IX.
But Archibald had come into possession of his intelligent soul once more;or he was awake again; or the pressure of the skull upon the cerebrum hadyet another time been relieved; at all events there was now a brilliantyouth in the flesh-and-blood envelope which, an hour before, had containedonly a half-witted boy. When the first crash of the restoration was over,the new man began to accommodate himself with wonderful rapidity andkeenness to the strange environment. He knew of nothing that had happenedsince that afternoon when he spoke with Kate in the east chamber, whilethe blood oozed from the cut on his forehead; but he accepted the factswith more than a youth's resolution and stoicism. The world had beenturning round while he had been absent--somewhere! Well, then, by theforce of his will and his splendid faculties he would get on even termswith it again--and more. Injury had been done him; irreparable injury,perhaps, but which still might be avenged. He was not discouraged; hisspirit seemed to come upon life with all the freshness of a seven years'rest, and it reckoned nothing impossible.
Of course his fresh metamorphosis created plenty of comment among theneighbors; Archibald Malmaison was the most talked-of man in that part ofthe country for several weeks, the impossibility of arriving at anysatisfactory conclusion regarding his condition or conditions prolongingthe wonder so far beyond the proverbial nine days. One party werevehemently of the opinion that he was mad; another party opposed this viewwith equal energy and just as much foundation. Both sides put forwardplenty of arguments, and when they were refuted, appealed to Sir HenryRollinson, who confirmed them both with equally sagacious shakes of thehead.
But this good gentleman was now getting near the end of his days, and, infact, ceased living in the world before the close of the year. He did notdepart without leaving a successor, however, and one who bade fair to docredit to his ancestry. This was Mr. E. Forbes Rollinson, his son, who hadconcluded a course of study at Vienna and Paris, and who returned to hisnative land with the highest diplomas that continental schools could givehim. He was at this time a young man of about five and twenty, with agreat square head and a short, compact figure. The wild jungle of beardand the terribly penetrating eye-glass which distinguished him in latertimes had not then made their appearance. Well, the new Dr. Rollinson hadknown something of Archibald as a boy, and was of course much interested(apart from his friendly feelings) in so remarkable a case. His theoryupon the matter, in so far as he had formed one, did not on all pointscoincide with his father's; he belonged to a somewhat more recentschool--more critical and less dogmatic. Still, it would be hazardous toassert that young Dr. Rollinson knew exactly what was the matter withArchibald--especially as he has seen reason to modify his firstimpressions more than once during the last fifty years. It is enough toremark here that he thought the affection was of a rhythmic or regularlyrecurrent character, a notion which its previous history went far tojustify; and he consequently looked with interest to see whether thelapse of another seven years would bring about another change. To havediscovered the orbit, so to speak, of a malady, is not, indeed, to haveexplained it; but it is always something. It would be more interesting toknow what Archibald thought of himself; and were I, in this instance, anovelist dealing with a creation of my own, I might not shrink from anattempt to analyze his mental state. As it is, I can do no more than pointto the curious field of conjecture which it here afforded: the young manleft no confessions or self-analytic diaries; still less did he discusshis peculiarities with other people. With excellent good sense and nosmall courage, he accepted things as they were; he felt his individualityin no way diminished by the circumstance that it was intermittent orexchangeable; and perhaps it seemed no more strange to him than thenightly falling asleep of all mankind does to them. The one mystery isquite as strange as the other, only the sleep of seven hours is common toall, while that of seven years is probably unprecedented.
One grotesque question suggests itself--or may do so shortly--and that iswhether Archibald would be responsible in one phase of his being for acrime committed in another--for a crime, or any other act involving thewelfare or condition of other people. The analogy with sleep does not hereseem altogether satisfactory; for in ordinary sleep, or even somnambulism,we are not in active relations with our fellow-beings, and consequentlyour lawgivers have not devised a code to control our doings while in thatstate. A jury, in delivering its verdict, would be embarrassed by thereflection that although only one half of the culprit before them wasguilty, they could not give that half its just punishment without at thesame time unjustly punishing the half that was guiltless. A consistentindividuality, therefore, though often a burden and a weariness, is stillnot without its advantages.
Meanwhile an important change had taken place in the relations between thefamily of Malmaison and the Honorable Richard Pennroyal. The latterconceived himself to have been affronted by the former on the occasion ofhis marriage, and refused a reconciliation--which, to tell the truth,neither Sir Edward nor his younger brother were too anxious to force uponhim. Lady Malmaison was still for peace, but her opinion had ceased tohave much weight in the family counsels. At length matters came to a headsomewhat in the following manner.
Sir Edward Malmaison and Pennroyal happened to meet at the table of acommon friend, and after the ladies had withdrawn, Pennroyal, who hadtaken more wine than was usual with him, began to talk at Sir Edward in anunnecessarily audible and offensive tone. Sir Edward kept his temper, andmade no reply, not having as yet been personally addressed. Pennroyalafter a while came round to where he was sitting, and the two gentlemenpresently fell into conversation. Pennroyal finally declared that he hadbeen insulted by a man who retained his present title and estates solelyby his (Pennroyal's) permission and kindness. Sir Edward was constrainedto ask him what he meant. Pennroyal thereupon began to utter disparagingreflections upon the late Sir Clarence, who, he intimated, was not legallyentitled to his name. This brought on a dead silence, and all eyes wereturned upon Sir Edward, whose pale countenance became yet paler as hesaid, with his imperturbable courteousness of phrase:
"I must entreat Mr. Pennroyal not to indulge in innuendos, but to stateexplicitly whether he intends anything dishonorable to my father."
"To a man of the world a word is enough," responded the Honorable Richard,insolently. "I am not here to tutor schoolboys in the comprehension of theEnglish tongue."
"I cannot allow you to evade my question," rejoined Sir Edward, with agleam in his eye, though without an alteration in his voice. "You mustexplain what you have seen fit to insinuate before these gentlemen, oneway or the other."
Pennroyal laughed. "When you have lived a few years longer, younggentleman," said he, "you will learn to be cautious how you ask for tooexplicit information regarding the morals of your grandparents."
At this brutal remark there was a general expression of indignation amongthe hearers; but Pennroyal, in no way abashed, added, "Let him disprove itif he can. Since he provokes me to it, I affirm it--his father had noright to the title. Let him prove the contrary if he can. I didn't forceon the discussion, but I will tell young Sir Edward Malmaison, as he callshimself, that he holds property to which he has no claim, and that itdepends upon my good-will and pleasure how long he holds it."
The host--he was Francis Hastings Kent, Esq. and M. P., the same whoafterward became famous in the Corn-law controversy--here interposed, and"spoke the sense of the meeting." "Egad, Pennroyal," cried he, "you aredrunk, and you have insulted a gentleman at my table. I'll trouble you tomake him an apology. I have no doubt that Sir Edward Malmaison's titlesare just as good as yours or mine, and, begad, they sha'n't be called inquestion here at all events. I say you shall make Sir Edward an apology!"
There was only one man in the room who evinced any disagreement with thisspeech, and that one was Major Bolingbroke, a retired officer of goodfamily but of not altogether unexceptionable personal repute; he wasbelieved to have fought more duels than are usually considered desirable;and he had for some months past been a c
onstant inmate at the house of Mr.Pennroyal.
"It's no affair of mine, of course," said this gallant warrior, "if SirEdward chooses to put up with such language from a man, on the ground thathe was drunk when he used it. Only, if there's going to be an apology, Ishould advise Sir Edward to exact a very full one, and lose no time aboutit."
Sir Edward, however, rose carelessly, and said with a smile that he couldnot think of contributing any further to the unfortunate interruption ofthe social harmony; and adding that he had no doubt Mr. Pennroyal would,as soon as he had had time to recollect himself, make every explanationthat the case demanded, he bowed and left the room.
It was afterward suspected that Pennroyal's intoxication had been assumedfor the purpose of insulting the heir of Malmaison with the more impunity;and that the Major was present expressly to aid and abet him. What, then,was the object, and what the grounds, of the charge which Pennroyal made?With respect to the latter, nothing was known until later; but theimmediate result was this. Sir Edward went home, and appeared morecheerful and in better spirits than usual. He spent the next forenoon inhis chamber, apparently engaged in looking over some papers. In theafternoon he mentioned to his mother and Archibald that he should beobliged to run up to London for a few days on business, and that he muststart that evening. He had made no allusion to the affair at FrancisKent's house, and neither Archibald nor Lady Malmaison knew anything aboutit. That evening, accordingly, he bade them good-by, and departedseemingly with a light heart, bidding his brother act as his accreditedplenipotentiary while he was away, and promising his mother to bring herthe latest fashion in turbans when he returned.
He was absent five days. The Honorable Richard Pennroyal, who had happenedto be likewise called away on business at the same time, returned to hishouse some twenty-four hours before Sir Edward was brought in a carriageto Malmaison, with a bullet-hole just beneath the collar-bone. The factis, the two gentlemen had travelled to Belgium instead of to London, andhad there shot at each other in the presence of Major Bolingbroke (whogave the word) and of a friend of Sir Edward's whose name has not comedown to us. Pennroyal had escaped untouched; Sir Edward, under the care ofDr. Rollinson the younger, lay for several weeks in a critical condition;but, when the bullet had been extracted, he rallied, and was able beforelong to rise from his bed and walk about the house. But though hisstrength had improved, he appeared to be harassed in mind; he carried on aconsiderable correspondence with the family lawyers in London, and wascontinually searching for something--what, no one could tell. Whatever itwas he did not find it, and his anxiety did not diminish.
Archibald had of course asked him about the particulars of the duel, andwhat led to it; but his brother had sought to make light of the affair,saying merely that Pennroyal had been very rude, and had failed to make asuitable apology; and that the insult having been public, he was forced toresent it. In answer to Archibald's question as to the subject of hispresent correspondence with the lawyers, he replied that it related tosome old family traditions, and possessed only an antiquarian interest.Archibald accepted these answers in silence, but with entire incredulity.The brothers were fond of each other, but the strange conditions of theyounger's life had prevented their attaining really intimate andconfidential relations. Archibald was too proud either to demand furtherparticulars from Sir Edward, or to make inquiries elsewhere. Moreover,there was perhaps less need of information on his side than on that of hisbrother, had the latter but known it. Archibald had secrets of his own.
Pennroyal, meanwhile, kept quiet, waiting for the affair to blow over.Whether he had intended to kill Sir Edward, or whether he was glad thatthe duel had not resulted fatally, I cannot tell. Of course, neither henor his wife were seen again at Malmaison. The neighbors were for sometime disposed to give him the cold shoulder; but when his antagonistrecovered, and the matter had lost its first freshness, there appeared tobe little more against him than that he had committed an indiscretionwhile under the influence of liquor, and had afterward atoned for it inaccordance with a code of honor which had not, at that epoch, fallenentirely into disuse. And, after all, what business was it of theirs?Pennroyal, however objectionable in himself, owned a large property andbelonged to a good family. In short, society received the honorableprodigal in its bosom once more, and Mrs. Pennroyal reigned the undisputedtoast for a while longer.
But at the end of six or seven months a new order of events began. SirEdward, either from anxiety, or from some imprudent exposure, fell illagain, and his wound opened afresh and became inflamed. His constitutionhad never been good for much, and the chances were all against its beingable to survive this trial. Dr. Rollinson did all that could be done; butone morning Sir Edward asked to see his brother, and when the two wereleft alone together, he said:
"Well, Archie, how shall you like to be Sir Archibald?"
For a minute they looked at one another in silence.
"Do you think so?" then said the younger, frowning a little.
"I am certain of it."
"Ned, we are brothers," said Archibald.
The young men grasped hands, and Archibald half sat on the edge of the bed,looking down at the invalid, whose face was now bony in its emaciation,and his eyes sunken and bright.
"Archie, I have something to tell you."
"I feared so."
"It is not anything that you could expect. That quarrel between Richard andme was about our father. Richard said he was--that is--"
"Don't fear. Say it!"
"That his mother was not Lady Malmaison."
"He lied!"
"So I told him. But that's not the end of it, unfortunately. He defied meto prove the contrary. Ever since I first got up after the duel, I havebeen looking for the papers relating to Sir Clarence's birth. They're notto be found. There is no record that our grandmother had any son at all.On the other hand, there is indirect evidence that our grandfather had anaffair with some woman.... The amount of it is, I have not been able toestablish Sir Clarence's legitimacy. And the worst is still to tell."
"I know the rest; I know it all! Why didn't you say all this to me atfirst, brother? You have been harassing yourself with the idea thatbecause you couldn't vindicate father, Malmaison might be claimed byRichard, under that old agreement of Sir Charles's time."
"How did you know--"
"I know everything. I know where the papers are that you have been lookingfor. Set your mind at rest, Ned. Sir Clarence was the legitimate heir.There was also a son by the other woman, but he died in infancy. Ned, whyweren't you open with me? Richard has no more hold on our estates than mygroom has. Blame him! I only hope he'll think otherwise! We'll ruin himfirst and kill him afterward."
"If I had only known...." said the sick man, after a pause. "But you arecertain? You have the proof? Where did you find the papers?"
"I have them. Get well, and you shall know all about it. I have a good manycurious things to tell you, and to show you, too."
"Well, God be thanked! whatever becomes of me. It is late, Archie, but I'mbeginning to get acquainted with you at last. It is my fault that I didnot know you before. You are better fitted to bear the title than I."
"No. If I thought so, I would not deny it; but if I inherit Malmaison, ourfamily will--perish off the earth! I can foresee some things, Ned. Thehope of the house lies in you; I shall bring only calamity. You must getwell."
Again the brothers grasped hands, looked in one another's eyes for a momentor two, and then Archibald went out; the day passed, and the evening fell.At midnight he was Sir Archibald of Malmaison.
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