Sir Philip Hastings to himself, slowly andthoughtfully, but he only replied to Mrs. Hazleton, "No, my dearMadam, Emily has had nothing to do with this. It has never formed asubject of conversation between us, and I trust that she hassufficient respect for me, and for herself, not to interfere unaskedin my affairs."
The serpent had done its work; the venom was busy in the veins of SirPhilip Hastings, corrupting the purest sources of the heart'sfeelings, and Mrs. Hazleton saw it and triumphed.
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