He glowed with a spirit pure and high,
They called the feeling madness,
And he wept for woe with a melting eye,
'Twas weak and moody sadness.
PERCIVAL.
It was Epsom week. London was all astir with the influx of company
returning from the races.
A pale girl sat alone in one of the apartments of an hotel in Brook
Street, listening long and anxiously to the coming sounds of the
carriage-wheels, as they whirled along in that direction.
At length a carriage stopped before the door, and in a few moments a
lady entered the room, whose showy costume and flushed excited
countenance, (forming so strong a contrast to the appearance of the
other, whom she warmly greeted,) plainly evinced her to have but just
returned from that gay resort, the Stand at Epsom.
"You are come then, dear Mary. I hope you have not been very long
waiting."
"No, not so very long," and the eyes of the speaker wandered anxiously
towards the door, as if she seemed to expect the appearance of a second
person.
Mrs. de Burgh understood that glance too well--she shook her head
compassionately.
"Alas!--no, dear Mary; you must not expect to see him just now; he has
been unfortunately prevented--that was the reason which made me so late;
but I will tell you all about it presently, only let me have a glass of
wine first, for I am nearly exhausted."
And during the interval of suspense, whilst Mrs. de Burgh refreshed
herself after the fatiguing pleasures of the day, let us remind our
readers, that the momentous year had some little time ago drawn to a
close. Its expiration had not, however, brought with it, any immediate
results.
Nothing had been seen or heard of Eugene Trevor by any of the family for
the first month or two. He had been in London only at intervals, and he
had not opened any communication with his _fiancée_, till she--on coming
to London at the urgent solicitation of her sister Lady Morgan, who was
not well--had a few days after her arrival, been surprised by a note
from Mrs. de Burgh, whom she was not aware was even in town, begging her
to come to her--naming a particular day--at the hotel where she was
staying--as Eugene Trevor wished particularly to see her. She added that
he would be obliged by her not mentioning the object of this visit to
her relations, lest by any chance they might interfere with the
interview, and it was very necessary that it should occur, before any
more general communication took place.
"Still mystery and concealment!" was poor Mary's disappointed soliloquy.
"Why not come here openly and see and speak to me? But I will go this
once, as Eugene wishes it, and I cannot refuse perhaps without
occasioning trouble and confusion."
And so she went; for still alas! the attractive chain too powerfully
bound her, and her heart could not but spring forward with yearning hope
to this meeting once again, with her intended. It may be imagined,
therefore, how her heart had sunk within her, at Mrs. de Burgh's
disappointing communication.
"Prevented coming," after having had her hopes and expectations strained
to such a pitch--and she awaited with painful solicitude the promised
explanation.
She had not seen her cousin since her last unhappy time in London, and
though, even then, to a certain degree, a kind of estrangement had risen
up between them; and all that she had since heard by report of the gay
wife's conduct and proceedings, had not greatly raised the beautiful
Olivia in her esteem, yet Mary could not but retain a grateful
remembrance of the warm-hearted kindness she had received whilst under
her roof--and a still more pleasing and vivid impression of the too
tenderly cherished associations, with which she was so intimately
connected.
But at this moment, the dearest friend on earth would have only been
appreciated by Mary, as the being on whose lips she hung for information
on the subject, and which she alone at this moment had the power to
communicate; and "why had not Eugene come?" was all that spoke in her
anxious countenance, or in the faltering tone in which she attempted,
with some show of cousinly interest, to make a few inquiries after Louis
and the children.
Mrs. de Burgh came at last to her relief--if relief it could be
called--for the first thing she heard was, that Eugene instead of coming
to see her, intended setting off for Montrevor that very evening.
"And why?" Mary with quivering lips interrupted.
"Having lost a large sum of money on the Derby, he was obliged to have
immediate recourse to his father for the necessary cash to cover this
unfortunate transaction. He has therefore commissioned me to break to
you this intelligence. I cannot tell you, my dear Mary, the state of
mind poor Eugene was in when we parted--not only on account of the
immediate disappointment this occasioned him; but because this enormous
loss must again retard the possibility of his marriage taking place at
present. My dear Mary, you are doomed to the trial of hope deferred--the
strength and constancy of your attachment has indeed been sorely taxed."
Mary did not immediately reply. She sat very pale, her eyes fixed upon
the ground, something more than common disappointment expressed in her
thoughtful countenance.
At length she looked up, and said in a grave and anxious tone:
"Does Eugene always lose like this at races?"
"Oh no, dear! fortunately," laughed Mrs. de Burgh, "not often; he is
very lucky in general," but checking herself, as she saw Mary's shocked
countenance, "I mean," and she hesitated, "that after all he has not so
very decided a taste for this sort of thing," and Mrs. de Burgh laughed
again, saying: "but, my dear girl, do not look so very serious upon the
subject, what is there so very shocking in it after all."
Mary thought it was a subject, to her at least, of most serious
importance and concern. A new and uncomfortable misgiving began to arise
in her mind.
Was it in any way relating to this propensity in Eugene Trevor, against
which Louis de Burgh originally warned her--and did it in reality--more
than the reason which Eugene had brought forth to her brother, tend to
interfere in any way with her happiness? So strongly did this idea
suddenly possess her, that she could not refrain from asking Mrs. de
Burgh whether she thought this was the case. Her cousin's evasive answer
did not tend much to the removal of her suspicions.
Eugene certainly did play--did bet a little on the turf. She thought
Mary had always been aware of that--men must have some pursuit, some
excitement. If it were not one thing it was another--equally--perhaps
one might call it--"not quite right;" however, all the best men in
London were on the turf. Eugene was only like the rest, but with married
men, it was quite different.
"Indeed, Mary," the fair lady continued, "Eugene always assures me, he
means to give up everything of the sort when he marries, and I am quite
sure he will do so. I only wish you were married, dear."
Mary only sighed.
"You are not getting weary of your engagement, Mary?" Mrs. de Burgh
inquired.
"Weary!--oh, no, Olivia. I was sighing for Eugene's sake."
"You may well do so, for he is, I assure you, very unhappy at all this
delay."
Mary shook her head, and her lip curled a little disdainfully. The
gesture seemed to say, "Whose fault is it now?"
Mrs. de Burgh seemed to understand it as such, for she said--
"It is all that miserly old father's fault. He could set everything
right at once, if he chose."
"But," said Mary, in a low tone, "I see no end of all this."
"No," hesitated Mrs. de Burgh, "not I suppose till the brother turns up;
unless, indeed--" she murmured.
"What?" inquired Mary, anxiously.
"You had better come and stay with me at Silverton," was Mrs. de Burgh's
indirect reply.
Mary smiled dejectedly.
"That would never do," she replied, "they would not consent to my doing
so, under present circumstances."
"They--who are they? I am sure, Mary, I should not allow any brother or
sister to interfere with my proceedings. You are of age, and quite at
liberty, I should imagine, to act as you please on any subject."
Mary shook her head. She did not feel quite so independent-spirited as
all that--and besides, she did not herself see that such a step would be
quite expedient at present.
She did not, however, say this aloud, and Mrs. de Burgh attributed her
silence to yielding consent.
"Eugene wishes it very much I can assure you."
Mary looked up as if the tempter himself had murmured the insinuating
observation in her ear, for there was something significant in the way
Mrs. de Burgh had spoken, which she could not but understand, and still
more in the words which followed.
"If you were only married to Eugene, Mary, you might rely on his giving
up all objectionable and hurtful things."
"But as that cannot be," sighed Mary, despondingly.
"It could," hesitated Mrs. de Burgh; "it is only your friends'
opposition which would stand in the way, until Eugene is able to settle
something satisfactory as to his future prospects. Were I you, Mary, if
it were only for Eugene's sake, I should not be so scrupulous about
securing each other's happiness and his welfare, as he tells me you
are."
But Mary turned away almost indignantly. If the proposal had even
revolted her spirit when coming from Eugene's own lips, much more so,
did it grate upon her feelings, when thus insinuated by those of
another.
But whatever might here have ensued, was interrupted by the entrance of
Mr. de Burgh. It seemed that he had only arrived in London that day,
unexpectedly to Mrs. de Burgh, who otherwise would not have planned the
meeting of Mary and Eugene.
He came evidently in one of his London humours, as his wife called it;
and though he greeted Mary kindly, she fancied there was a certain
alteration in his manner towards her, which she instinctively felt to
originate in his disapprovement of the present circumstances of her
engagement; she remembered that he never was friendly to the affair,
though the direct subject was now avoided by each of the party.
He sat and made captious and cutting allusions to the races, and every
one concerned therein, which, whether really intended at Eugene, Mary
interpreted as such--and they touched the poor girl to the quick.
Probably she was not far wrong in her supposition as to the pointedness
of his remarks, for suddenly glancing on his listener's downcast anxious
countenance he exclaimed, addressing his wife:
"Bye the bye, Olivia, I mean to be off abroad in a day or two."
"Good Heavens, Louis! what new fancy is this?"
"Why, I have heard something to-day which has really put me quite into a
fever."
"Well, what is it? Some nonsense, I dare say."
"_I_ at least do not think it so. Dawson, who I saw to-day, declares
that Trevor, Eustace Trevor I mean, was seen by some one not long ago in
Switzerland. Yes," he continued, encouraged by Mary's glance of intense
and startled interest, "he was seen with another person--the _keeper_ I
suppose they talk about--somewhere on the Alps."
"The Alps!--poor fellow! gone there to cool his brain, I suppose," said
Mrs. de Burgh, whose countenance nevertheless had bespoke her not a
little moved by this communication.
"Cool his brain!--nonsense! cool enough by this time, depend upon it."
"But does Eugene know of this?" faltered Mary.
"I suppose so," replied Mr. de Burgh, coldly.
"Impossible, Louis!" Mary exclaimed with eagerness.
"Well, perhaps so. I don't know at all," Mr. de Burgh continued. "I
shouldn't be so much surprised if he did; there are a great many things
which surprise me more than that, Mary; for instance you yourself--yes,
you, Mary," as she lifted up her eyes to her cousin's handsome face,
with quiet surprise, "that you should see things in a light so different
to what I should have expected from you."
"Ridiculous!" interposed Mrs. de Burgh--"that is to say that you should
have expected her to have seen everything with your own jaundiced,
prejudiced perception; but about Eustace Trevor."
"Yes, about Eustace Trevor; he is a subject certainly worth a little of
your interest and inquiry. Mary, you should have known _him_," exclaimed
Mr. de Burgh, with rising enthusiasm.
"You were very much attached to him then?" demanded Mary, with deep
interest.
"Attached to him!--yes, indeed I was; that _was_ a man whom one might
well glory in calling friend; or," he murmured to himself, "a woman
might be proud to worship as a lover."
"Yes," interposed Mrs. de Burgh, "I suppose he was a very superior,
delightful person; but I own he always appeared to me, even as a boy, a
little _tête monté_, so that it did not surprise me so very much when I
heard of the calamity which had befallen him. He was just the sort of
person upon whose mind any strong excitement, or sudden shock would have
had the like effect."
"Olivia, you are talking nonsense," Mr. de Burgh petulantly exclaimed.
"It was his mother's death, I think, I heard which brought on this
dreadful crisis?" Mary inquired.
"Exactly so," answered Mrs. de Burgh.
"How _do_ you know?" exclaimed her husband. "What does any one know
about the matter?"
"We can only judge from what one has heard from the best authority,"
again persisted his wife.
"Best authority! well, I can only say that far from being of your
opinion, I should have said that Eustace Trevor had been as far from
madness as earth from heaven."
"Really, Louis!" exclaimed Mrs. de Burgh, perceiving Mary's look of
anxious interest and surprise, "one would fancy from the way you talk
that you suspected him never really to have been mad."
"'And this the world called frenzy; but the wise
Have a far deeper madness, and the glance
Of melancholy is a fearful gift.
What is it but the telescope of truth,
Which brings life near in utter nakedness,
Making the cold reality more cold,'"
quoted Mr. de Burgh for all reply.
"What _is_ all this to do with the point in question?" said Mrs. de
Burgh impatiently. "Really, Louis, Mary will think _you_ also decidedly
have gone mad."
"Mary likes poetry," he answered quietly; "she will not think it is
madness what I have uttered."
"But, Louis, what do you really mean about Eugene's brother?--tell me
something about him. I have heard so very little," demanded Mary,
earnestly.
"Why do you not make Eugene tell you himself? I can only say:
'He was a man, take him for all in all,
I shall not look upon his like again!'"
"He was very handsome--very clever," said Mrs. de Burgh, taking up the
theme more prosaically, "and very amiable I believe, though rather
impetuous and hot-tempered; always at daggers drawn with his father,
because he spent the old man's money a little faster than he liked, it
is said."
"Good heavens, Olivia!" burst forth Mr. de Burgh, passionately, "how can
you sit there, and distort the truth in that shameful manner? you know
as well as I do the true version of this part of the story. Mary,"
turning to his cousin with flashing eyes, "Eustace Trevor had a mother;
an excellent charming creature, whose existence, through the combined
influence of her husband and a most baneful, pernicious wretch of a
woman, that Marryott, of whom no doubt you have heard, was rendered one
long tissue of wretchedness and wrong, the extent of which I believe is
hardly known. Eustace, who adored his mother, keenly felt and manfully
espoused her cause; therefore, you may see at once this was the reason
of his father's hatred of him, and the old man's treatment of this son,
was one shameful system of injustice and tyranny--enough, I confess, to
drive any man into a state of mental irritation, possessed of Eustace's
sensitive temperament."
Mary's wandering, startled gaze turned inquiringly on Mrs. de Burgh, as
if to ask whether this new and melancholy representation of the case
could be really true. Mrs. de Burgh looked a little disconcerted, but
replied carelessly:
"Yes, poor Aunt Trevor! she had certainly a sad time of it; but then it
was partly her own fault. She was a weak-spirited creature. What other
woman would have endured what she did in that tame and passive manner?"
"Yes, these poor weak-spirited creatures have often, however, strength
to bear a great deal for the sake of others," replied Mr. de Burgh,
sarcastically. "It would have been more high and noble-spirited, I dare
say, to have blazed abroad her domestic grievances; but she had no doubt
a little consideration for her children, and the honour and
respectability of their house and name."
"Oh, nonsense! that was all very well when they were children to
consider them; but when they were men, it signified very little," said
Mrs. de Burgh.
"But _then_," suggested Mary, with trembling earnestness, "then she must
have had great comfort in their affection and support."
"Yes," answered Mr. de Burgh, "in Eustace she had, I know, unfailing
comfort and support."
"And Eugene?" anxiously demanded Mary. "Surely he too--"
"Of course," Mrs. de Burgh hastened to exclaim, "no one could be fonder
or kinder to his mother though, because"--looking angrily at her
husband--"he had the sense and the discretion not to quarrel with his
father, and strength of mind not to _go mad_--Louis, I suppose, wishes
to make you believe that Eugene was not kind to his mother."
"Nothing would make me believe that Eugene was not kind to his mother,"
added Mary with an earnest energy, which showed with what indignation
she would repel this distracting idea.
And Mr. de Burgh replied with great moderation:
"Nor did I say anything of the sort. _I_ am not at all in the custom of
asserting grave charges against a person, without certain proof. I only
saw as much into 'the secrets of the prison-house' at Montrevor as would
make me very sorry to have had anything further to do with its
interior."
Poor Mary! She asked no more questions, she had heard quite enough to
give new and dark impressions to her mind. She saw everything in a
still more bewildering and uncertain light--yet felt a vague, indefinite
dread of further revelation.
Her sister's carriage being speedily announced, she bade adieu to her
cousins, who were leaving London the next day, and
"Went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn,"
bearing in her secret soul restless doubts and blind misgivings, she
shrank even from confiding to her most beloved Arthur.