something in the cold composure of her manner that forbid a renewal of
the subject. Emily felt that she had fulfilled her duty as a friend,
and delicacy commanded her to forbear a renewal of her admonitions.
Force of feeling had betrayed her into a warmth of expression she now
regretted. She loved Anne, but she looked with many misgivings to
being the sharer of her wedded home. She had deeply studied the
character of Manly, and trembled to think of the reaction that might
one day take place in his mind, should he ever discover the dark spot
on the disk of his sun--of his destiny. Though she had told Anne that
the secret of her growing love for the exciting draught was _known_
only to herself, it was whispered among the servants, suspected by a
few discreet individuals, and had been several times hinted in a
private circle of friends. It had never yet reached the ears of Manly,
for there was something in his demeanour that repelled the most
distant approach to familiarity. He married with the most romantic and
enthusiastic ideas of domestic felicity. Were those bright visions of
bliss realized? Time, the great disenchanter, alone could answer.
* * * * *
It was about five years after the scenes we have recorded, that Mr.
and Mrs. Manly took up their residence in the town of G----. Usually,
when strangers are about to become inhabitants of a new place, there
is some annunciation of their arrival; but they came, without any
previous intimation being given for the speculation of the curious, or
bringing any letters of introduction for the satisfaction of the
proud. They hired an elegant house, furnished it rich and fashionably,
and evidently prepared for the socialities of life, as enjoyed in the
highest circles. The appearance of wealth always commands the respect
of the many, and this respect was heightened by their personal claims
to admiration. Five years, however, had wrought a change in both, not
from the fading touch of time, for they were not of an age when the
green leaf begins to grow sere, but other causes were operating with a
power as silent and unpausing. The fine, intelligent face of Mrs.
Manly had lost much of its delicacy of outline, and her cheek, that
formerly was pale or roseate as sensibility or enthusiasm ruled the
hour, now wore a stationary glow, deeper than the blush of feminine
modesty, less bright than the carnation of health. The unrivalled
beauty of her figure had given place to grosser lineaments, over
which, however, grace and dignity still lingered, as if unwilling to
leave a shrine so worshipped. Mr. Manly's majestic person was invested
with an air of deeper haughtiness, and his dark brow was contracted
into an expression of prevailing gloom and austerity. Two lovely
children, one almost an infant, who were carried abroad every fair day
by their nurse, shared the attention their parents excited; and many
appealed to _her_ for information respecting the strangers. She was
unable to satisfy their curiosity, as she had been a member of their
household but a short time, her services having been hired while
journeying to the place. The other servants were hired after their
arrival. Thus, one of the most fruitful sources from which the
inquisitive derive their aliment, was denied to the inhabitants of
G----. It was not long before the house of Mr. and Mrs. Manly was
frequented by those whose society she most wished to cultivate. The
suavity of her manners, the vivacity of her conversation, her
politeness and disinterestedness, captivated the hearts of all. Mr.
Manly too received his guests with a cordiality that surprised, while
it gratified. Awed by the external dignity of his deportment, they
expected to be repulsed, rather than welcomed, but it was universally
acknowledged, that no man could be more delightful than Mr. Manly,
when he chose to unbend. As a lawyer, his fame soon rose. His
integrity and eloquence became the theme of every tongue. Amidst all
the admiration they excited, there were some dark surmises. The
malicious, the censorious, the evil-disposed are found in every
circle, and in every land. It was noticed that Mr. Manly watched his
wife with painful scrutiny, that she seemed uneasy whenever his glance
met hers, that her manner was at times hurried and disturbed, as if
some secret cause of sorrow preyed upon her mind. It was _settled_ in
the opinion of many, that Mr. Manly was a domestic tyrant, and that
his wife was the meek victim of this despotism. Some suggested that he
had been convicted of crime, and had fled from the pursuit of justice,
while his devoted wife refused to separate her destiny from his. They
gave a large and elegant party. The entertainment was superior to
anything witnessed before in the precincts of G----. The graceful
hostess, dressed in unwonted splendour, moved through her
drawing-rooms, with the step of one accustomed to the homage of
crowds, yet her smiles sought out the most undistinguished of her
guests, and the most diffident gathered confidence from her
condescending regards. Still the eye of Mr. Manly followed her with
that anxious, mysterious glance, and her hurried movements often
betrayed inexplicable perturbation. In the course of the evening, a
gentleman refused wine, on the plea of belonging to the Temperance
Society. Many voices were lifted in condemnation against him, for
excluding one of the gladdeners of existence, what, the Scriptures
themselves recommended, and the Saviour of men had consecrated by a
miracle. The subject grew interesting, the circle narrowed round the
advocate of Temperance, and many were pressing eagerly forward to
listen to the debate. The opinion of Mrs. Manly was demanded. She drew
back at first, as if unwilling to take the lead of her guests. At
length she seemed warmed by the subject, and painted the evils of
intemperance in the strongest and most appalling colours. She painted
woman as its victim, till every heart recoiled at the image she drew.
So forcible was her language, so impressive her gestures, so
unaffected her emotions, every eye was riveted, and every ear bent on
the eloquent mourner of her sex's degradation. She paused, oppressed
by the notice she attracted, and moved from the circle, that widened
for her as she passed, and gazed after her, with as much respect as if
she were an Empress. During this spontaneous burst of oratory, Mr.
Manly remained aloof, but those who had marked him in their minds as
the harsh domestic tyrant, were now confirmed in their belief. Instead
of admiring the wonderful talents of his wife, or sympathizing in the
applause she excited, a gloom thick as night lowered upon his brow,
his face actually grew of a livid paleness, till at last, as if unable
to control his temper, he left the drawing-room.
"Poor Mrs. Manly," said one, "how much is her destiny to be lamented!
To be united to a man who is incapable of appreciating her genius,
and even seems guilty of the meanness of annoying her."
Thus the world judges; and had the tortured heart of Manly known the
sentence that was passing upon him, he would have rejoiced that the
shaft was directed to _his_ bosom, rather than _hers_, which he would
fain shield from the proud man's contumely, though it might never more
be the resting-place of love and confidence. Is it necessary to go
back and relate the history of those years which had elapsed since
Anne Weston was presented to the reader as a triumphant belle, and
plighted bride! Is it not already seen that the dark speck had
enlarged, throwing into gradual, but deepening shade, the soul's
original brightness, obscuring the sunshine of domestic joy,
converting the home of love into a prison-house of shame, and
blighting, chilling, palsying the loftiest energies and noblest
purposes? The warning accents of Emily Spencer were breathed in vain.
That fatal habit had already become a passion--a passion which, like
the rising tide, grows deeper and higher, rolling onward and onward,
till the landmarks of reason, and honour, and principle, are swept
over by its waves--a tide that ebbs not but with ebbing life. She had
looked "upon the wine when it was red, when it gave its colour to the
cup," till she found, by fatal experience, that it biteth like a
serpent, and stingeth like an adder. It were vain to attempt a
description of the feelings of Manly when he first discovered the idol
of his imagination under an influence that, in his opinion, brutalized
a man. But a woman!--and that woman--his wife! In the agony, the
madness of the moment, he could have lifted the hand of suicide, but
Emily Spencer hovered near and held him back from the brink to which
he was rushing. She pleaded the cause of her unhappy friend, she
prayed him not to cast her off. She dwelt on the bright and sparkling
mind, the warm, impulsive heart that might yet be saved from utter
degradation by his exerted influence. She pledged herself to labour
for him, and with him, and faithfully did she redeem her pledge. After
the first terrible shock, Manly's passionate emotion settled down into
a misanthropic gloom. Sometimes when he witnessed the remorse which
followed such self-abandonment, the grace and beauty with which she
would emerge from the disfiguring cloud, and the strong efforts she
would make to reinstate herself in his estimation, a ray of brightness
would shine in on his mind, and he would try to think of the past as a
frightful dream. Then his prophetic dream would return to him, and he
shuddered at its confirmation--once it seemed as if the demon had
withdrawn its unhallowed presence, unable to exist in the holy
atmosphere that surrounds a mother's bosom.
For a long time the burning essence was not permitted to mingle with
the fountain of maternal tenderness. Even Manly's blasted spirit
revived, and Emily hoped all, and believed all. But Anne had once
passed the Rubicon, and though she often paused and looked back with
yearnings that could not be uttered, upon the fair bounds she had
left, the very poignancy of her shame goaded her on, though every step
she took, evidenced the shame that was separating her from the
affections of a husband whom she loved and respected, and who had once
idolized her. It has been said that when woman once becomes a
transgressor, her rapid progress in sin mocks the speed of man. As the
glacier, that has long shone in dazzling purity, when loosened from
its mountain stay, rushes down with a velocity accelerated by its
impenetrability and coldness, when any shameful passion has melted the
virgin snow of a woman's character, a moral avalanche ensues,
destroying "whatsoever is venerable and lovely, and of good report."
Manly occasionally sought to conceal from the world the fatal
propensities of his wife. She had occupied too conspicuous a station
in society--she had been too highly exalted--to humble herself with
impunity. Her father, whose lavish indulgence probably paved the way
to her ruin, was unable to bear himself up under the weight of
mortification and grief thus unexpectedly brought upon him. His
constitution had long been feeble; and now the _bowl was, indeed,
broken at the fountain_. The filial hand which he once hoped would
have scattered roses on his dying pillow, struck the deathblow.
Physicians talked of a chronic disease; of the gradual decay of
nature; but Anne's conscience told her she had winged the dart. The
agony of her remorse seemed a foretaste of the quenchless fire, and the
undying worm. She made the most solemn promises of reformation--vowed
never again to taste the poisonous liquor. She threw herself on the
forgiveness of her husband, and prayed him to remove her where her
name was never breathed; that she might begin life anew, and establish
for their children an unblemished reputation. On the faith of these
ardent resolutions, Manly broke his connexion with every former
friend--sold all his possessions, and sought a new home, in a place
far removed from the scene of their present unhappiness. Circumstances
in her own family prevented Emily Spencer from accompanying them, but
she was to follow them the earliest opportunity, hoping miracles from
the change.
Mrs Manly, from the death of her father, came into the possession of a
large and independent fortune. She was not sordid enough to deem money
an equivalent for a wounded reputation; but it was soothing to her
pride, to be able to fill her husband's coffers so richly, and to fit
up their new establishment in a style so magnificent. Manly allowed
her to exercise her own taste in everything. He knew the effect of
external pomp, and thought it was well to dazzle the judgment of the
world. He was determined to seek society; to open every source of
gratification and rational excitement to his wife, to save her from
monotony and solitude. His whole aim seemed to be, "that she might not
be led into temptation." If with all these cares for her safety, he
could have blended the tenderness that once softened his proud
manners, could he have banished from his once beaming eye the look of
vigilance and distrust; could she have felt herself once more
enthroned in his heart, gratitude might, perhaps, have completed the
regeneration begun by remorse. But Anne felt that she was an object of
constant suspicion and fear; she felt that he had not faith in her
good resolutions. She was no longer the sharer of his counsels--the
inspirer of his hopes--or the companion in whom his soul delighted.
His ruling passion supported him in society; but in those hours when
they were necessarily thrown upon each other's resources, he was
accustomed to sit in gloomy abstraction, brooding over his own
melancholy thoughts. Anne was only too conscious of the subject of
these reveries, and it kept alive a painful sense of her humiliation.
She had, hitherto, kept her promise sacred, through struggles known
only to herself, and she began to feel impatient and indignant that
the reward for which she looked was still withheld. Had she been more
deeply skilled in the mysteries of the human heart, she might have
addressed the Genius of the household shrine, in the language of the
avenging Moor, who first apostrophizes the torch that flares on his
deed of darkness:
"If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me--but once put out thine,
I know not where is the Promethean heat
That can thy light relume."
Mr. Manly was called away by professional business, which would
probably detain him many weeks from home. He regretted this necessity;
particularly before the arrival of Emily, whose coming was daily
expected. He urged his wife to invite some friends to remain as her
guests during his absence, to enliven her solitude. His request, so
earnestly repeated, might have been gratifying to her feelings, if she
had not known the distrust of her faith and strength of resolution it
implied. The last words he said to her, at parting, were, "Remember,
Anne, everything depends on yourself." She experienced a sensation of
unspeakable relief in his absence. The eagle glance was withdrawn from
her soul, and it expanded and exulted in its newly acquired freedom.
She had a constant succession of visiters, who, remarking the
elasticity of her spirits, failed not to cast additional obloquy on
Mr. Manly, for the tyranny he evidently exercised over his wife. Emily
did not arrive, and Mrs. Manly could not regret the delay. Her
presence reminded her of all she wished to forget; for her days of
triumph were returned, and the desire of shining rekindled from the
ashes of scorn, that had for a while smothered the flame.
It wanted about a week of Mr. Manly's return. She felt a strong
inclination to renew the splendours of her party. She had received so
many compliments on the subject:--"Mrs. Manly's delightful party!"
"Her conversational powers!" "Such a literary banquet!" &c.
Invitations were given and accepted. The morning of the day, which was
somewhat warm and oppressive, she was summoned by the kitchen council,
where the business of preparation was going on. Suddenly, however,
they came to a stand. There was no brandy to give flavour to the cake;
and the cook declared it was impossible to make it without, or to use
anything as a substitute.
Mrs. Manly's cheeks flushed high with shame. Her husband had retained
the key of the closet that contained the forbidden article. He was
afraid to trust it in her keeping. The mildest cordials were alone
left at her disposal, for the entertainment of her guests. What would
her husband think if she purchased, in his absence, what he had
himself secreted from her? What would the servants believe if she
refused to provide them with what was deemed indispensable? The fear
of her secret being detected, combined with resentment at her
husband's unyielding distrust, decided her conduct. She bought--she
_tasted_. The cook asserted there was something peculiar in its
flavour, and asked her to judge for herself. Would it not excite
suspicion, if she refused? She broke her solemn vow--she _tasted_--and
was _undone_. The burning thirst once kindled, in those who have been
victims to this fatal passion, it rages with the strength of madness.
In the secrecy of the closet where she hid the poison, she yielded to
the tempter, who whispered, that, as she had been _compelled_ to
taste, her promise had been innocently broken: there could be no harm
in a _little more_--the last that should ever pass her lips. In the
delirium of the moment, she yielded, till, incapable of self-control,
she continued the inebriating draught. Judgment--reason--at length,
perception, vanished. The approach of evening found her still
prostrate on her bed, a melancholy instance of the futility of the
best human resolutions, unsupported by the divine principle of
religion. The servants were at first struck with consternation. They
thought some sudden disease had overtaken her. But the marks of
intemperance, that, like the brand on the brow of Cain, single out its
votaries from the rest of mankind, those revolting traces, were but
too visible. They knew not what to do. Uncertain what guests were
invited, they could not send apologies, nor ask them to defer their
visit. The shades of evening were beginning to fall; the children were
crying, deprived of the usual cares of their nurse; and in the general
bustle, clung to their mother, whose ear was deaf to the appeal of
nature. The little one, weary of shedding so many unavailing tears, at
last crawled up on the bed, and fell asleep by her side, though there
was scarcely room for her to stretch her little limbs, where she had
found the means of climbing. As her slumbers deepened, her limbs
relaxed from the rigid posture they had assumed: her arms dropped
unconsciously over the bed, and she fell. In her fall she was thrown
against one of the posts, and a sharp corner cutting her head,
inflicted a deep wound. The screams of the little sufferer roused the
household, and pierced even the leaden slumbers of intemperance. It
was long, however, before Mrs. Manly came to a clear perception of
what was passing around her. The sight of the streaming blood,
however, acted like a shock of electricity. She sprang up, and
endeavoured to stanch the bleeding wound. The effusion was soon
stopped; the child sunk into a peaceful sleep, and the alarm subsided.
Children are liable to so many falls, and bruises, and wounds, it is
not strange that Mrs. Manly, in the confused state of her mind, should
soon forget the accident, and try to prepare herself for the reception
of her guests, who were already assembling in the drawing-room. Every
time the bell rung, she started, with a thrill of horror, conscious
how unfit she was to sustain the enviable reputation she had acquired.
Her head ached almost to bursting, her hands trembled, and a deadly
sickness oppressed her. The visions of an upbraiding husband, a
scoffing world, rose before her--and dim, but awful, in the dark
perspective, she seemed to behold the shadow of a sin-avenging Deity.
Another ring--the guests were thronging. Unhappy woman! What was to be
done? She would have pleaded sudden indisposition--the accident of her
child--but the fear that the servants would reveal the truth--the hope
of being able to rally her spirits--determined her to descend into the
drawing-room. As she cast a last hurried glance into the mirror, and
saw the wild, haggard countenance it reflected, she recoiled at her
own image. The jewels with which she had profusely adorned herself,
served but to mock the ravages the destroying scourge had made upon
her beauty. No cosmetic art could restore the purity of her
complexion; nor the costliest perfumes conceal the odour of the fiery
liquor. She called for a glass of cordial--kindled up a smile of
welcome, and descended to perform the honours of her household. She
made a thousand apologies for her delay; related, in glowing colours,
the accident that happened to her child, and flew from one subject to
another, as if she feared to trust herself with a pause. There was
something so unnatural in her countenance, so overstrained in her
manner, and so extravagant in her conversation, it was impossible for
the company not to be aware of her situation. Silent glances were
exchanged, low whispers passed round; but they had no inclination to
lose the entertainment they anticipated. They remembered the luxuries
of her table, and hoped, at least, if not a "feast of reason," a feast
of the good things of earth.
It was at this crisis Emily Spencer arrived. Her travelling dress, and
the fatigue of a journey, were sufficient excuses for her declining to
appear in the drawing-room; but the moment she saw Mrs. Manly, her
eye, too well experienced, perceived the backsliding of Anne, and
hope died within her bosom. Sick at heart, wounded, and indignant, she
sat down in the chamber where the children slept--those innocent
beings, doomed to an orphanage more sad than death even makes. Anne's
conscious spirit quailed before the deep reproach of Emily's silent
glances. She stammered out an explanation of the bloody bandage that
was bound around the infant's, head, assured her there was no cause of
alarm, and hurried down to the _friends_ who had passed the period of
her absence in covert sarcasm, and open animadversion on her conduct.