MEDIATION.
--------So, begone!
We will not now be troubled with reply;
We offer fair, take it advisedly.
_King Henry IV. Part I._
It had been the purpose of Tyrrel, by rising and breakfasting early, to
avoid again meeting Mr. Touchwood, having upon his hands a matter in
which that officious gentleman's interference was likely to prove
troublesome. His character, he was aware, had been assailed at the Spa
in the most public manner, and in the most public manner he was resolved
to demand redress, conscious that whatever other important concerns had
brought him to Scotland, must necessarily be postponed to the
vindication of his honour. He was determined, for this purpose, to go
down to the rooms when the company was assembled at the breakfast hour,
and had just taken his hat to set out, when he was interrupted by Mrs.
Dods, who, announcing "a gentleman that was speering for him," ushered
into the chamber a very fashionable young man in a military surtout,
covered with silk lace and fur, and wearing a foraging-cap; a dress now
too familiar to be distinguished, but which at that time was used only
by geniuses of a superior order. The stranger was neither handsome nor
plain, but had in his appearance a good deal of pretension, and the cool
easy superiority which belongs to high breeding. On his part, he
surveyed Tyrrel; and, as his appearance differed, perhaps, from that for
which the exterior of the Cleikum Inn had prepared him, he abated
something of the air with which he had entered the room, and politely
announced himself as Captain Jekyl, of the ---- Guards, (presenting, at
the same time, his ticket.)
"He presumed he spoke to Mr. Martigny?"
"To Mr. Francis Tyrrel, sir," replied Tyrrel, drawing himself
up--"Martigny was my mother's name--I have never borne it."
"I am not here for the purpose of disputing that point, Mr. Tyrrel,
though I am not entitled to admit what my principal's information leads
him to doubt."
"Your principal, I presume, is Sir Bingo Binks?" said Tyrrel. "I have
not forgotten that there is an unfortunate affair between us."
"I have not the honour to know Sir Bingo Binks," said Captain Jekyl. "I
come on the part of the Earl of Etherington."
Tyrrel stood silent for a moment, and then said, "I am at a loss to know
what the gentleman who calls himself Earl of Etherington can have to say
to me, through the medium of such a messenger as yourself, Captain
Jekyl. I should have supposed that, considering our unhappy
relationship, and the terms on which we stand towards each other, the
lawyers were the fitter negotiators between us."
"Sir," said Captain Jekyl, "you are misunderstanding my errand. I am
come on no message of hostile import from Lord Etherington--I am aware
of the connexion betwixt you, which would render such an office
altogether contradictory to common sense and the laws of nature; and I
assure you, I would lay down my life rather than be concerned in an
affair so unnatural. I would act, if possible, as a mediator betwixt
you."
They had hitherto remained standing. Mr. Tyrrel now offered his guest a
seat; and, having assumed one himself, he broke the awkward pause which
ensued by observing, "I should be happy, after experiencing such a long
course of injustice and persecution from your friend, to learn, even at
this late period, Captain Jekyl, any thing which can make me think
better, either of him, or of his purpose towards me and towards others."
"Mr. Tyrrel," said Captain Jekyl, "you must allow me to speak with
candour. There is too great a stake betwixt your brother and you to
permit you to be friends; but I do not see it is necessary that you
should therefore be mortal enemies."
"I am not my brother's enemy, Captain Jekyl," said Tyrrel--"I have never
been so--His friend I cannot be, and he knows but too well the
insurmountable barrier which his own conduct has placed between us."
"I am aware," said Captain Jekyl, slowly and expressively, "generally,
at least, of the particulars of your unfortunate disagreement."
"If so," said Tyrrel, colouring, "you must be also aware with what
extreme pain I feel myself compelled to enter on such a subject with a
total stranger--a stranger, too, the friend and confidant of one
who----But I will not hurt your feelings, Captain Jekyl, but rather
endeavour to suppress my own. In one word, I beg to be favoured with the
import of your communication, as I am obliged to go down to the Spa this
morning, in order to put to rights some matters there which concern me
nearly."
"If you mean the cause of your absence from an appointment with Sir
Bingo Binks," said Captain Jekyl, "the matter has been already
completely explained. I pulled down the offensive placard with my own
hand, and rendered myself responsible for your honour to any one who
should presume to hold it in future doubt."
"Sir," said Tyrrel, very much surprised, "I am obliged to you for your
intention, the more so as I am ignorant how I have merited such
interference. It is not, however, quite satisfactory to me, because I am
accustomed to be the guardian of my own honour."
"An easy task, I presume, in all cases, Mr. Tyrrel," answered Jekyl,
"but peculiarly so in the present, when you will find no one so hardy as
to assail it.--My interference, indeed, would have been unjustifiably
officious, had I not been at the moment undertaking a commission
implying confidential intercourse with you. For the sake of my own
character, it became necessary to establish yours. I know the truth of
the whole affair from my friend, the Earl of Etherington, who ought to
thank Heaven so long as he lives, that saved him on that occasion from
the commission of a very great crime."
"Your friend, sir, has had, in the course of his life, much to thank
Heaven for, but more for which to ask God's forgiveness."
"I am no divine, sir," replied Captain Jekyl, with spirit; "but I have
been told that the same may be said of most men alive."
"I, at least, cannot dispute it," said Tyrrel; "but, to proceed.--Have
you found yourself at liberty, Captain Jekyl, to deliver to the public
the whole particulars of a rencontre so singular as that which took
place between your friend and me?"
"I have not, sir," said Jekyl--"I judged it a matter of great delicacy,
and which each of you had the like interest to preserve secret."
"May I beg to know, then," said Tyrrel, "how it was possible for you to
vindicate my absence from Sir Bingo's rendezvous otherwise?"
"It was only necessary, sir, to pledge my word as a gentleman and a man
of honour, characters in which I am pretty well known to the world,
that, to my certain personal knowledge, you were hurt in an affair with
a friend of mine, the further particulars of which prudence required
should be sunk into oblivion. I think no one will venture to dispute my
word, or to require more than my assurance.--If there should be any one
very hard of faith on the occasion, I shall find a way to satisfy him.
In the meanwhile, your outlawry has been rescinded in the most
honourable manner; and Sir Bingo, in consideration of his share in
giving rise to reports so injurious to you, is desirous to drop all
further proceedings in his original quarrel, and hopes the whole matter
will be forgot and forgiven on all sides."
"Upon my word, Captain Jekyl," answered Tyrrel, "you lay me under the
necessity of acknowledging obligation to you. You have cut a knot which
I should have found it very difficult to unloose; for I frankly confess,
that, while I was determined not to remain under the stigma put upon me,
I should have had great difficulty in clearing myself, without
mentioning circumstances, which, were it only for the sake of my
father's memory, should be buried in eternal oblivion. I hope your
friend feels no continued inconvenience from his hurt?"
"His lordship is nearly quite recovered," said Jekyl.
"And I trust he did me the justice to own, that, so far as my will was
concerned, I am totally guiltless of the purpose of hurting him?"
"He does you full justice in that and every thing else," replied Jekyl;
"regrets the impetuosity of his own temper, and is determined to be on
his guard against it in future."
"That," said Tyrrel, "is so far well; and now, may I ask once more, what
communication you have to make to me on the part of your friend?--Were
it from any one but him, whom I have found so uniformly false and
treacherous, your own fairness and candour would induce me to hope that
this unnatural quarrel might be in some sort ended by your mediation."
"I then proceed, sir, under more favourable auspices than I expected,"
said Captain Jekyl, "to enter on my commission.--You are about to
commence a lawsuit, Mr. Tyrrel, if fame does not wrong you, for the
purpose of depriving your brother of his estate and title."
"The case is not fairly stated, Captain Jekyl," replied Tyrrel; "I
commence a lawsuit, when I do commence it, for the sake of ascertaining
my own just rights."
"It comes to the same thing eventually," said the mediator; "I am not
called upon to decide upon the justice of your claims, but they are, you
will allow, newly started. The late Countess of Etherington died in
possession--open and undoubted possession--of her rank in society."
"If she had no real claim to it, sir," replied Tyrrel, "she had more
than justice who enjoyed it so long; and the injured lady whose claims
were postponed, had just so much less.--But this is no point for you and
me to discuss between us--it must be tried elsewhere."
"Proofs, sir, of the strongest kind, will be necessary to overthrow a
right so well established in public opinion as that of the present
possessor of the title of Etherington."
Tyrrel took a paper from his pocketbook, and, handing it to Captain
Jekyl, only answered, "I have no thoughts of asking you to give up the
cause of your friend; but methinks the documents of which I give you a
list, may shake your opinion of it."
Captain Jekyl read, muttering to himself, "'_Certificate of marriage, by
the Rev. Zadock Kemp, chaplain to the British Embassy at Paris, between
Marie de Bellroche, Comptesse de Martigny, and the Right Honourable John
Lord Oakendale--Letters between John Earl of Etherington and his lady,
under the title of Madame de Martigny--Certificate of baptism--Declaration
of the Earl of Etherington on his death-bed._'--All this is very
well--but may I ask you, Mr. Tyrrel, if it is really your purpose to go
to extremity with your brother?"
"He has forgot that he is one--he has lifted his hand against my life."
"You have shed his blood--twice shed it," said Jekyl; "the world will
not ask which brother gave the offence, but which received, which
inflicted, the severest wound."
"Your friend has inflicted one on me, sir," said Tyrrel, "that will
bleed while I have the power of memory."
"I understand you, sir," said Captain Jekyl; "you mean the affair of
Miss Mowbray?"
"Spare me on that subject, sir!" said Tyrrel. "Hitherto I have disputed
my most important rights--rights which involved my rank in society, my
fortune, the honour of my mother--with something like composure; but do
not say more on the topic you have touched upon, unless you would have
before you a madman!--Is it possible for you, sir, to have heard even
the outline of this story, and to imagine that I can ever reflect on the
cold-blooded and most inhuman stratagem, which this friend of yours
prepared for two unfortunates, without"--He started up, and walked
impetuously to and fro. "Since the Fiend himself interrupted the
happiness of perfect innocence, there was never such an act of
treachery--never such schemes of happiness destroyed--never such
inevitable misery prepared for two wretches who had the idiocy to repose
perfect confidence in him!--Had there been passion in his conduct, it
had been the act of a man--a wicked man, indeed, but still a human
creature, acting under the influence of human feelings--but his was the
deed of a calm, cold, calculating demon, actuated by the basest and most
sordid motives of self-interest, joined, as I firmly believe, to an
early and inveterate hatred of one whose claims he considered as at
variance with his own."
"I am sorry to see you in such a temper," said Captain Jekyl, calmly;
"Lord Etherington, I trust, acted on very different motives than those
you impute to him; and if you will but listen to me, perhaps something
may be struck out which may accommodate these unhappy disputes."
"Sir," said Tyrrel, sitting down again, "I will listen to you with
calmness, as I would remain calm under the probe of a surgeon tenting a
festered wound. But when you touch me to the quick, when you prick the
very nerve, you cannot expect me to endure without wincing."
"I will endeavour, then, to be as brief in the operation as I can,"
replied Captain Jekyl, who possessed the advantage of the most admirable
composure during the whole conference. "I conclude, Mr. Tyrrel, that the
peace, happiness, and honour of Miss Mowbray, are dear to you?"
"Who dare impeach her honour!" said Tyrrel, fiercely; then checking
himself, added, in a more moderate tone, but one of deep feeling, "they
are dear to me, sir, as my eyesight."
"My friend holds them in equal regard," said the Captain; "and has come
to the resolution of doing her the most ample justice."
"He can do her justice no otherwise, than by ceasing to haunt this
neighbourhood, to think, to speak, even to dream of her."
"Lord Etherington thinks otherwise," said Captain Jekyl; "he believes
that if Miss Mowbray has sustained any wrong at his hands, which, of
course, I am not called upon to admit, it will be best repaired by the
offer to share with her his title, his rank, and his fortune."
"His title, rank, and fortune, sir, are as much a falsehood as he is
himself," said Tyrrel, with violence--"Marry Clara Mowbray? never!"
"My friend's fortune, you will observe," replied Jekyl, "does not rest
entirely upon the event of the lawsuit with which you, Mr. Tyrrel, now
threaten him.--Deprive him, if you can, of the Oakendale estate, he has
still a large patrimony by his mother; and besides, as to his marriage
with Clara Mowbray, he conceives, that unless it should be the lady's
wish to have the ceremony repeated to which he is most desirous to defer
his own opinion, they have only to declare that it has already passed
between them."
"A trick, sir!" said Tyrrel, "a vile infamous trick! of which the lowest
wretch in Newgate would be ashamed--the imposition of one person for
another."
"Of that, Mr. Tyrrel, I have seen no evidence whatever. The clergyman's
certificate is clear--Francis Tyrrel is united to Clara Mowbray in the
holy bands of wedlock--such is the tenor--there is a copy--nay, stop one
instant, if you please, sir. You say there was an imposition in the
case--I have no doubt but you speak what you believe, and what Miss
Mowbray told you. She was surprised--forced in some measure from the
husband she had just married--ashamed to meet her former lover, to whom,
doubtless, she had made many a vow of love, and ne'er a true one--what
wonder that, unsupported by her bridegroom, she should have changed her
tone, and thrown all the blame of her own inconstancy on the absent
swain?--A woman, at a pinch so critical, will make the most improbable
excuse, rather than be found guilty on her own confession."
"There must be no jesting in this case," said Tyrrel, his cheek becoming
pale, and his voice altered with passion.
"I am quite serious, sir," replied Jekyl; "and there is no law court in
Britain that would take the lady's word--all she has to offer, and that
in her own cause--against a whole body of evidence direct and
circumstantial, showing that she was by her own free consent married to
the gentleman who now claims her hand.--Forgive me, sir--I see you are
much agitated--I do not mean to dispute your right of believing what you
think is most credible--I only use the freedom of pointing out to you
the impression which the evidence is likely to make on the minds of
indifferent persons."
"Your friend," answered Tyrrel, affecting a composure, which, however,
he was far from possessing, "may think by such arguments to screen his
villainy; but it cannot avail him--the truth is known to Heaven--it is
known to me--and there is, besides, one indifferent witness upon earth,
who can testify that the most abominable imposition was practised on
Miss Mowbray."
"You mean her cousin,--Hannah Irwin, I think, is her name," answered
Jekyl; "you see I am fully acquainted with all the circumstances of the
case. But where is Hannah Irwin to be found?"
"She will appear, doubtless, in Heaven's good time, and to the confusion
of him who now imagines the only witness of his treachery--the only one
who could tell the truth of this complicated mystery--either no longer
lives, or, at least, cannot be brought forward against him, to the ruin
of his schemes. Yes, sir, that slight observation of yours has more than
explained to me why your friend, or, to call him by his true name, Mr.
Valentine Bulmer, has not commenced his machinations sooner, and also
why he has commenced them now. He thinks himself certain that Hannah
Irwin is not now in Britain, or to be produced in a court of justice--he
may find himself mistaken."
"My friend seems perfectly confident of the issue of his cause,"
answered Jekyl; "but for the lady's sake, he is most unwilling to
prosecute a suit which must be attended with so many circumstances of
painful exposure."
"Exposure, indeed!" answered Tyrrel; "thanks to the traitor who laid a
mine so fearful, and who now affects to be reluctant to fire it.--Oh!
how I am bound to curse that affinity that restrains my hands! I would
be content to be the meanest and vilest of society, for one hour of
vengeance on this unexampled hypocrite!--One thing is certain, sir--your
friend will have no living victim. His persecution will kill Clara
Mowbray, and fill up the cup of his crimes, with the murder of one of
the sweetest----I shall grow a woman, if I say more on the subject!"
"My friend," said Jekyl, "since you like best to have him so defined, is
as desirous as you can be to spare the lady's feelings; and with that
view, not reverting to former passages, he has laid before her brother a
proposal of alliance, with which Mr. Mowbray is highly pleased."
"Ha!" said Tyrrel, starting--"And the lady?"--
"And the lady so far proved favourable, as to consent that Lord
Etherington shall visit Shaws-Castle."
"Her consent must have been extorted!" exclaimed Tyrrel.
"It was given voluntarily," said Jekyl, "as I am led to understand;
unless, perhaps, in so far as the desire to veil these very unpleasing
transactions may have operated, I think naturally enough, to induce her
to sink them in eternal secrecy, by accepting Lord Etherington's
hand.--I see, sir, I give you pain, and am sorry for it.--I have no
title to call upon you for any exertion of generosity; but, should such
be Miss Mowbray's sentiments, is it too much to expect of you, that you
will not compromise the lady's honour by insisting upon former claims,
and opening up disreputable transactions so long past?"
"Captain Jekyl," said Tyrrel, solemnly, "I have no claims. Whatever I
might have had, were cancelled by the act of treachery through which
your friend endeavoured too successfully to supplant me. Were Clara
Mowbray as free from her pretended marriage as law could pronounce her,
still with me--_me_, at least, of all men in the world--the obstacle
must ever remain, that the nuptial benediction has been pronounced over
her, and the man whom I must for once call _brother_."--He stopped at
that word, as if it had cost him agony to pronounce it, and then
resumed:--"No, sir, I have no views of personal advantage in this
matter--they have been long annihilated--But I will not permit Clara
Mowbray to become the wife of a villain--I will watch over her with
thoughts as spotless as those of her guardian angel. I first persuaded
her to quit the path of duty[II-B]--I, of all men who live, am bound to
protect her from the misery--from the guilt--which must attach to her as
this man's wife. I will never believe that she wishes it--I will never
believe, that in calm mind and sober reason, she can be brought to
listen to such a guilty proposal.--But her mind--alas!--is not of the
firm texture it once could boast; and your friend knows well how to
press on the spring of every passion that can agitate and alarm her.
Threats of exposure may extort her consent to this most unfitting
match, if they do not indeed drive her to suicide, which I think the
most likely termination. I will, therefore, be strong where she is
weak.--Your friend, sir, must at least strip his proposals of their fine
gilding. I will satisfy Mr. Mowbray of St. Ronan's of his false
pretences, both to rank and fortune; and I rather think he will protect
his sister against the claim of a needy profligate, though he might be
dazzled with the alliance of a wealthy peer."
"Your cause, sir, is not yet won," answered Jekyl; "and when it is, your
brother will retain property enough to entitle him to marry a greater
match than Miss Mowbray, besides the large estate of Nettlewood, to
which that alliance must give him right. But I would wish to make some
accommodation between you if it were possible. You profess, Mr. Tyrrel,
to lay aside all selfish wishes and views in this matter, and to look
entirely to Miss Mowbray's safety and happiness?"
"Such, upon my honour, is the exclusive purpose of my interference--I
would give all I am worth to procure her an hour of quiet--for happiness
she will never know again."
"Your anticipations of Miss Mowbray's distress," said Jekyl, "are, I
understand, founded upon the character of my friend. You think him a man
of light principle, and because he overreached you in a juvenile
intrigue, you conclude that now, in his more steady and advanced years,
the happiness of the lady in whom you are so much interested ought not
to be trusted to him?"
"There may be other grounds," said Tyrrel, hastily; "but you may argue
upon those you have named, as sufficient to warrant my interference."
"How, then, if I should propose some accommodation of this nature? Lord
Etherington does not pretend to the ardour of a passionate lover. He
lives much in the world, and has no desire to quit it. Miss Mowbray's
health is delicate--her spirits variable--and retirement would most
probably be her choice.--Suppose--I am barely putting a
supposition--suppose that a marriage between two persons so
circumstanced were rendered necessary or advantageous to both--suppose
that such a marriage were to secure to one party a large estate--were to
insure the other against all the consequences of an unpleasant
exposure--still, both ends might be obtained by the mere ceremony of
marriage passing between them. There might be a previous contract of
separation, with suitable provisions for the lady, and stipulations, by
which the husband should renounce all claim to her society. Such things
happen every season, if not on the very marriage day, yet before the
honeymoon is over.--Wealth and freedom would be the lady's, and as much
rank as you, sir, supposing your claims just, may think proper to leave
them."
There was a long pause, during which Tyrrel underwent many changes of
countenance, which Jekyl watched carefully, without pressing him for an
answer. At length he replied, "There is much in your proposal, Captain
Jekyl, which I might be tempted to accede to, as one manner of unloosing
this Gordian knot, and a compromise by which Miss Mowbray's future
tranquillity would be in some degree provided for. But I would rather
trust a fanged adder than your friend, unless I saw him fettered by the
strongest ties of interest. Besides, I am certain the unhappy lady could
never survive the being connected with him in this manner, though but
for the single moment when they should appear together at the altar.
There are other objections"----
He checked himself, paused, and then proceeded in a calm and
self-possessed tone. "You think, perhaps, even yet, that I have some
selfish and interested views in this business; and probably you may feel
yourself entitled to entertain the same suspicion towards me, which I
avowedly harbour respecting every proposition which originates with your
friend.--I cannot help it--I can but meet these disadvantageous
impressions with plain dealing and honesty; and it is in the spirit of
both that _I_ make a proposition to _you_.--Your friend is attached to
rank, fortune, and worldly advantages, in the usual proportion, at
least, in which they are pursued by men of the world--this you must
admit, and I will not offend you by supposing more."
"I know few people who do not desire such advantages," answered Captain
Jekyl; "and I frankly own, that he affects no particular degree of
philosophic indifference respecting them."
"Be it so," answered Tyrrel. "Indeed, the proposal you have just made
indicates that his pretended claim on this young lady's hand is
entirely, or almost entirely, dictated by motives of interest, since you
are of opinion that he would be contented to separate from her society
on the very marriage day, provided that, in doing so, he was assured of
the Nettlewood property."
"My proposition was unauthorized by my principal," answered Jekyl; "but
it is needless to deny, that its very tenor implies an idea, on my part,
that Lord Etherington is no passionate lover."
"Well then," answered Tyrrel. "Consider, sir, and let him consider well,
that the estate and rank he now assumes, depend upon my will and
pleasure--that, if I prosecute the claims of which that scroll makes you
aware, he must descend from the rank of an earl into that of a commoner,
stripped of by much the better half of his fortune--a diminution which
would be far from compensated by the estate of Nettlewood, even if he
could obtain it, which could only be by means of a lawsuit, precarious
in the issue, and most dishonourable in its very essence."
"Well, sir," replied Jekyl, "I perceive your argument--What is your
proposal?"
"That I will abstain from prosecuting my claim on those honours and that
property--that I will leave Valentine Bulmer in possession of his
usurped title and ill-deserved wealth--that I will bind myself under the
strongest penalties never to disturb his possession of the Earldom of
Etherington and estates belonging to it--on condition that he allows the
woman, whose peace of mind he has ruined for ever, to walk through the
world in her wretchedness, undisturbed either by his marriage-suit, or
by any claim founded upon his own most treacherous conduct--in short,
that he forbear to molest Clara Mowbray, either by his presence, word,
letter, or through the intervention of a third party, and be to her in
future as if he did not exist."
"This is a singular offer," said the Captain; "may I ask if you are
serious in making it?"
"I am neither surprised nor offended at the question," said Tyrrel. "I
am a man, sir, like others, and affect no superiority to that which all
men desire the possession of--a certain consideration and station in
society. I am no romantic fool to undervalue the sacrifice I am about to
make. I renounce a rank, which is and ought to be the more valuable to
me, because it involves (he blushed as he spoke) the fame of an honoured
mother--because, in failing to claim it, I disobey the commands of a
dying father, who wished that by doing so I should declare to the world
the penitence which hurried him perhaps to the grave, and the making
which public he considered might be some atonement for his errors. From
an honoured place in the land, I descend voluntarily to become a
nameless exile; for, once certain that Clara Mowbray's peace is assured,
Britain no longer holds me.--All this I do, sir, not in any idle strain
of overheated feeling, but seeing, and knowing, and dearly valuing,
every advantage which I renounce--yet I do it, and do it willingly,
rather than be the cause of farther evil to one, on whom I have already
brought too--too much."
His voice, in spite of his exertions, faltered as he concluded the
sentence, and a big drop which rose to his eye, required him for the
moment to turn towards the window.
"I am ashamed of this childishness," he said, turning again to Captain
Jekyl; "if it excites your ridicule, sir, let it be at least a proof of
my sincerity."
"I am far from entertaining such sentiments," said Jekyl,
respectfully--for, in a long train of fashionable follies, his heart had
not been utterly hardened--"very far, indeed. To a proposal so singular
as yours, I cannot be expected to answer--except thus far--the character
of the peerage is, I believe, indelible, and cannot be resigned or
assumed at pleasure. If you are really Earl of Etherington, I cannot see
how your resigning the right may avail my friend."
"You, sir, it might not avail," said Tyrrel, gravely, "because you,
perhaps, might scorn to exercise a right, or hold a title, that was not
legally yours. But your friend will have no such compunctious visitings.
If he can act the Earl to the eye of the world, he has already shown
that his honour and conscience will be easily satisfied."
"May I take a copy of the memorandum containing this list of documents,"
said Captain Jekyl, "for the information of my constituent?"
"The paper is at your pleasure, sir," replied Tyrrel; "it is itself but
a copy.--But Captain Jekyl," he added, with a sarcastic expression, "is,
it would seem, but imperfectly let into his friend's confidence--he may
be assured his principal is completely acquainted with the contents of
this paper, and has accurate copies of the deeds to which it refers."
"I think it scarce possible," said Jekyl, angrily.
"Possible and certain!" answered Tyrrel. "My father, shortly preceding
his death, sent me--with a most affecting confession of his errors--this
list of papers, and acquainted me that he had made a similar
communication to your friend. That he did so I have no doubt, however
Mr. Bulmer may have thought proper to disguise the circumstance in
communication with you. One circumstance, among others, stamps at once
his character, and confirms me of the danger he apprehended by my return
to Britain. He found means, through a scoundrelly agent, who had made me
the usual remittances from my father while alive, to withhold those
which were necessary for my return from the Levant, and I was obliged
to borrow from a friend."
"Indeed?" replied Jekyl. "It is the first time I have heard of these
papers--May I enquire where the originals are, and in whose custody?"
"I was in the East," answered Tyrrel, "during my father's last illness,
and these papers were by him deposited with a respectable commercial
house, with which he was connected. They were enclosed in a cover
directed to me, and that again in an envelope, addressed to the
principal person in their firm."
"You must be sensible," said Captain Jekyl, "that I can scarcely decide
on the extraordinary offer which you have been pleased to make, of
resigning the claim founded on these documents, unless I had a previous
opportunity of examining them."
"You shall have that opportunity--I will write to have them sent down by
the post--they lie but in small compass."
"This, then," said the Captain, "sums up all that can be said at
present.--Supposing these proofs to be of unexceptionable authenticity,
I certainly would advise my friend Etherington to put to sleep a claim
so important as yours, even at the expense of resigning his matrimonial
speculation--I presume you design to abide by your offer?"
"I am not in the habit of altering my mind--still less of retracting my
word," said Tyrrel, somewhat haughtily.
"We part friends, I hope?" said Jekyl, rising, and taking his leave.
"Not enemies certainly, Captain Jekyl. I will own to you I owe you my
thanks, for extricating me from that foolish affair at the Well--nothing
could have put me to more inconvenience than the necessity of following
to extremity a frivolous quarrel at the present moment."
"You will come down among us, then?" said Jekyl.
"I certainly shall not wish to appear to hide myself," answered Tyrrel;
"it is a circumstance might be turned against me--there is a party who
will avail himself of every advantage. I have but one path, Captain
Jekyl--that of truth and honour."
Captain Jekyl bowed, and took his leave. So soon as he was gone, Tyrrel
locked the door of the apartment, and drawing from his bosom a portrait,
gazed on it with a mixture of sorrow and tenderness, until the tears
dropped from his eye.
It was the picture of Clara Mowbray, such as he had known her in the
days of their youthful love, and taken by himself, whose early turn for
painting had already developed itself. The features of the blooming girl
might be yet traced in the fine countenance of the more matured
original. But what was now become of the glow which had shaded her
cheek?--what of the arch, yet subdued pleasantry, which lurked in the
eye?--what of the joyous content, which composed every feature to the
expression of an Euphrosyne?--Alas! these were long fled!--Sorrow had
laid his hand upon her--the purple light of youth was quenched--the
glance of innocent gaiety was exchanged for looks now moody with
ill-concealed care, now animated by a spirit of reckless and satirical
observation.
"What a wreck! what a wreck!" exclaimed Tyrrel; "and all of one wretch's
making.--Can I put the last hand to the work, and be her murderer
outright? I cannot--I cannot!--I will be strong in the resolve I have
formed--I will sacrifice all--rank--station--fortune--and fame.
Revenge!--Revenge itself, the last good left me--revenge itself I will
sacrifice, to obtain for her such tranquillity as she may be yet capable
to enjoy."
In this resolution he sat down, and wrote a letter to the commercial
house with whom the documents of his birth, and other relative papers,
were deposited, requesting that the packet containing them should be
forwarded to him through the post-office.
Tyrrel was neither unambitious, nor without those sentiments respecting
personal consideration, which are usually united with deep feeling and
an ardent mind. It was with a trembling hand, and a watery eye, but with
a heart firmly resolved, that he sealed and dispatched the letter; a
step towards the resignation, in favour of his mortal enemy, of that
rank and condition in life, which was his own by right of inheritance,
but had so long hung in doubt betwixt them.