CHAPTER V. HOUSEHOLD TREASON.
The Provencal took the letter from his son's hand, and looked at himwith an approbation half-complacent, half-ironical. "Mon fils!" said he,patting the boy's head gently, "why should we not be friends? We wanteach other; we have the strong world to fight against."
"Not if you are master of this place."
"Well answered,--no; then we shall have the strong world on our side,and shall have only rogues and the poor to make war upon." Then, with aquiet gesture, he dismissed his son, and gazed slowly on the letter.His pulse, which was usually low, quickened, and his lips were tightlycompressed; he shrank from the contents with a jealous pang; as alight quivers strugglingly in a noxious vault, love descended into thathideous breast, gleamed upon dreary horrors, and warred with the noxiousatmosphere: but it shone still. To this dangerous man, every art thatgives power to the household traitor was familiar: he had no fear thatthe violated seals should betray the fraud which gave the contents tothe eye that, at length, steadily fell upon the following lines:--
DEAREST, AND EVER DEAREST,--Where art thou at this moment? What arethy thoughts,--are they upon me? I write this at the dead of night. Ipicture you to myself as my hand glides over the paper. I think I seeyou, as you look on these words, and envy them the gaze of those darkeyes. Press your lips to the paper. Do you feel the kiss that I leavethere? Well, well! it will not be for long now that we shall be divided.Oh, what joy, when I think that I am about to see you! Two days more,at most three, and we shall meet, shall we not? I am going to see mysister. I subjoin my address. Come, come, come; I thirst to see you oncemore. And I did well to say, "Wait, and be patient;" we shall not waitlong: before the year is out I shall be free. My uncle has had anotherand more deadly attack. I see its trace in his face, in his step, in hiswhole form and bearing. The only obstacle between us is fading away.Can I grieve when I think it,--grieve when life with you spreads smilingbeyond the old man's grave? And why should age, that has survived allpassion, stand with its chilling frown, and the miserable prejudices theworld has not conquered, but strengthened into a creed,--why shouldage stand between youth and youth? I feel your mild eyes rebuke me asI write. But chide me not that on earth I see only you. And it will bemine to give you wealth and rank! Mine to see the homage of my own heartreflected from the crowd who bow, not to the statue, but the pedestal.Oh, how I shall enjoy your revenge upon the proud! For I have drawnno pastoral scenes in my picture of the future. No; I see you leadingsenates, and duping fools. I shall be by your side, your partner, stepafter step, as you mount the height, for I am ambitious, you know,William; and not less because I love,--rather ten thousand times moreso. I would not have you born great and noble, for what then could welook to,--what use all my schemes, and my plans, and aspirings? Fortune,accident, would have taken from us the great zest of life, which isdesire.
When I see you, I shall tell you that I have some fears of OlivierDalibard; he has evidently some wily project in view. He, who neverinterfered before with the blundering physician, now thrusts him aside,affects to have saved the old man, attends him always. Dares he think towin an influence, to turn against me,--against us? Happily, when I shallcome back, my uncle will probably be restored to the false strengthwhich deceives him; he will have less need of Dalibard; and then--thenlet the Frenchman beware! I have already a plot to turn his schemesto his own banishment. Come to Southampton, then, as soon as youcan,--perhaps the day you receive this; on Wednesday, at farthest. Yourlast letter implies blame of my policy with respect to Vernon. Again Isay, it is necessary to amuse my uncle to the last. Before Vernon canadvance a claim, there will be weeping at Laughton. I shall weep, too,perhaps; but there will be joy in those tears, as well as sorrow,--forthen, when I clasp thy hand, I can murmur, "It is mine at last, andforever!"
Adieu! No, not adieu,--to our meeting, my lover, my beloved! ThyLUCRETIA.
An hour after Miss Clavering had departed on her visit, Dalibardreturned the letter to his son, the seal seemingly unbroken, and badehim replace it in the hollow of the tree, but sufficiently in sight tobetray itself to the first that entered. He then communicated the planhe had formed for its detection,--a plan which would prevent Lucretiaever suspecting the agency of his son or himself; and this done, hejoined Sir Miles in the gallery. Hitherto, in addition to his otherapprehensions in revealing to the baronet Lucretia's clandestineintimacy with Mainwaring, Dalibard had shrunk from the thought thatthe disclosure would lose her the heritage which had first tempted hisavarice or ambition; but now his jealous and his vindictive passionswere aroused, and his whole plan of strategy was changed. He must crushLucretia, or she would crush him, as her threats declared. To ruin herin Sir Miles's eyes, to expel her from his house, might not, after all,weaken his own position, even with regard to power over herself. Ifhe remained firmly established at Laughton, he could affectintercession,--he could delay, at least, any precipitate union withMainwaring, by practising on the ambition which he still saw at workbeneath her love; he might become a necessary ally; and then--why, then,his ironical smile glanced across his lips. But beyond this, his quickeye saw fair prospects to self-interest: Lucretia banished; the heritagenot hers; the will to be altered; Dalibard esteemed indispensable to thelife of the baronet. Come, there was hope here,--not for the heritage,indeed, but at least for a munificent bequest.
At noon, some visitors, bringing strangers from London whom SirMiles had invited to see the house (which was one of the lions of theneighbourhood, though not professedly a show-place), were expected.Aware of this, Dalibard prayed the baronet to rest quiet till hiscompany arrived, and then he said carelessly,--
"It will be a healthful diversion to your spirits to accompany them alittle in the park; you can go in your garden-chair; you will have newcompanions to talk with by the way; and it is always warm and sunny atthe slope of the hill, towards the bottom of the park."
Sir Miles assented cheerfully; the guests came, strolled over the house,admired the pictures and the armour and the hall and the staircase,paid due respect to the substantial old-fashioned luncheon, andthen, refreshed, and in great good-humour, acquiesced in Sir Miles'sproposition to saunter through the park.
The poor baronet was more lively than usual. The younger peopleclustered gayly round his chair (which was wheeled by his valet),smiling at his jests and charmed with his courteous high-breeding.A little in the rear walked Gabriel, paying special attention to theprettiest and merriest girl of the company, who was a great favouritewith Sir Miles,--perhaps for those reasons.
"What a delightful old gentleman!" said the young lady. "How I envy MissClavering such an uncle!"
"Ah, but you are a little out of favour to-day, I can tell you," saidGabriel, laughingly; "you were close by Sir Miles when we went throughthe picture-gallery, and you never asked him the history of the oldknight in the buff doublet and blue sash."
"Dear me, what of that?"
"Why, that was brave Colonel Guy St. John, the Cavalier, the pride andboast of Sir Miles; you know his weakness. He looked so displeased whenyou said, 'What a droll-looking figure!' I was on thorns for you!"
"What a pity! I would not offend dear Sir Miles for the world."
"Well, it's easy to make it up with him. Go and tell him that he musttake you to see Guy's Oak, in the dell; that you have heard so muchabout it; and when you get him on his hobby, it is hard if you can'tmake your peace."
"Oh, I'll certainly do it, Master Varney;" and the young lady lost notime in obeying the hint. Gabriel had set other tongues on the samecry, so that there was a general exclamation when the girl named thesubject,--"Oh, Guy's Oak, by all means!"
Much pleased with the enthusiasm this memorial of his pet ancestorproduced, Sir Miles led the way to the dell, and pausing as he reachedthe verge, said,--
"I fear I cannot do you the honours; it is too steep for my chair todescend safely."
Gabriel whispered the fair companion whose side he still kept to.
"Now, my dear Sir Miles," c
ried the girl, "I positively won't stirwithout you; I am sure we could get down the chair without a jolt. Lookthere, how nicely the ground slopes! Jane, Lucy, my dears, let us takecharge of Sir Miles. Now, then."
The gallant old gentleman would have marched to the breach in suchguidance; he kissed the fair hands that lay so temptingly on his chair,and then, rising with some difficulty, said,--
"No, my dears, you have made me so young again that I think I can walkdown the steep with the best of you."
So, leaning partly on his valet, and by the help of the hands extendedto him, step after step, Sir Miles, with well-disguised effort, reachedthe huge roots of the oak.
"The hollow then was much smaller," said he, "so he was not so easilydetected as a man would be now, the damned crop-ears--I beg pardon, mydears; the rascally rebels--poked their swords through the fissure, andtwo went, one through his jerkin, one through his arm; but he took carenot to swear at the liberty, and they went away, not suspecting him."
While thus speaking, the young people were already playfully strugglingwhich should first enter the oak. Two got precedence, and went in andout, one after the other. Gabriel breathed hard. "The blind owlets!"thought he; "and I put the letter where a mole would have seen it!"
"You know the spell when you enter an oak-tree where the fairies havebeen," he whispered to the fair object of his notice. "You must turnround three times, look carefully on the ground, and you will see theface you love best. If I was but a little older, how I should pray--"
"Nonsense!" said the girl, blushing, as she now slid through the crowd,and went timidly in; presently she uttered a little exclamation.
The gallant Sir Miles stooped down to see what was the matter, andoffering his hand as she came out, was startled to see her holding aletter.
"Only think what I have found!" said the girl. "What a strange place fora post-office! Bless me! It is directed to Mr. Mainwaring!"
"Mr. Mainwaring!" cried three or four voices; but the baronet's wasmute. His eye recognized Lucretia's hand; his tongue clove to the roofof his mouth; the blood surged, like a sea, in his temples; his facebecame purple. Suddenly Gabriel, peeping over the girl's shoulder,snatched away the letter.
"It is my letter,--it is mine! What a shame in Mainwaring not to havecome for it as he promised!"
Sir Miles looked round and breathed more freely.
"Yours, Master Varney!" said the young lady, astonished. "What can makeyour letters to Mr. Mainwaring such a secret?"
"Oh! you'll laugh at me; but--but--I wrote a poem on Guy's Oak, and Mr.Mainwaring promised to get it into the county paper for me; and as hewas to pass close by the park pales, through the wood yonder, on his wayto D---- last Saturday, we agreed that I should leave it here; but hehas forgotten his promise, I see."
Sir Miles grasped the boy's arm with a convulsive pressure of gratitude.There was a general cry for Gabriel to read his poem on the spot; butthe boy looked sheepish, and hung down his head, and seemed rather moredisposed to cry than to recite. Sir Miles, with an effort at simulationthat all his long practice of the world never could have nerved himto, unexcited by a motive less strong than the honour of his blood andhouse, came to the relief of the young wit that had just come to hisown.
"Nay," he said, almost calmly, "I know our young poet is too shy tooblige you. I will take charge of your verses, Master Gabriel;" and witha grave air of command, he took the letter from the boy and placed it inhis pocket.
The return to the house was less gay than the visit to the oak. Thebaronet himself made a feverish effort to appear blithe and debonair asbefore; but it was not successful. Fortunately, the carriages were allat the door as they reached the house, and luncheon being over, nothingdelayed the parting compliments of the guests. As the last carriagedrove away, Sir Miles beckoned to Gabriel, and bade him follow him intohis room.
When there, he dismissed his valet and said,--
"You know, then, who wrote this letter. Have you been in the secretof the correspondence? Speak the truth, my dear boy; it shall cost younothing."
"Oh, Sir Miles!" cried Gabriel, earnestly, "I know nothing whateverbeyond this,--that I saw the hand of my dear, kind Miss Lucretia; thatI felt, I hardly knew why, that both you and she would not have thosepeople discover it, which they would if the letter had been circulatedfrom one to the other, for some one would have known the hand as wellas myself, and therefore I spoke, without thinking, the first thing thatcame into my head."
"You--you have obliged me and my niece, sir," said the baronet,tremulously; and then, with a forced and sickly smile, he added: "Somefoolish vagary of Lucretia, I suppose; I must scold her for it. Saynothing about it, however, to any one."
"Oh, no, sir!"
"Good-by, my dear Gabriel!"
"And that boy saved the honour of my niece's name,--my mother'sgrandchild! O God! this is bitter,--in my old age too!"
He bowed his head over his hands, and tears forced themselves throughhis fingers. He was long before he had courage to read the letter,though he little foreboded all the shock that it would give him. It wasthe first letter, not destined to himself, of which he had ever brokenthe seal. Even that recollection made the honourable old man pause; buthis duty was plain and evident, as head of the house and guardian to hisniece. Thrice he wiped his spectacles; still they were dim, still thetears would come. He rose tremblingly, walked to the window, and sawthe stately deer grouped in the distance, saw the church spire that roseabove the burial vault of his ancestors, and his heart sank deeper anddeeper as he muttered: "Vain pride! pride!" Then he crept to the doorand locked it, and at last, seating himself firmly, as a wounded man tosome terrible operation, he read the letter.
Heaven support thee, old man! thou hast to pass through the bitteresttrial which honour and affection can undergo,--household treason. Whenthe wife lifts high the blushless front and brazens out her guilt; whenthe child, with loud voice, throws off all control and makes boast ofdisobedience,--man revolts at the audacity; his spirit arms againsthis wrong: its face, at least, is bare; the blow, if sacrilegious, isdirect. But when mild words and soft kisses conceal the worst foe Fatecan arm; when amidst the confidence of the heart starts up the form ofPerfidy; when out from the reptile swells the fiend in its terror; whenthe breast on which man leaned for comfort has taken counsel to deceivehim; when he learns that, day after day, the life entwined with his ownhas been a lie and a stage-mime,--he feels not the softness of grief,nor the absorption of rage; it is mightier than grief, and morewithering than rage,--it is a horror that appalls. The heart does notbleed, the tears do not flow, as in woes to which humanity is commonlysubjected; it is as if something that violates the course of naturehad taken place,--something monstrous and out of all thought andforewarning; for the domestic traitor is a being apart from the orbit ofcriminals: the felon has no fear of his innocent children; with a priceon his head, he lays it in safety on the bosom of his wife. In his home,the ablest man, the most subtle and suspecting, can be as much a dupe asthe simplest. Were it not so as the rule, and the exceptions most rare,this world were the riot of a hell!
And therefore it is that to the household perfidy, in all lands, in allages, God's curse seems to cleave, and to God's curse man abandons it;he does not honour it by hate, still less will he lighten and sharethe guilt by descending to revenge. He turns aside with a sicknessand loathing, and leaves Nature to purify from the earth the ghastlyphenomenon she abhors.
Old man, that she wilfully deceived thee, that she abused thy beliefand denied to thy question and profaned maidenhood to stealth,--all thismight have galled thee; but to these wrongs old men are subjected,--theygive mirth to our farces; maid and lover are privileged impostors. Butto have counted the sands in thine hour-glass, to have sat by thy side,marvelling when the worms should have thee, and looked smiling onthy face for the signs of the death-writ--Die quick, old man; theexecutioner hungers for the fee!
There were no tears in those eyes when they came to the close; theletter fell noi
selessly to the floor, and the head sank on the breast,and the hands drooped upon the poor crippled limbs, whose crawl in thesunshine hard youth had grudged. He felt humbled, stunned, crushed; thepride was clean gone from him; the cruel words struck home. Worse than acipher, did he then but cumber the earth? At that moment old Ponto, thesetter, shook himself, looked up, and laid his head in his master's lap;and Dash, jealous, rose also, and sprang, not actively, for Dash wasold, too, upon his knees, and licked the numbed, drooping hands. Now,people praise the fidelity of dogs till the theme is worn out; butnobody knows what a dog is, unless he has been deceived by men,--then,that honest face; then, that sincere caress; then, that coaxing whinethat never lied! Well, then,--what then? A dog is long-lived if he liveto ten years,--small career this to truth and friendship! Now, when SirMiles felt that he was not deserted, and his look met those four fondeyes, fixed with that strange wistfulness which in our hours of troublethe eyes of a dog sympathizingly assume, an odd thought for a sensibleman passed into him, showing, more than pages of sombre elegy, how deepwas the sudden misanthropy that blackened the world around. "When I amdead," ran that thought, "is there one human being whom I can trust totake charge of the old man's dogs?"
So, let the scene close!
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