_Reveals various curious particulars; of which the mysterious
disappearance of Jane is not the least._
In the desperate state of things implied by the proceedings last
recorded, it will not be marvelled at that measures equally desperate
should have been projected by Colin in conjunction with his friend
Roger; though eminently calculated, provided they could but be carried
out, to bring him that final satisfaction which it appeared impossible
for him to attain through any other more moderate course.
Roger's general conduct towards Colin, throughout the affair, had
inspired the latter with every confidence in him, and the certainty
of being able to command his services in any enterprise which had the
happiness of Jane and himself for its object. Nothing indeed but that
confidence could possibly have induced Colin to take the earliest
opportunity that offered, after the scenes described in the preceding
chapter, to draw Mr. Roger Calvert into an unobserved part of the house,
and propose to him that they should settle the matter at once and for
ever in a manner already suggested,--that is, through the medium of an
elopement during the night. Colin argued that it was now sufficiently
evident he had no chance of succeeding unless by resorting to that
gentle violence just alluded to. He contended that Mr. and Mrs. Calvert
would never give way without it,--that if once done it would afford
them a capital excuse for reconciling themselves to the match, when such
reconciliation had become a matter of necessity, without involving them
in any of that unpleasant compromise of principle, as they supposed it,
which at present constituted the great obstacle to their union.
He even ventured to suggest, that very possibly if they _could_ be made
aware of his projected attempt, they would secretly feel inclined to
connive at it,--seeing that at least Jane's happiness would be for ever
destroyed, if even her very life were not sacrificed, were not something
done to avert those consequences of parental opposition which now seemed
to hang over them. As for himself--without her, happiness for him in any
situation, or under any circumstances, was totally out of the question.
He felt assured of the impossibility of his living other than a
miserable life, and dying a death at last which disappointment and
misfortune had rendered welcome. He concluded by beseeching his friend,
as he knew his honourable intentions, as he recognised the justice of
his suit, and felt at once for his sister's unhappiness and his own, to
give him his support and assistance in carrying out such a project.
“I should decidedly say,” replied Roger, “you have good cause for
eloping under the circumstances--that is, supposing Jane herself has no
objection; and I assure you it is what I myself should do in the same
situation.”
Thus supported, Colin entered on his design with increased alacrity and
spirit; but as his final leave of Jane was now understood to have been
taken, he had no ready means of communicating with her upon the subject,
except through the agency of her brother Roger. He, however, very
readily undertook the task of informing his sister of the design, as
he considered it absolutely scandalous that the happiness of two young
people's lives should be utterly blighted simply because her parents
entertained notions which, however conscientious, by no means (in his
opinion) could justify for a moment their perseverance in measures of so
important and violent a character.
It was, therefore, agreed between them, that, in order the more
successfully to carry on their plan, Colin should that night take a
respectful leave of the family under the impression, on their parts, of
never seeing him again; but that, instead of quitting London, he should
only retire to some hotel, or to a friend's house, where he could remain
until such time as matters were arranged for his and Jane's departure
together. This accordingly he did, quitting Mr. Calvert's house not
without considerable grief on the part of all who dwelt beneath the
roof, except Roger himself, though, on Colin's own part, with such
a poor, miserable exhibition of sorrow, considering the unfortunate
situation in which he was placed, that the good Calverts were quite
astonished thereat, and, after he was gone, began very strongly to
suspect that, after all, there was not half the feeling and excellence
in him they had previously been led to believe. He had not produced
even a single tear on the occasion; while Mrs. Calvert spoke almost
positively to a certain something like a smile lurking about his mouth,
which she had observed at the very moment when her husband had so
feelingly remarked to him that, while he wished him well on earth,
perhaps the next time they met it would be in heaven. Yet the
hard-hearted young man did not seem so much as to think of crying even
at that, but actually took it as coolly as though he were going to meet
them all again in the course of two or three days from that identical
night. These things certainly had a strange look, though they might
possibly be the result, not so much of indifference, as of an heroic
determination, on his part, to disguise his sorrows until the painful
trial was over. Roger was appealed to for judgment in the case, but
he professed to have no power over other men's bosoms, nor ability in
discovering the profundities of their springs of action. But the truth
of the matter was, that while Roger enjoyed excellent reasons within
himself for keeping the secret, he also felt materially disinclined
for conversation. The departure of his friend had put a seal upon his
tongue; while it had likewise rendered him uncommonly anxious to see
how his sister Jane bore it, and to offer her such consolation under the
circumstances as might chance to lie in his power.
When, at length, Roger went to see her, he found her sitting alone, as
she had particularly begged to be left, looking more like a spirit in
the twilight than an embodied creature.
“Jane!” said he, as he entered the room and advanced towards her. She
started astonished--almost affrighted. That one word had come upon
her like a thunder-clap. It had awakened her from a reverie or a
dream--suddenly snatched her, as it were, from a world of her own sad
imagination back to the still sadder world of nature about her.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, “who is it?”
“Only I,” replied Roger. “Dry your eyes directly, there's a good girl.
I have something to tell you that I hope will make you glad. I told you
before that you should have him, after all.”
“Oh--” cried Jane clasping her hands, “has my father----”
“No, no; not that,” rejoined her brother; “but something that will do
quite as well. Only you must speak low and let nobody hear, or else we
shall spoil the whole business. Colin and I have settled it altogether
between us. You _must_ do it, you know, for your own sake as well as
his, and do not hesitate a moment about it. I'll tell you plainly what
it is,--you must give your consent for Colin to run away with you.”
Jane shook her head.
“You _must_,” repeated Roger; “there is no other mode of managing it:
_I_ will go with you, and we will all three fly down to Mr. Woodruff's
house, where we will have a parson to marry you directly, so as to make
the matter safe; and then father and mother, and everybody else may make
the best of the matter they can!”
“Do not play with me,” said Jane; “I cannot indeed bear it now!”
“I never was more in earnest in my life!” exclaimed Roger, emphatically;
“I tell you it is all settled, and you _must_ do it, whether you like it
or not. I won't see your happiness sacrificed for the want of a little
spirit on your part when it is so much required. Look here--”
And Roger drew forth a letter which Colin had hastily indited before
taking his leave, and confided to him to deliver to his sister at the
earliest opportunity.
“Here,” he continued, “is a note from Colin upon the subject, which I
dare say you will not refuse to read.”
“It is too dark,” answered Jane; “besides I dare not. What _would_ they
all think of me if I were to listen to such a proposal as this?”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Roger; “they would think a great deal better of
you after it was all over, than ever they could think of themselves,
if they should have to put up for you a tablet in the church, with an
inscription that you had died of disappointment brought on by their own
rigour. Here, take it, and I will fetch you a lamp to read by.”
Jane took the letter, and her brother hastened out to fulfil his
intention.
The moment he was gone, Jane rose with uncommon alacrity and hastened
to the window. Yes, there was yet light enough to make most of it out,
although she thought it dark not a minute ago. The letter said a hundred
sweet and happy things, such as she felt certain no man had ever said
before; such as even _he_ had not ever thought of saying on any other
occasion. It promised as certain an easy reconcilement with all parties;
it told her he was sure of it, and bade her feel no fear. It visioned
a world of delight for the future, and represented its writer as lost
utterly, if she would not listen to her brother's advice and consent to
act upon it. And then it concluded with more love signified in half a
dozen little words than anybody else, she believed, could express in
half a volume.
When Roger returned, which he did speedily, with a lamp, “I do not want
it,” observed Jane, blushing to the forehead to be thus seen in the
light, though it was only by her brother and best friend.
“What! won't you read it?” demanded he.
“It was light enough at the window,” faltered Jane.
“That's right!” exclaimed Roger; “I'll kiss you for that.”
And so saying, he caught his sister in his arms, and told her how good
a girl she was for taking advice; at the same time promising not only to
steer her safely through, but to ensure the good will of her parents as
early after the business was concluded as possible.
But Jane still held out, and protested she dared not do it. And though
her brother brought all his powers of oratory to bear in the endeavour
to extort a promise from her, she persisted in her refusal, and at
length told him it was quite useless to say anything more to her upon
the subject.
Roger went away both puzzled and mortified; but within a few days
afterwards it was remarked by all the family that Jane seemed quite
astonishingly recovered from her melancholy. There was really a
surprising difference in her manners; and hope began to be confidently
entertained that in the course of a short time longer, she would have
perfectly recovered her painful disappointment, and become once again
that same pleasant creature she was before her eyes met those of Colin,
but which almost ever since she had so unhappily ceased to be. However,
at the very time when everybody expected and prognosticated that this
desirable consummation would be effected, at that precise period when
all happy eyes were again to be turned upon her with renewed gladness,
then it was discovered, to everybody's amazement, that she was missing;
Roger too had disappeared in a manner equally mysterious; nor was _Jane
Calvert_ ever found again. A fact more remarkable than all.