OWN REWARD, AND OBTAINS AN UNSATISFACTORY RESULT.
“This is kind of you, Mr. Arundel,” exclaimed Bracy, shaking him
heartily by the hand, when, in reply to his friend’s invitation, Lewis
made his appearance at his chambers by eight o’clock on the following
morning; “I like a man who will come to you at a minute’s notice. Now,
as I know your time’s short, we’ll go to work at once, and talk as we
eat. Bring the eggs and rolls, Orphy.”
“Please, sir, they ain’t none of ’em come,” responded the individual
thus addressed, who was no less a personage than the tiger “for
falsehood famed.”
“I knew he’d say that,” observed Bracy aside, with a look of exultation,
“I knew he’d say so, because I saw the man bring them five minutes ago;
sharp boy! he never loses an opportunity of lying. Perhaps they may have
arrived while you’ve been up here,” he continued blandly; “go and see,
Orphy.”
“What do you call your tiger?” inquired Lewis as the imp disappeared.
“Why, his real name is Dick Timmins,” returned Bracy; “I have taken the
trouble to ascertain that fact beyond a doubt--of course I should not
have believed it merely upon his authority--but I call him Orphy, which
is a convenient abbreviation of Orpheus, because, like that meritorious
mythical musician, he is at all times and seasons perfectly inseparable
from a _lyre!_ ‘a poor pun,’ sir, ‘but mine own.’”
“It must surely be inconvenient and troublesome to be obliged
perpetually to guard against some deception or other, to be in continual
doubt as to what has or what has not taken place in your household,”
remarked Lewis.
“Not at all, my dear Arundel, there’s the beauty of it,” returned Bracy.
“Others doubt and are perplexed, but I am never at a loss for a moment;
I know all his most intricate involutions of lying, and can track him
through a course of falsehood as a greyhound follows a hare: that boy
could not deceive me unless he were suddenly to take to telling the
truth; but there’s not the least fear of that, his principles are too
well established. Ah! _inter alia_, here he comes--do you see the pun?
pre-suppose an Irish brogue, and accent the penultimate instead of the
first syllable in the second word, and it’s not such a bad one after
all.”
When, to use the popular lyric style, the “false one had departed,”
and the gentlemen were again left _tête-à-tête_, Lewis, reminding his
companion that his time was short, hinted that it would not be amiss
if he were at once to acquaint him with the business to which he had
referred in his note.
“Ah! yes, to be sure,” replied Bracy; “it was a letter I had from Frere
yesterday which put the thing into my head. Let us see, what does he
say?” And pulling a letter from his pocket, he ran his eye down it,
reading and soliloquising somewhat after the following fashion: “Hum!
ha! ‘never take shares in an Irish railway’--thank ye, I never mean
to--‘the natives in these parts are not Cannibals, at which no one at
all particular in his eating would wonder, after seeing the state of
filth’--well, I won’t read that, it will spoil our breakfast--‘the
organic remains are coming out splendidly; I feel little doubt they must
have belonged to some antediluvian monster yet unknown to science.’ Ah!
the fossil remains of a pre-Adamite Irish bull, probably; and that’s
another, by Jove, for there would have been nobody to make it at that
time of day: there’s a P.S. about it, though--Ah! here it is--‘only
fancy, my organic remains prove to be vegetable, not animal; nothing
more or less than a new species of Irish Oaks.’ A new species of Irish
_Hoax_ rather; I wonder how he came to miss the pun--some men do throw
away their opportunities sadly; but I’m wasting your time--now then--‘in
regard to what you tell me about the Bellefield affair, I can do
nothing, not being on the spot; your best plan will be to communicate
with Lewis Arundel--he is thoroughly _au fait_ as to the whole matter;
tell him everything, and act according to his advice. You may safely
do so. I always thought his lordship a great scoundrel’ (rather strong
language!), ‘but in this case he appears more to be pitied than blamed;
I like fair-play all the world over, and would give even the devil
his due.’ There,” continued Bracy, folding up the letter, “that’s what
Richard Frere says, and I, knowing his advice to be good, am prepared to
act upon it.”
“It may be good,” returned Lewis in a tone of annoyance, “but as far as
I am concerned *it is particularly enigmatical. There are many reasons
why it is undesirable, I may say impossible, for me to interfere with
Lord Bellefield’s affairs.”
“Still, if you are the man I take you to be,” replied Bracy seriously,
“you would not wish any one to labour under an unjust imputation, from
which a word of truth can set him free. But it’s no use beating about
the bush; hear what I have to say, and then you can act or remain
neuter, as you please. Of course you read the newspaper account of that
sad business about poor Mellerton?”
Lewis replied in the affirmative, and Bracy continued, “Except in one or
two points, the statement was substantially correct, but these happen
to be rather important ones. In the first place, I should tell you that
Mellerton was an intimate friend of my own. We were great cronies at
Eton, and never lost sight of each other afterwards. I first heard
of this betting affair from an officer of high rank, who holds an
appointment by which he is necessarily a good deal behind the scenes
at the War Office. Somehow it reached his ears that Mellerton had been
betting heavily and met with severe losses, and knowing that I had some
influence with him, he wished me to give him a friendly hint, which I
accordingly did. Mellerton took it very well, poor fellow! and thanked
me for my advice, which was his invariable custom, though I can’t say he
usually acted upon it. He confessed that he had lost more money than was
convenient, and told me he had been forced to borrow, but the amount
of his losses he studiously concealed. On the morning of the day of
his death the same person sent for me again, and told me he was afraid
Mellerton had been behaving very madly, and in the strictest confidence
informed me that it was determined upon to examine into his accounts,
and that if, as he feared, they would not bear the light, his character
would be blasted for life, adding that I was at liberty to warn him of
this, and give him an opportunity, if possible, of replacing the money.
Owing to a chapter of accidents, as ill luck would have it, I was unable
to meet with Mellerton till late in the evening, when I found him in a
state of distraction, having just received officially the information
I had sought to forestall. Seeing how much I knew already, he told me
everything. I will not recapitulate the miserable details, but the
newspapers did not overstate the truth. Well, as a forlorn hope, I
suggested the appeal to Lord Bellefield’s generosity, and after much
persuasion he agreed to let me make the trial. I sprang into a hansom
cab, and drove like the wind to Ashford House. Bellefield was dining
with his sister; I followed him to Berkeley Square, and then to the
Opera-house, where I lost not a minute in explaining my business.
Well, sir, instead of rejecting the appeal, as has been reported, Lord
Belle-field appeared greatly distressed at the intelligence--jumped into
his cab, taking me with him, and as we drove down to poor Mellerton’s
lodgings, expressed his readiness to do whatever I thought best--adding
that he had £10,000 at his banker’s, which was quite at Mellerton’s
service till he could sell his Yorkshire estate. The rest of the tale
you know. The poor fellow, thinking, from my prolonged absence, that my
attempt had failed, and unable to bear the disgrace of exposure, placed
a loaded pistol in his pocket, repaired to a gaming-table, betted to the
full amount of his defalcation, lost, and blew his brains out. We got
there just as the surgeon they had sent for declared life was extinct;
and you never saw a man so cut up as Bellefield was about it. He accused
himself of being a murderer, and in fact seemed to feel the thing
nearly as much as I did myself. As soon as he had a little recovered he
volunteered to drive to Knightsbridge, to break the thing to poor Fred
Mellerton’s brother, while I did the same by his mother and sisters; and
a nice scene I had of it--I thought the old lady would have died on the
spot. But now, to come to the point, I hear that old Grant, believing
all the newspaper lies, has quarrelled with his intended son-in-law and
broken off the engagement; and that Lord Bellefield, too proud to make
any explanations, has allowed him to continue in his mistake. Is this
so?”
“I have no reason to believe your information incorrect,” was the
cautious reply.
“In that case, don’t you think it is due to Lord Bellefield to acquaint
General Grant with the truth?”
Lewis paused for a minute or two in thought ere he replied, “Certainly;
it would be most unjust to withhold it.”
“Well, I’m very glad you agree with me,” returned Bracy, rubbing his
hands with the air of a man who has escaped some disagreeable duty.
“Then I may depend upon you to set the matter right?”
“Upon me!” rejoined Lewis in surprise.
“Yes, to be sure,” was the reply; “that’s what Frere expects. You see,
it’s rather a delicate affair for a man to interfere in, particularly
one who is a complete stranger. I don’t believe I ever set eyes on
Governor Grant in my life. Now you, living in the house, can find a
hundred opportunities. There is a good deal in selecting the _mollia
tempora fandi_ with men as well as with women.”
“Then I am to understand that you have related these facts to me for the
express purpose of my communicating them to General Grant?”
“Yes, to be sure. Do you think I should have put you to the
inconvenience of coming here this morning merely for the sake of having
a gossip?”
“And suppose I were to refuse to make this communication?” continued
Lewis.
“Such a supposition never occurred to me,” replied Bracy in amazement;
“but if you were to do such an unexpected thing, matters must take their
own course. In telling you, I’ve done all that I consider I am in any
way called upon to do; if you, for any reason, deem it unadvisable to
enlighten General Grant, there the thing must rest. Frere tells me to be
guided by your advice, and so I shall; as I have just said, I leave it
entirely to you.”
“I understand you perfectly,” rejoined Lewis, and as he spoke a
contemptuous smile curled his lip; “still, justice requires that the
General should not be kept in ignorance, and although there are many
reasons why it is painful and objectionable to me to enlighten him, yet
there are others which prevent my refusing; and now, Mr. Bracy, as my
time is short, you will excuse my being obliged to leave you.”
“Oh! certainly,” returned Bracy, as his visitor rose to depart;
“‘Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.’
Liberty Hall this, sir! _chacun à son gout_, ‘everybody has the gout,’
as the little girl at the boarding-school construed it. Then you’ll make
Governor Grant comprehend that in this particular instance Bellefield
behaved like a brick? Disagreeable business to be obliged to interfere
in, but, as Frere says, you’re just the man to do it; good morning;” and
uttering these words with the greatest _empressement_, he shook Lewis’s
hand warmly and suffered him to depart. As the door closed on his
retreating figure Bracy threw himself back in an easy-chair.
“There’s something in the wind that I’m not awake to,” he muttered in
soliloquy; “I don’t comprehend that good youth at all. There must be
private feeling mixed up in it; something in the love and murder line, I
suspect. How savage he looked when he undertook the job--rather he than
I, though: Bellefield’s as likely to call a man out, as to say Thank ye,
for interfering; but, as Frere says, Arundel’s just the man to carry the
thing through. He’s a plucky young fellow and deucedly good-looking, but
he certainly does not appreciate wit--ahem--that is, puns--properly;”
and with this reflection Bracy took pen and paper and sate him down
to indite an essay on moral courage and the responsibility of man,
wherewith to fill up a vacant corner of Blunt’s Magazine.
And Lewis--what a task had he undertaken! He who would have made any
sacrifice to gratify Annie’s lightest wish must now bring the first
cloud over the sunshine of her young life; he must be the means of
reconciling her father and Lord Bellefield; he must, by his own act,
give the woman he loved to the man he hated. The woman he loved!--had
then the fear that had lain cold and heavy at his heart, that had come
between him and--resignation, assumed a definite shape? did he at length
own that he, the poor tutor, the paid dependent, loved the rich
man’s daughter? Oh! Lewis, where was thy pride--where that Hell-angel
beautiful in evil, which hath haunted thee even from thy childhood
upwards like a second self? Had Rose’s tears prevailed and thy pride
deserted thee? Would that it had been so; but no, he had not yet learned
that hardest lesson for the young and manly-hearted, self-distrust; his
bosom-sin clave to him, and striving single-handed, how should he subdue
it!
Lewis was not one of those who deceive themselves long on any point;
and his emotions after the scene at the Opera-house, the amount of
self-control he was obliged to exert to restrain any outbreak of feeling
in the _tête-à-tête_ drive with Annie, had revealed the truth to him,
and ere he slept that night he knew that now indeed was the sum of his
wretchedness complete; for he loved, for the first time, one fitted to
call forth all the depth and earnestness of his passionate nature, and
he loved without hope. Pressing his hands to his burning brow, he
sat down calmly to think. Calmly; yes, the treacherous repose of the
smouldering volcano were an apt illustration of such a forced calmness.
Renunciation and self-conquest! this then was his portion for the time
to come. Self-conquest! Pride caught at the word; an enemy strong as
the strength of will which should subdue it. Reason cried, “Flee from
temptation;” but pride whispered, “The task is worthy of you; accomplish
it.” And resolution aided pride, and the iron will came into play, and
the contest was begun. And now the reader can understand why Lewis’s
interview with Bracy would scarcely tend to raise his spirits, or render
his general frame of mind more satisfactory.
Punctual to the moment the carriage made its appearance, drawn by four
posters; and the General and the two ladies ensconced themselves in
the interior, while, the day being lovely, Lewis and his pupil took
possession of the rumble. About two miles from Broadhurst was a steep
hill; on reaching this point Annie and her father, Lewis and Walter
alighted, with the intention of walking up; but before half the distance
was accomplished the General pleaded guilty to a very decided twinge
of gout, and unwilling to provoke a second, reentered the carriage, the
others continuing their pedestrian exertions without him.
Annie, delighted to regain the freedom of the country, was in high
spirits. “Why do people stay in London at this time of year?” she
exclaimed. “This lovely sky, and the trees, and the birds, and the
sunshine, are worth all the operas and pictures and balls and every
sight or amusement London can afford; those things excite one for an
hour or two, but this makes me perfectly happy.”
Lewis glanced at her for a moment, sighed involuntarily, and then
rousing himself, uttered some commonplace civility, which so clearly
proved that he was forcing himself to make conversation from the subject
of which his thoughts were far away, that Annie, struck by his manner,
paused and fixed her large eyes earnestly upon him. At length she said--
“I am sure you are ill or unhappy, Mr. Arundel. I am now too well aware
how utterly unable I am to compensate for the loss of such a friend and
counsellor as dear Rose (oh! how I envy you that sister!), but if you
would sometimes tell me when you are annoyed or out of spirits, instead
of wrapping yourself in that cold, proud mantle of reserve, I think even
such poor sympathy as mine might make you happier.”
Lewis glanced round. Walter, actuated by some caprice of his wayward
intellect, had run on before--they were virtually alone. Now it had
occurred to Lewis that, as Annie had allowed him to perceive her dislike
to the idea of a union with Lord Bellefield, he should entirely lose her
good opinion were she to learn that it was through his representations
that a reconciliation with her father had been brought about; and
although this would have been a very desirable result for many reasons,
and have materially assisted him in his design of conquering his unhappy
attachment, yet he by no means appeared to approve of the notion, but on
the contrary had, with his usual fearlessness, determined to seize the
first opportunity of explaining to her why reason and justice obliged
him to act in opposition to her wishes. And now that the opportunity had
arrived, the considerate kindness of her address disarmed him, and in
the unwillingness to inflict pain on her he half abandoned his purpose;
but here his strength of will--that fearful agent for good or for
evil--came into action and settled the matter. It was right; it must
be done. Accordingly he thanked her for her kindness, made her a pretty
speech as to valuing her sympathy, which expressed somewhere about
one-fifteenth of what he really felt on the subject--said, which was
quite true, that nothing had for a long time afforded him greater
pleasure than the friendship which had sprung up between her and
Rose--then, speaking in a low, calm voice, he continued, “I have been
both grieved and annoyed this morning; you guessed rightly when you
thought so. Will you forgive me, and still regard me as your friend,
when I tell you that circumstances force me to act in direct opposition
to your wishes, and to do that of which I fear you will highly
disapprove?”
Annie looked at him with an expression of surprise and alarm, which gave
way to a bright, trustful smile as she replied, “Nothing can lead me to
doubt your friendship, Mr. Arundel; I have had proofs of its sincerity
too convincing for me ever to do so. If you are obliged to say or do
anything which may pain me, I am sure you feel it to be duty which
compels you. And now tell me what you refer to.”
Poor Lewis! the smile and the speech went straight to his heart, like
the stroke of a poniard: pride, resolution, and all the other false gods
he relied on disappeared before it; and for the moment love was lord of
all. But self-control had become so habitual to him, that the most acute
observer could not have detected the slightest indication of the inward
struggle; and ere he spoke his will had resumed its mastery, and his
purpose held good. He gave her, in as few words as possible, an account
of his interview with Bracy; and told her that it was his intention
immediately to acquaint General Grant with the facts that had thus come
to his knowledge.
She heard him in silence; and when he had finished she said in a low
voice, which thrilled with suppressed emotion, “My father will forgive
him, and all will be as if this thing had never happened.”
They walked on side by side, but neither spoke. At length Lewis said
abruptly, “I have told you this man and I were not on friendly terms;
I now tell you that he has heaped insult after insult upon me till
I _hate_ him. Yes, you may start, and your gentle woman’s nature may
condemn me, but it is so: I hate him.” He spoke calmly, but it only
rendered his words more terrible, for it told not merely of the angry
impulse of the moment, but of the deep conviction of a lifetime; and
Annie shuddered as she listened. Regardless of her emotion,
Lewis continued, “Circumstances have in this instance forced me to
appear as Lord Bellefield’s successful accuser. To some minds this petty
triumph might have afforded satisfaction; to me it has been a source of
unmixed regret; the retribution I seek is not of such a nature. Fate has
now placed in my hands the means of vindicating his character; and every
principle of honour, nay of common justice, binds me to do so. We may
not do evil that good may come. I should forfeit my self-respect for
ever were I to conceal this knowledge from your father. You would
not have me do so, I am certain?” Lewis paused for a reply; there was
silence for a moment, and then in a low, broken voice Annie said, “No!
you _must_ tell him. But I am very, very unhappy!” And uttering the last
words with a convulsive sob, she covered her face with her hands, and
turned away to conceal the tears she could no longer repress.