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

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  Men have lived and died in the pursuit of two objects the leastworthy, on which the high mind of man could ever fix, out of all thevain illusions that lead us forward through existence from youth toold age: the philosopher's stone, and the elixir of life. Gold, gold,sordid gold--not competence--not independence, but wealth--profuse,inexhaustible wealth--the hard food of Cr[oe]sus; strange that itshould ever form the one great object of an immortal spirit! Butstranger still, that a being born to higher destinies should seek topin itself down to this dull earth forever--to dwell in a clay hut,when a palace gates are open--to linger in a prison, when freedom maybe had--to outlive affections, friendships, hope and happiness--toremain desolate in a garden where every flower has withered. To seekthe philosopher's stone--even could it have been found--was a madness:but to desire the elixir of life was a worse insanity.

  There was once, however, in the world's history a search--an eagersearch, for that which at first sight may seem nearly the same as thegreat elixir; but which was in reality very, very different.

  We are told by the historians of America, that a tradition prevailedamongst the Indians of Puerto Rico, that in one of the islands on thecoast, there was a fountain which possessed the marvellous power ofrestoring, to any one who bathed in its waters, all the vigor andfreshness of youth, and that some of the Spanish adventurers sought itanxiously, but sought in vain. Here indeed was an object worthy ofdesire--here, what the heart might well yearn for, and mourn to findimpossible.

  Oh, that fountain of youth, what might it not give back! The easypliancy of limb: the light activity of body: the calm, sweet sleep:the power of enjoyment and acquisition: the freshness of the heart:the brightness of the fancy: the brilliant dreams: the gloriousaspirations: the beauty and the gentleness: the innocence: the love.We, who stand upon the shoal of memory, and look back in our faintdreams, to the brighter land left far behind, may well long for thatsweet fountain which could renew--not life--but youth.

  Oh youth--youth! Give me but one year of youth again. And it shallcome. I see it there, beyond the skies, that fountain of youth, in theland where all flowers are immortal.

  It is very strange, however, that with some men, when youth is gone,its very memories die also. They can so little recollect the feelingsof that brighter time, that they cannot comprehend them in others:that they become a mystery--a tale written in a tongue they haveforgotten.

  It was so with Philip Hastings, and so also with his wife. Neitherseemed to comprehend the feelings of Marlow and Emily; but her fatherunderstood them least. He had consented to their union: he approved ofher choice; but yet it seemed strange and unpleasant to him, that herthoughts should be so completely given to her lover. He could hardlybelieve that the intense affection she felt for another, wascompatible with love towards her parent. He knew not, or seemed tohave forgotten that the ordinance to leave all and cleave unto herhusband, is written in woman's heart as plainly as in the Book.

  Nevertheless, that which he felt was not the least likejealousy--although I have seen such a thing even in a parent towards achild. It was a part of the problem of Emily's character, which he wasalways trying to solve without success.

  "Here," he thought, "she has known this young man, but a shorttime--no years--not very many months; and yet, it is clear, that inthat short space, she has learned to love him better than those towhom she is bound by every tie of long enduring affection andtenderness."

  Had he thought of comparing at all, her conduct and feelings withthose of his own youth, he would still have marvelled; for he wouldhave said, "I had no tenderness shown me in my young days--I was notthe companion, the friend, the idol, the peculiar loved one of fatheror mother, so long as my elder brother lived. I loved her who firstreally loved me. From _my parents_, I had met small affection, and butlittle kindness. It was therefore natural that I should fix my loveelsewhere, as they had fixed theirs. But with my child, the case isvery different."

  Yet he loved Marlow well--was fond of his society--was well pleasedthat he was to be his daughter's husband; but even in his case, Mr.Hastings was surprised in a certain degree; for Marlow did not, andcould not conceal that he loved Emily's society better than herfather's--that he would rather a great deal be with her than withBrutus himself or Cato.

  This desire on the part of Marlow to be ever by her side, was a greatstumbling-block in the way of Mr. Hastings' schemes for re-educatingMarlow, and giving that strength and vigor to his character of whichhis future father-in-law had thought it susceptible. He made verylittle progress, and perhaps Marlow's society might even have had someinfluence upon him--might have softened--mitigated his character; butthat there were counteracting influences continually at work.

  All that had lately happened--the loss of fortune and of station--thedark and irritating suspicions which had been instilled into his mindin regard to his child's conduct--the doubts which had been producedof her frankness and candor--the fact before his eyes, that she lovedanother better, far better, than himself, with a kind word, now andthen, from Mrs. Hazleton, spoken to drive the dart deeper into hisheart, had rendered him somewhat morose and gloomy,--apt to take a badview of other people's actions, and to judge less fairly than healways wished to judge. When Marlow hastened away from him to rejoinEmily, and paint, with her, in all the brightest colors ofimagination, a picture of the glowing future, her father would walksolitary and thoughtful, giving himself up to dark and unprofitablereveries.

  Mrs. Hastings in the mean time would take counsel with Mrs. Hazleton,and they would settle between them that the father was alreadydissatisfied with the engagement he had aided to bring about, and thata little persevering opposition on the part of the mother, wouldultimately bring that engagement to an end.

  Mrs. Hastings, too, thought--or rather seemed to feel, for she did notreduce it to thought--that she had now a greater right to exercisesome authority in regard to her daughter's marriage, as Emily's wholefortune must proceed from her own property. She ventured to opposemore boldly, and to express her opinion against the marriage, both toher husband and her child. It was against the advice of Mrs. Hazletonthat she did so; for that lady knew Mr. Hastings far better than hisown wife knew him; and while Emily's cheek burned, and her eye swam intears, Mr. Hastings replied in so stern and bitter a tone that Mrs.Hastings shrunk back alarmed at what she herself had done.

  But the word had been spoken: the truth revealed. Both Mr. Hastingsand Emily were thenceforth aware that she wished the engagementbetween her daughter and Marlow broken off--she was opposed to themarriage; and would oppose it.

  The effect of this revelation of her views upon her child and herhusband, was very different. Emily had colored with surprise andgrief--not, as her father thought, with anger; and she resolvedthenceforth to endeavor to soften her mother's feelings towards himshe loved, and to win her consent to that upon which all her ownhappiness depended; but in which her own happiness could not becomplete without a mother's approbation.

  Mr. Hastings, on the contrary, entertained no expectation that hiswife would ever change her views, even if she changed her course. Someknowledge--some comprehension of her character had been forced uponhim during the many years of their union; and he believed that, if allopen remonstrance, and declared opposition had been crushed by hissharp and resolute answer, there would nevertheless be continual orever recurring efforts on Mrs. Hastings' part, to have her own way,and thwart both his purposes and Emily's affection. He prepared toencounter that sort of irritating guerrilla warfare of last words, andsneers, and innuendoes, by which a wife sometimes endeavors toovercome a husband's resolutions; and he hardened himself to resist.He knew that she could not conquer in the strife; but he determined toput an end to the warfare, either by some decided expression of hisanger at such proceedings, or by uniting Emily to Marlow, much soonerthan he had at first proposed.

  The latter seemed the easiest method, and there was a great chance ofthe marriage, which it had been agreed should be d
elayed till Emilywas nineteen, taking place much earlier, when events occurred whichproduced even a longer delay.

  One of the first steps taken by Mr. Hastings to show his wife that herunreasonable opposition would have no effect upon him, was not only toremove the prohibition of those lovers' rambles which Mrs. Hastingshad forbidden, but to send his daughter and her promised husband forthtogether on any pretext that presented itself. He took the opportunityof doing so, first, when his wife was present, and on the impulse ofthe moment, she ventured to object. One look--one word from herhusband, however, silenced her; for they were a look and word toostern to be trifled with, and Emily went to dress for her walk; butshe went with the tears in her eyes. She was grieved to find that allthat appertained to her happiness was likely to become a cause ofdissension between her father and her mother. Had Marlow not beenconcerned--had his happiness not been also at stake--she would havesacrificed any thing--every thing--to avoid such a result; but shefelt she had no right to yield to caprice, where he was to suffer aswell as herself.

  The walk took place, and it might have been very sweet to both, hadnot the scene which had immediately preceded poured a drop ofbitterness into their little cup of joy. Such walks were often renewedduring the month that followed; but Emily was not so happy as shemight have been; for she saw that her father assumed a sterner, coldertone towards his wife, and believed that she might be the unwillingcause of this painful alienation. She knew not that it proceededpartly from another source--that Mr. Hastings had discovered, ordivined, that his wife had some feeling of increased power andauthority from the fact of his having lost his large estates, and ofher property being all that remained to them both.

  Poor Emily! Marlow's love, that dream of joy, seemed destined toproduce, for a time at least, nothing but grief and anxiety. Herreveries became more frequent, and more deep, and though her lovercould call her from them in a moment, no one else had the power.

  One day, Marlow and his Emily--for whom every day his love increased;for he knew and comprehended her perfectly, and he was the onlyone--had enjoyed a more happy and peaceful ramble than usual, throughgreen lanes, and up the hill, and amidst the bright scenery which layon the confines of the two counties, and they returned slowly towardsthe house, not anticipating much comfort there. As they approached,they saw from the road a carriage standing before the door, dusty, asif from a long journey, but with the horses still attached. There werethree men, too, with the carriage, besides the driver, and they werewalking their horses up and down the terrace, as if their stay was tobe but short. It was an unusual number of attendants, even in thosedays, to accompany a carriage in the country, except upon some visitof great ceremony; and the vehicle itself--a large, old, rumblingcoach, which had seen better days--gave no indication of any greatstate or dignity on the part of its owner.

  Why, she knew not, but a feeling of fear, or at least anxiety, cameover Emily as she gazed, and turning to Marlow, she said, "Who canthese visitors be?"

  "I know not, indeed, dear love," he answered, "but the equipage issomewhat strange. Were we in France," he added, with a laugh, "Ishould think it belonged to an exempt, bearing a _lettre de cachet_."

  Emily smiled also, for the idea of her, father having incurred theanger of any government or violated any law seemed to her quite out ofthe question.

  When they approached the door, however, they were met by a servant,with a grave and anxious countenance, who told her that her fatherwished to see her immediately in the dining hall.

  "Is there any one with him?" asked Emily, in some surprise.

  "Yes, Mistress Emily," replied the man, "there is a strange gentlemanwith him. But you had better go in at once; for I am afraid things arenot going well."

  Marlow drew her arm through his, and pressed it gently to make herfeel support; and then went into the eating-room, as it was usuallycalled, by her side.

  When they entered they found the scene a strange and painful one. Mr.Hastings was seated near a window, with his hat on, and his cloak castdown on a chair beside him. His wife was placed near him, weepingbitterly; and at the large table in the middle of the room was acoarse-looking man, in the garb of a gentleman, but with no otherindication but that of dress of belonging to a superior class. He wasvery corpulent, and his face, though shadowed by an enormous wig, waslarge and bloated. There was food and wine before him, and to both heseemed to be doing ample justice, without taking any notice of themaster of the house or his weeping lady.

  Mr. Hastings, however, rose and advanced towards his daughter, as soonas she entered, and in an instant the eye of the gormandizing guestwas raised from his plate and turned towards the party, with a look ofeager suspicion.

  "Oh, my dear father, what is this?" exclaimed Emily, running towardshim.

  "One of those accidents of life, my child," replied Mr. Hastings, "fromwhich I had hoped to be exempt--most foolishly. But it seems," hecontinued, "no conduct, however reserved, can shield one from theunjust suspicions of princes and governments."

  "Very good cause for suspicion, sir," said the man at the table,quaffing a large glass of wine. "Mr. Secretary would not have signed awarrant without strong evidence. Vernon is a cautious man, sir, a verycautious man."

  "And who is this person?" asked Marlow pointing to the personage whospoke.

  "A messenger of the powers that be," replied Mr. Hastings; "it seemsthat because Sir John Fenwick dined here a short time ago, and hassince been accused of some practices against the state, his Majesty'sadvisers have thought fit to connect me with his doings, or their ownsuspicions, though they might as well have sent down to arrest mybutler or my footman, and I am now to have the benefit of a journey tothe Tower of London under arrest."

  "Or to Newgate," said the messenger, significantly.

  "To London, at all events," replied Mr. Hastings.

  "I will go with you," said Marlow, at once; but before the prisonercould answer, the messenger interfered, saying, "That I cannot allow."

  "I am afraid you must allow it," replied Marlow, "whether it pleasesyou or not."

  "I will have no one in the carriage with my prisoner," said themessenger, striking the table gently with the haft of his knife.

  "That may be," answered Marlow; "but you will not, I presume, pretendto prevent my going where I please in my own carriage; and when oncein London, I shall find no difficulty, knowing Mr. Vernon well."

  The latter announcement made a great change in the messenger'sdemeanor, and he became much more tame and docile from the moment itstruck his ear.

  Mr. Hastings indeed would fain have persuaded his young friend toremain where he was, and looked at Emily with some of that tendererfeeling of a parent which so often prompts to every sacrifice for achild's sake. But Emily thanked Marlow eagerly for proposing to go;and Mrs. Hastings, even, expressed some gratitude.

  The arrangements were soon made. There being no time to send forMarlow's own carriage and horses, it was agreed that he should take acarriage belonging to Mr. Hastings, with his horses, for the firststage; the prisoner's valet was to accompany his friend, and immediateorders were given for the necessary preparations.

  When all was ready, Emily asked some question of her father, in a lowtone, to which he replied, "On no account, my child. I will send foryou and your mother should need be; but do not stir before I do. Thisis a mere cloud--a passing shower, which will soon be gone, and leavethe sky as bright as ever. We do not live in an age when kings ofEngland can play at foot-ball with the heads of innocent men, and I,as you all know, am innocent."

  He then embraced his wife and child with more tenderness than he waswont to show, and entering the carriage first, was followed by themessenger. The other men mounted their horses, and Marlow did notlinger long behind the sad cavalcade.