~190~~
“Away to heav'n, respective lenity,
And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now.”
“Use every man after his desert, and who should 'scape
whipping?”
“He swore that he did hold me dear
As precious eyesight, and did value me
Above this world, adding thereto moreover
That he would wed me.”
“Men's vows are women's traitors.”
“To promise is most courtly and fashionable; performance
is a kind of will or testament which argues a great sickness in
his judgment that makes it.”
--Shakspeare.
THE sight which met my eyes as I gazed around was one which time
can never efface from my memory. In the centre of the room, his brow
darkened by the flush of concentrated indignation, stood Oaklands, his
left hand clenching tightly the coat-collar of a man whom I at once
perceived to be Wilford, while with his right hand he was administering
such a horse-whipping as I hope never again to see a human being
subjected to. Wilford, who actually writhed with mingled pain and fury,
was making violent but ineffectual struggles to free himself. Near the
door stood Wentworth, the blood dropping from his nose, and his clothes
dusty and disordered, as if from a fall. Crouching in a corner at the
farther end of the room, the tears coursing down her fear-blanched
cheeks, and her hands clasped in an agony of terror and despair, was
a girl, about nineteen years of age, whom I had little difficulty in
recognising as Lizzie Maurice, the daughter of the old confectioner, of
whose elopement we had been that morning informed. On perceiving me
she sprang forward, and clasping my knees implored me to interfere and
endeavour to separate them. I was not, however, called upon to do so,
for, as she spoke, his riding-whip broke short in Oaklands' hand, and
dashing down the fragments with an exclamation of impatience, he flung
Wilford from him with so much force that he staggered forward a few
paces, and would have fallen had not Wentworth caught him in his arms,
just in time to prevent it.
[Illustration: page190 The Roused Lion]
~191~~Oaklands then turned to the girl, whom I had raised from the
ground and placed on a chair, and addressing her in a stern impressive
manner, said: “I will now resume what I was saying to you when yonder
beaten hound dared to lay hands upon me. For the last time the choice is
offered to you--either return home, and endeavour, by devoting yourself
to your broken-hearted old father, to atone as best you may for the
misery you have caused him; or, by remaining here, commence a life of
infamy which will end sooner or later in a miserable death.” He paused;
then, as she made no reply, but sat with her face buried in her hands,
sobbing as if her heart would break, he continued, “You tell me, the
vile tempter who has lured you from your duty promised to meet you here
to-day, and, bringing a clergyman with him, to marry you privately; now
if this is the truth----”
“It is, it is,” she faltered.
“If so,” resumed Oaklands, “a knowledge of the real facts of the case
may yet save you. This scoundrel who has promised to marry you, and who
belongs to a rank immeasurably above your own, is already notorious for
what are termed, by such as himself, affairs of gallantry; while the
wretched impostor whom he has brought with him to act the part of
clergyman is the marker at a low billiard-table, and no more a clergyman
than I am.”
“Is this really so?” exclaimed the girl, raising her eyes, which
were swollen and red with weeping, to Wilford's face; “would you have
deceived me thus, Stephen--you, whom I have trusted so implicitly?”
Wilford, who, since the severe discipline he had undergone, had remained
seated, with his head resting on his hand, as if in pain, apparently
unconscious of what was going on, glared at her ferociously with his
flashing eyes, but made no reply. The girl waited for a minute; but,
obtaining no answer, turned away with a half shudder, murmuring,
“Deceived, deceived!” Then addressing Oaklands, she said, “I will go
home to my father, sir; and if he will not forgive me, I can but lie
down and die at his feet--better so than live on, to trust, and be
deceived again”.
“You have decided rightly, and will not repent it,” remarked Oaklands
in a milder tone of voice; then, turning to the blacksmith (who had
made his appearance, accompanied by his wife, the moment the affray had
ended), he continued: “you must procure some conveyance immediately to
take this young person back to Cambridge, and your wife must accompany
her”. ~192~~Observing that the man hesitated, and cast an inquiring
glance towards Wilford, he added sternly, “If you would not be compelled
to answer for the share you have taken in this rascally business before
the proper authorities, do as I have told you without loss of time”.
The man having again failed in an attempt to attract Wilford's
attention, asked in a surly tone, “Whether a spring-cart would do?” and,
being answered in the affirmative, left the room.
Lizzie Maurice withdrew to prepare for her return home, the woman
accompanied her; Oaklands strode to the window, and remained watching
the operation of harnessing the horse to the tax-cart. Wilford still
retained the same attitude, and neither spoke nor moved. Wentworth
having glanced towards him once or twice, as if to divine his wishes,
receiving no sign, lit a cigar, and leaning His back against the
chimney-piece began to smoke furiously, whilst I devoted myself to
the pages of an old sporting magazine. Thus passed five minutes, which
seemed as if they would never come to an end, at the expiration of which
time the tax-cart, driven by a stout country lad, drew up to the door,
and the two women making their appearance at the same moment, Oaklands
turned to leave the room. As he did so Wilford, for the first time,
raised his head, thereby disclosing a countenance which, pale as death,
was characterised by an expression of such intense malignity as one
might conceive would be discernible in that of a corpse reanimated by
some evil spirit. After regarding Oaklands fixedly for a moment, he
said, in a low, grating tone of voice, “You have foiled me once and
again--when next we meet, it wilt, be my turn!” Oaklands merely smiled
contemptuously, and quitted the house.
Having mounted our horses, we ordered the lad who drove the spring-cart
to proceed at his fastest pace, while we followed at a sufficient
distance to keep it in sight, so as to guard against any attempt which
might be made by Wilford to repossess himself of his victim, without
positively identifying ourselves with the party it contained. We rode in
silence for the first two or three miles; at length I could refrain
no longer, and, half uttering my thoughts aloud, half addressing my
companion, I exclaimed, “Oh, Harry, Harry, what is all this that you
have done?”
“Done!” replied Oaklands, with a heightened colour and flashing eyes,
“rescued an innocent girl from a villain who would have betrayed her,
and punished the scoundrel ~193~~about half so severely as he deserved;
but that was my misfortune, not my fault. Had not the whip broken----”
“You know that is not what I mean,” returned I; “but this man will
challenge you, will--you are aware of his accursed skill--will murder
you. Oh! that fiendish look of his as you left the room--it will haunt
me to my dying day.”
“And would you have had me leave the poor girl to her fate from a coward
fear of personal danger? You are strangely altered since you defied a
room full of men last night rather than allow Clara Saville's name to
be uttered by their profane lips; or, which is nearer the truth,” he
continued with a kind smile, “your affection for me blinds you.”
“Not so, Harry,” replied I; “but it is the recollection of my own
feelings, when, while waiting for Lawless's report last night, I
believed I should be forced to meet this Wilford--it is the misery, the
self-reproach, the bitter penitence of that moment, when, for the first
time, I was able to reflect on the fearful situation in which by my own
rashness I had placed myself, a situation in which crime seemed
forced upon me, and it appeared impossible to act rightly--it is the
remembrance of all these things which causes me to lament that you,
my more than brother, should have involved yourself in similar
difficulties.”
“But, Frank,” he began--then, interrupting himself, he seized my hand,
and pressing it warmly between his own, exclaimed, “My dear old fellow,
forgive me if I have spoken unkindly to you; but this man has maddened
me, I believe”. He paused, and then continued in a calmer voice, “Let me
tell you how it occurred, and you will see I could scarcely have acted
otherwise than I have done. You know I went into the public-house to
brush off the mud after my tumble. The instant my step sounded in the
passage, a girl tripped lightly down the stairs and ran towards me,
exclaiming joyfully, 'You have come at last, then!' On finding that it
was not the person she expected she stopped in alarm, and I perceived
to my astonishment that it was Lizzie Maurice. She recognised me at
the same moment, and apparently a new idea struck her, for she again
approached me, saying, 'Mr. Oaklands, tell me, sir, for heaven's sake,
has anything happened to Wilford?' Then, with woman's tact, perceiving
her mistake, she blushed deeply, adding in a timid voice, 'I fancied you
might have been riding with that gentleman; and seeing you alone, I was
afraid some accident might ~194~~have befallen your companion'. All this
convinced me that my suspicions had not been misplaced; and the thought
occurred to me that possibly it might not yet be too late to endeavour
to restore her to her father, while the recollection of Archer's account
of the old man's distress determined me to make the attempt.
“Taking her, therefore, by the hand, I led her into the parlour, and,
begging her to listen to me for five minutes, told her I was aware of
her elopement, and entreated her to return home again, adding that her
father was brokenhearted at her loss. She shed tears when I mentioned
the old man's grief, but positively refused to return home.
“Finding persuasion to be of no avail, I thought I would appeal to her
fears: so I informed her that I was aware of the name of the villain who
had enticed her away; that I would seek him out and expose him, and that
I should instantly acquaint her father with her place of refuge, and
advise him to come provided with proper powers to reclaim her. This
produced more effect, and, after some hesitation, she told me proudly
that I had done her foul wrong by my doubts; that Mr. Wilford meant
to make her his lawful wife; but that, in order to prevent his great
relations hearing of it till he could break it to them cautiously,
it was advisable to keep the affair quiet--(the old story, in short,
private marriage and all the rest of it)--a friend of Wilford's,
therefore, to avoid exciting suspicion, had kindly driven her over there
the night before, and she was now expecting her lover to come, and bring
a clergyman with him, who would marry them by licence on the spot; when
she heard my step she thought they had arrived. The air of truth with
which she told her tale carried conviction with it.
“I was about to represent to her the improbability of Wilford's
intentions being as honourable as she fondly imagined them, when a
gig drove up to the door, containing Wentworth and a fellow whom I
recognised as one of the billiard-markers in ---- Street, dressed in
a seedy suit of black for the occasion; immediately afterwards Wilford
arrived on horseback. The whole thing was now perfectly clear. Wilford,
having made the girl believe he intended to marry her, persuaded
Wentworth, who is completely his tool, to carry her off for him; after
which he went to Lawless's wine-party, in order to show himself and
thereby avert suspicion. He then bribed the billiard-marker to play
parson, got Wentworth to bring him, and going out as if merely for a
ride had joined them here. I was considering what would be the best
~195~~course to pursue, and was just coming out to consult you, when
the door was flung open, and Wilford and Wentworth entered hastily. The
moment Wilford's eyes fell upon me he started as if a serpent had stung
him, and his brow became black as night.
“Advancing a step or two towards me, he inquired, in a voice hoarse with
rage, what I was doing there. I replied, 'Endeavouring to prevent some
of his evil designs from succeeding'. He tried to answer me, but his
utterance was literally choked by passion; and turning away, he strode
up and down the room gnashing and grinding his teeth like a maniac.
Having in some degree recovered his self-control, he again approached
me, drew himself up to his full height, and, pointing to the door,
desired me to leave the room.
“I replied I should not do so until I had given the young lady a piece
of information respecting the character of one of the party--and I
pointed to the billiard-marker, who had not yet alighted--I should then,
I added, learn from her own lips whether she still wished to remain
there, or would take my advice and return to her father.
“Again Wilford ground his teeth with rage, and desired me, in a voice of
thunder, to 'leave the room instantly '; to which I replied flatly that
I would not.
“He then made a sign to Wentworth, and they both approached me, with the
intention of forcing me out. Fearing that their combined efforts might
overpower me (for Wentworth, though short, is a broad-shouldered, strong
man, and Wilford's muscles are like iron), I avoided their grasp by
stepping backwards, and, hitting out with my right hand as I did so,
caught Wentworth full on the nose, tapping his claret for him, as the
pugilists call it, and sending him down like a shot. At the same moment
Wilford sprang upon me with a bound like a tiger, and seizing me by
the throat a short but severe struggle took place between us. I was too
strong for him, however; and finding this, he would gladly have ceased
hostilities and quitted me, kindly postponing my annihilation till some
future day, when it could be more conveniently accomplished by means of
a pistol-bullet. But, as you may imagine, my blood was pretty well up
by this time, and I determined he should not get off quite so easily.
Seizing, therefore, my whip in one hand, I detained him without much
trouble with the other--his strength being thoroughly exhausted by his
previous exertions--and administered such a thrashing as will keep him
out of mischief for a week to come, at ~196~~all events. It was while
this was going on that you made your appearance, I think; so now you are
_au fait_ to the whole affair--and pray, what else could I possibly have
done under the circumstances?”
“It is not easy to say,” replied I. “I think the horse-whipping might
have been omitted, though I suppose the result would have been the same
at all events, and it certainly was a great temptation. The brightest
side of the business is your having saved the poor girl, who I really
believe is more to be pitied than blamed, having only followed the
dictates of her woman's nature, by allowing her feelings to overrule her
judgment.”
“You have used exactly the right expression there,” said Oaklands; “in
such cases as the present, it is not that the woman is weak enough to be
gulled by every plausible tale which may be told her, but that she has
such entire confidence, such pure and child-like faith in the man she
loves, that she will believe anything rather than admit the possibility
of his deceiving her.”
“The deeper villain he, who can betray such simple trust,” replied I.
“Villain, indeed!” returned Oaklands. “I would not have been in
Wilford's place, to have witnessed that girl's look when the conviction
of his baseness was forced upon her, for worlds; it was not a look of
anger nor of sorrow, but it seemed as if the blow had literally crushed
her heart within her---as if the brightness of her young spirit had fled
for ever, and that to live would only be to prolong the duration of her
misery. No; I would rather have faced death in its most horrible form,
than have met that look, knowing that my own treachery had called it
forth.”
We rode for some little distance in silence. At length I inquired how
he meant to arrange for Lizzie Maurice's return to her home, as it would
not do for us, unless he wished the part we had taken in the affair to
be known all over Cambridge, to escort her to her father's door in the
order of procession in which we were then advancing.
“No, I was just thinking of that,” replied Oaklands. “It appears to me
that the quietest way of managing the affair will be to pay the boy
for the horse and cart at once, telling him to set Lizzie Maurice down
within a short distance of her father's shop, and then to drive back
with the woman. Lizzie can proceed on foot, and will probably at this
time of the evening (it was nearly seven o'clock) be able to enter the
house without attracting attention: we will, however, keep her in
sight, so as to be at hand to render her assistance should she require
~197~~it. I do not myself feel the slightest doubt that her father will
believe her tale, and treat her kindly. I shall, however, leave her
my direction, and should she require my testimony in support of her
veracity, or should the old man be unwilling to receive her, she must
inform me of it, and I will call upon him, and try to bring him to
reason.”
“That will not be necessary, depend upon it,” returned I; “he will only
be too glad to recover her.”
“So I think,” replied Oaklands.
“What course shall you take with regard to Wilford?” inquired I.
“I shall never mention the affair to any one, if he does not,” answered
Oaklands; “neither shall I take any step whatever in the matter. I am
perfectly satisfied, with the position in which I stand at present, and
if he should not enjoy an equal share of contentment, it is for him to
declare it--the next move must be his, and it will be time enough for me
to decide how to act when we see what it may be. I shall now tell Lizzie
Maurice of my plan for her, and inform her that as long as I hear she is
living quietly at home, and leading a respectable life, my lips will be
sealed with regard to the occurrences of to-day.” So saying, he put his
horse into a canter, and riding up to the side of the cart, conversed
with the girl in a low tone of voice for several minutes; then, drawing
out his purse, handed some money to the driver, and rejoined me. “She
is extremely grateful to me for my promise of silence,” he commenced;
“seems very penitent for her fault, and declares that this is a lesson
she shall never forget. She agrees to my plan of walking, and tells me
there is a side-door to the house, by which she can enter unobserved.
She promises to confess everything to her father, and hopes to obtain
his forgiveness; and appears altogether in 'a very proper frame of
mind,' as the good books say.”
“Long may she remain so,” returned I; “and now I am happy to say
there are some of the towers of Cambridge visible, for, like you, I am
becoming fearfully hungry.”
“And for the first time during the last twenty-four hours I am actually
beginning to feel as tired as a dog,” rejoined Harry, shrugging his
shoulders with an air of intense satisfaction.~198~~