THE GOSPEL CHARM.
A finer looking fellow could not be met with in a day's walk thanGerald Desmond, the only son of the wealthy widow Desmond, her prideand sole comfort; tall and strikingly handsome, he had that buoyant,reckless air and continuous flow of spirits which would indicate thepossessor of a heart, over whose welfare the gales of adversity had butlightly swept.
At the period which commences my narrative, he is holding an animatedconversation with his foster-brother and fast friend, Frank Carolan.Frank is also a fine, manly specimen of humanity, much more humblydressed than his companion, yet still with a something of superiorityabout him, which would prevent a stranger from passing by without asecond look. The substance of their conversation may afford a key totheir pursuits and feelings.
"Don't talk to me about Biddy Magra. I tell you she's not to becompared to Judy Murphy," said Gerald.
"May-be she isn't, and then again, may-be she is," very logicallyreplied Frank, with the manner of one who did not exactly like tocontradict his superior, or altogether give up his own opinion.
"Did you ever see a prettier girl than Judy?" inquired Gerald.
"Hum! It strikes me that I have, once or twice," said Frank, which wasvery probable, seeing that he had the prettiest girl in the county fora sister, a fact which Gerald well knew, although, as yet, he hardlydared to acknowledge it to himself.
"No you haven't--you couldn't, there isn't, there shan't be anything toequal her within a hundred miles," continued Gerald, partly for thesake of argument, and partly because he really did think so at themoment. "And if I could only bring myself to abandon the delicioussociety of the charming sex, and concentrate the affections of GeraldDesmond upon one individual, she would be the enviable person."
"So you've said to every decent-lookin' colleen that came near you eversince you've had a heart to feel. You're as changeable as the moon."
"I was, I was; but now I'm fixed, settled, constant as the sun."
"Mighty like the sun, that has a warm beam for every planet, or may-bemore like a parlor stove, that burns up any sort of coal. You'll neverbe steady to one, Gerald."
"Well, we'll see. I've loved Judy three weeks without stopping, andthat's a good sign; but I'm going to have a game at loo, and top upwith a jollification; you must come along, Frank."
"No, no, master Gerald; it's well enough for you golden-spoon folks towaste time, but I am one of the unfortunate wooden-ladle people. I mustgo to work."
"Work! Hang work," cried Gerald, who never suffered an obstacle toremain which opposed his will or pleasure. "You needn't want moneywhile I'm with you, Frank. Come, only this once; deuce take it, let usenjoy the present, and let to-morrow look out for itself. I shan't askyou again--_only this once_."
"Well, then," said Frank, irresolutely, "I'll go, but remember, 'tis_only for this once_."
"ONLY FOR THIS ONCE." How often, without thinking of its awful import,has this _lie_ been uttered! Let the soul but _for once_ diverge fromthe appointed path, how difficult to return! But when to each seductivevoice which beckons from the way-side, the victim cries, I shall enjoythee _but for once_, 'tis led so far astray, through such deep windingsand such adverse mazes, that when it would retrace its steps, theconsequences of each evil deed have so obscured, planted with thorns,or destroyed the road, 'tis the finger of infinite mercy alone whichcan conduct it safely back.
Gerald Desmond and his foster-brother passed that night, as too manyhad been passed before, in drunkenness and riot.
Now, although engaged in the same vicious employment, there was greatdifference in the actuating principles of these two young men. Gerald,as yet unchecked by reason, was at this time an uncompromising _roue_,plunging in every degree of dissipation, with a heart resolved to drainthe cup of enjoyment to the very dregs, and have it filled and filledagain. Whereas, Frank's easy, yielding disposition, acted upon by thecharm of companionship and the circumstances of the moment, caused himto be placed in such situations, actually against his better judgment;association only leading him into vicious scenes, which a lack ofprudential resolution prevented him from being able to avoid. In fact,Gerald invariably said, _yes!_ and Frank, had not sufficientself-command to say, _no!_
The strong friendship which frequently attends the adventitiousrelationship of foster-brotherhood, brought them almost alwaystogether, and as Gerald, from his position, was naturally the leader,their lives were passed in a continual round of miscalled amusement.
However, as we often find that when very dear friends quarrel, it iswith a bitterness more than equal to their former kindliness offeeling, so it was with Gerald and Frank. They fell out, during one oftheir drinking encounters; something trivial commenced it, but one wordbrought on another, until the little spark swelled to a flame, and thepoor remains of reason, left uninjured by the liquor, were scorched tofury in the fire of anger. The difference in their dispositions evinceditself powerfully. Gerald, foaming with rage, was violent andungovernable, while Frank, whose mind was infinitely superior, was cooland calm, though inly suffering from suppressed choler.
"Where," exclaimed the former, dashing his hand on the table, "wherewould you have been now, were it not for me?"
"Where?" replied Frank, with a smile which _looked_ real; "why, inmy bed, dreaming quiet dreams; a thing I shall never do again."
"Whose fault is that?"
"Yours," said Frank, sternly regarding him, "yours. Is this my place?Would I have been here of my own will? No--you led me step by step fromcontent into this brutal degradation."
"But you had your wits about you," fiercely retorted Gerald; "this ismy thanks for condescending to make you my companion; the base blood isin you; ingratitude is the sure sign of the low-born."
Frank's cheeks flushed crimson, his teeth ground together, and theblood rushed to his head with a bound; after a moment's pause, hereplied, with a terrible effort to be calm, "Gerald Desmond, I am, asyou say, low-born, but not base; a son of toil, but no slave; a poor,but still an independent man; nursed in poverty, I own that I am no fitcompany for you. My hand would bear no comparison with yours; 'tislabor-hardened, while yours is lady-soft, and yet, if our hearts wereput into the scale, I mistake much if the overweight would not make upthe difference."
Annoyed by the quiet coolness of his manner, Gerald lost all control.
"You poor, miserable child of beggary," he cried, "avoid my sight.Leave me. Dare to cross my path again, and I shall strike you to myfeet."
At these words Frank smiled; it was a small but most expressive smile;Gerald felt its influence in his very brain.
"I'll do it now," he screamed, foaming with rage, and springing full atFrank's throat; but he calmly disengaged himself, and with one effortof his tremendous strength, took Gerald up in his powerful arms, andcould have dashed him to the ground, but contented himself with quietlyreplacing him in the chair, exclaiming--
"Learn to forgive, Gerald Desmond, and condescend to accept a lessonfrom your inferior. Farewell," and ere the other could reply, maddenedas he was by rage and mortification, he was gone.
"The ruffian!" savagely exclaimed Gerald. "If I don't wring his heartfor this may I inherit everlasting torture."
How he fulfilled his oath we shall see in time.
* * * * *
In no very enviable mood, Frank Carolan sought his humble home;bitterly he repented ever having known Desmond, and firmly he resolvedto give up all acquaintance which had grown out of this association,and depend for the future upon his own honest exertions. Brave resolve,seriously and sacredly intended at the time, as all good resolutionsusually are.
The only being that Frank cared for in the world was his sister Mary--abright and beautiful young creature, just bursting into womanhood,graceful as a wild fawn, and as timid; unselfishly and wholly, with amost absorbing love, he loved _her_. Upon reaching home, he found herin tears, grieving for his prolonged absence, for it was early morning;but the moment he appeared, the rain
-drops of sorrow fled, and joy'sown bright ray sparkled in her face once more.
"Where have you been so late, dear Frank?" she murmured, as he kissedher dewy eyes.
"Where, I solemnly promise, my own Mary, never to go again."
"You were with Gerald Desmond, were you not?"
"I was! But he and I are brothers, friends, no longer."
"The saints be praised for it," fervently cried his sister. "There issomething about Desmond's eyes that frightens me. 'Tis good for neitherof us that he should be too near."
"Has he been here, Mary?"
"Oh! yes, several times, but only to inquire for you," she added,hastily.
"You must avoid him, Mary, for he is a serpent; there's a fascinationabout that man that even I cannot resist. He has destroyed me; lured mefrom my contented humbleness to taste of luxury; and now, like thebeast which has once drunk of blood, 'twill be hard for me to avoid theseductive banquet. Shun him, Mary, for your brother's sake."
"Dear Frank, doubt me not," firmly replied Mary. "If you do fear mywomanly weakness, I here swear, by this blessed _Gospel Charm_ mymother placed around my neck, before she died, never to do the deedwhich shall cause her spirit to frown, or my brother's cheek to glowwith shame."
"My bright-eyed, beautiful Mary, I believe you. God bless you, core ofmy heart; 'tis for your well-doing only I exist," fervently exclaimedFrank. "Go to your rest, darling; 'tis the last time it shall be brokenby me; to-morrow shall find me a new man. Good night."
Mary retired, and her brother felt relieved at heart, for a more solemnoath could not be imagined than that which she had sworn. The GospelCharm, which consists of a text from Scripture, selected andconsecrated by the priest, is held to be of peculiar efficacy, and apromise made by it is scarcely ever known to be broken.
No man ever went to bed with a more fixed determination to begin a newand better life on the morrow than did Frank, and yet that very morrowsaw his resolution shaken, nay, altogether abandoned. During the nighta plan of terrible revenge had been conceived by Gerald Desmond, and tocarry out his design, it was necessary that the breach between him andFrank should be apparently healed up.
Frank began the day well, cultivating his little farm, inly rejoicingin his emancipation from evil society, and glowing with that proud selfgratification which the exercise of industrious habits ever produces.In the midst of this happy feeling, who should he perceive but GeraldDesmond rapidly approaching? His first impulse was, as usual, right. "Iwill not listen to him," he thought, retiring in an opposite direction,when he was arrested by the hilarious voice of Gerald calling to him:
"Frank, my friend! my brother, will you not forgive?"
The tones reached into his inmost heart; he paused for an instant, but'twas enough--Gerald reached him, and, looking cordially in his face,held forth his hand. Frank grasped it earnestly, and ere many momentshad elapsed their friendship was renewed, with full sincerity by one,and crafty dissimulation by the other. Alas for good intentions, whenunassisted by Heaven's pardoning grace! The vitiating practices offormer days were again indulged in, and all Frank's so seeminglyvirtuous resolutions were drowned in the accursed, soul-enslavingdrink.
Some few days after this reconciliation, Gerald took Frank aside, andhaving first bound him to secrecy, thus began to unfold his design.
"Frank, my boy," said he, "I am in great need of your assistance; willyou give it to me?"
"That will I, Gerald," uttered Frank, "with all my heart."
"Nay, but you must promise to do so, even though against yourinclination; it is a matter of the most vital moment to me?"
"If I _can_ help you, I will."
"Say that you will, for I know you can."
"Well, then, I will, whatever it is."
"Enough. Then you must know that I have a little affair of the heart."
"Another?"
"The last, as I am a true lover; all I want you to do is to write anote for me. I am fearful that my own hand-writing would be known,added to which, I have disabled my fingers by an accident."
"Yes, but may I not know who the object is?" inquired Frank.
"Come, come, you wouldn't ask that. It would be dishonorable in me totell you; suffice it to say that she is a lovely creature, young,innocent, and confiding. I have everything arranged to carry her offthis very night."
"You mean to marry her, of course?" said Frank, seriously.
"Marry?" laughingly replied Gerald; "come, that's a devilish good joke;do you see any symptoms of insanity about me? No, no, I mean to honorher with my society for a few months, and then"----
"Then cast her off, to the scorn of an uncharitable world. Gerald,friend, pause a moment, think! I know your heart is not entirelyrotten."
"My dear fellow, I have thought, reasoned with myself, but all to noavail; one word for all. 'Tis necessary to my happiness that I shouldpossess this girl. You pretend to be my friend; will you prove it bydoing this small service for me?"
Good intent said no, but irresolution stepped in as usual, and all waslost.
"Dictate," said Frank, sadly; "'tis sorely against my inclination, butrather than you should doubt my friendship, I _will_ do it."
"Good fellow," delightedly exclaimed Gerald; "now, let me see; we mustuse stratagem. Begin--
"'Dear Mary.'"
At the mention of that name, Frank gave an involuntary shudder. Helooked straight into the eyes of Gerald, but they returned his gazewithout a change of expression, and the monstrous thought was smotheredin its birth.
"Have you written 'Dear Mary?'" said Gerald, calmly.
"I have! go on."
"'Business of a sudden and imperative nature calls me away. I shallneed your presence and advice; trust yourself unhesitatingly to the manwho delivers this; he is my dearest friend.'"
"Whom is this supposed to come from?" inquired Frank.
"Oh," said Gerald, carelessly, "from her brother."
"Her brother! has she then a brother? God in heaven help _him_! Ah!Gerald, this is frightful; let me entreat of you to abandon yourintent; think of the load of misery the indulgence of one evanescent,selfish gratification will entail on all this poor girl's friends;" andFrank knelt and took Gerald's hand in his. For an instant, all the goodin the heart of the latter floated to the surface, but he thought ofthe degradation he had endured, and revenge sank it down again.
"Come, come," he cried, "no more sermons if you please; you haveobliged me so much that I can scarcely tell you, and now remain hereuntil I return. I shall not be long; there's a bottle of Inishowen,sugar, lemons, and hot water; make yourself quite at home. Depend uponit, you shall soon be amply repaid for all you have done for me." Sosaying, he went out, and Frank was left alone.
Half an hour, an hour, passed away, and Gerald did not return. In spiteof himself, sad, fearfully sad thoughts brooded over Frank's spirits.In vain he resorted to the stimulant so lavishly provided for him; themore he drank, the more terrible were the imaginings which crowded intohis very heart and brain; at last, unable longer to endure thesuspense, and actuated by an impulse for which he could not account, hesuddenly started up to return home--what was his surprise to find thedoor locked? He rushed to the window--it was strongly secured. A vague,indefinite sensation of terror crept through his frame--he was aprisoner, for what purpose--great heaven! if it should be that to whichhis imagination sometimes pointed, only to be abandoned again from itsvery intensity of horror. He screamed aloud--echo only answered him.Lost, bewildered, almost bereft of reason, now would he pace rapidly toand fro; now stand stone still. The live-long night he remained in thatlonely chamber, a prey to every torture that could reach the soul ofman--minutes swelled into days, a long year of common-place existencewas compressed into those few hours. He prayed, cursed, ravedalternately, nor could the fearful quantity he drank drown reason inforgetfulness. Slowly the dim grey of morning began to break--anon, thegleesome lark flew upward to greet the sun with his matin song, and yetno sign of Gerald. The door was at last unlock
ed--Frank rushed through,and with instinctive dread sought his home. Scarcely pausing to drawbreath, in a state of utter exhaustion he reached the cottage, burstopen the door, and flew into the room--it was empty!
"Mary, Mary!" he cried, in choking accents, but her soft voice did notreply; looking round, his eye suddenly rested on an open letter; it washis--most completely had the fiend triumphed. At his own suggestion,the being to whom his very soul was linked had given herself up to thepower of the seducer. The following words were written in pencil on theoutside:--
'She's mine, willingly mine, thanks to thy kindly help. Physician, cure thyself--now '_Learn to forgive_.'
"GERALD."
It having been shown that Gerald's diabolical scheme, so far as theabduction went, was carried out with entire success, pass we now amonth. Gerald has established himself in the capital, having providedMary with an elegant suite of apartments, under the same roof withhimself, although not immediately adjoining. His behavior to her wasstudiously kind, tempered with thorough respect; hoping by such meansslowly and insidiously to reach his aim through the medium of her ownaffection.
Poor Mary herself hardly dared to think; for her temperament was ofthat soft and womanly nature, which rendered it impossible for her tocontend energetically against the assaults of the world--that mostbeautiful of all female characteristics, which is content to look up toand to reverence, yearning for some natural support and protection, andclinging to it when discovered with an enduring tenacity, only to befound in such a woman's love.
To all her inquiries concerning Frank, Gerald answered evasively, butto her satisfaction; still treating her with the greatest possible showof reserve and kindness, his manner imperceptibly increasing in fervorday by day--letting it be inferred more by his looks than words thatshe was dearer to him than he dared to acknowledge. The consequence ofthis specious manoeuvering began gradually to make itself evident inthe state of Mary's feelings. Now she involuntary hoped for hiscoming--seriously deploring his departure; his fiend-like intent was ina fair way to be completed, when his own impetuosity destroyed the vilefabric. Encouraged by her quiet, passive manner, he venturedprematurely to unfold his guilty purpose. Who can describe the terriblerevulsion of feeling which took place in Mary's soul when the fullcertainty of his guilty design was made apparent? With a mighty effortshe checked the burning flood of passion which swelled up from herheart, and subduing herself into perfect calmness, listened to hisinfamous proposal. A deep hectic glow on each cheek, and a slightdifficulty in respiration only evidencing her intense emotion. Whatmore he said she knew not--heard not--for while he was pouring forthsome wild rhapsody she was in deep communion with her soul. Construingher submissive silence advantageously to himself, he quitted theapartment. The instant he left her presence, the pent up current of herfeelings burst all bounds. She flung herself upon her knees and wept aprayer of agony--the helpless, almost hopeless appeal of innocencewithin the very grasp of vice; kissing her mother's gift, the GospelCharm, she bathed it in tears, imploring it to save her from thisdreadful crisis. This outpouring of her spirit calmed and soothed her,for in her extremity there came a thought of safety. To think was toresolve, and ere many moments had elapsed, with a firm reliance on thehelp of a merciful Providence, Mary quitted the house. It was nearlymidnight--dark and bitterly cold--yet she cared not for thedarkness--felt not the chilling blast; unknown and friendless, she knewnot where to go, but wandered street after street, satisfied that shewas away from him who had so cruelly insulted her. Hurrying on, sheknew not whither, she suddenly came in contact with a well-known form;recoiling a step or two, they gazed on each other for an instant. 'Twasthus met the brother and his sister. That chance which he had hungeredfor, week after week, had occurred at last; seizing her in a nervousgripe, Frank dragged her to the nearest lamp. "Mary," he exclaimed, ina voice trembling from suppressed passion, a wild fire flashing fromhis eyes, "are you still worthy to be called my sister?"
"Brother, I am," meekly replied Mary.
"You are not _his_ cast-away?"
"No! by my mother's dying gift."
"To a merciful God be all the praise," fervently cried Frank, as hefolded her to his heart with a thrill of rapture.
"My own blessed, sorely-tempted lamb! But where is he? Come, show mewhere to find him. He shall not escape. 'Tis no fault of his, cursehim, that you are not foul as sin; lead me to the place."
"Not now, dear Frank," touchingly exclaimed Mary. "Perhaps I may havefeared more wrong than was intended. Who is there amongst us that cansay, I have never harbored an evil design? Let us be thankful that thewicked hour is passed, and leave the punishment in _His_ power whoseprovince it is to judge the hearts of men."
"Do you forgive him?"
"From my inmost soul, and more for his sake than my own, rejoice thathis bad design is unaccomplished."
"You love him, then?" fiercely inquired Frank.
Mary was silent.
"The snake--the fiend--had you not been all angel, the specious villainwould have succeeded. Mary, I will, I must see him; if I do not give myburning thoughts an utterance, they will consume my very heart."
"Let it be to-morrow, then, dear Frank."
"Be it so. Come, dear one, I have still a home for you; a pure, thoughlowly one. Had you been guilty, tempted as you were, your brother'sarms would never have closed against you; but now your triumphantinnocence will bless with happiness our frugal meal, and make yourhumble couch a bed of flowers."
Upon the morrow Frank redeemed his word. With a heart thirsting forrevenge he sought Gerald's apartment, but did not meet there the bold,reckless libertine that he expected. Throwing himself at Frank's veryfeet, in wild but heart-uttered tones, Gerald cried:
"I know why you have come, but she has left me; know you anything ofher? Oh! for heaven's sake relieve my anxiety--you have not harmedher--upon me, wreak all your vengeance, for I deserve it, but she ispure, pure as the spotless snow. My base, black-hearted villainy hasrecoiled upon myself. I would have destroyed her, and am myselfdestroyed if she is lost to me. Say but that she is safe, and I'll coinmy very heart for her and you."
Softened, subdued by the now evident sincerity of Gerald's manner,Frank assured him of her safety.
"I thank thee, merciful heaven," fervently cried Gerald, "that one sinmore damning than the rest is spared my guilty soul. Mary, belovedMary, 'tis thy angelic virtue which has crushed the fiend-spirit thathas hitherto controlled my sense. 'Tis she, and she only can protectand guide the heart which her innocence has reclaimed."
"What do you mean, Gerald?"
"That if she will receive in marriage this guilty but repentant wretch,it may be that the destroyer shall have one victim the less. Frank,dare I to call you once more brother? Intercede for me, will you not?The happiness of my life, nay, the sole hope of my eternal soul restsnow with her."
Gerald's repentance having been proved sincere, it was not long ereMary yielded a heartful assent to his proposition, and as Frank at theholy altar delivered her over to the sweet custody of a husband, hisheart whispered to him that he was now tasting most exquisite revenge.The sacred influence of a virtuous love haloed the after lives ofGerald and Mary with content most ample, and, although her state waschanged from humility to comparative affluence, she never laid asideher mother's parting gift, but regarding it as her protection in thehour of danger, still cherished near her heart THE GOSPEL CHARM.
The Bunsby Papers (second series): Irish Echoes Page 9