"Thine for a space are they--
Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last;
Thy gates shall yet give way,
Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past."
BRYANT
Captain Ducie had retired for the night, and was sitting reading,
when a low tap at the door roused him from a brown study. He gave the
necessary permission, and the door opened.
"I hope, Ducie, you have not forgotten the secretary I left among
your effects," said Paul entering the room, "and concerning which I
wrote you when you were still at Quebec."
Captain Ducie pointed to the case, which was standing among his other
luggage, on the floor of the room.
"Thank you for this care," said Paul, taking the secretary under his
arm, and retiring towards the door; "it contains papers of much
importance to myself, and some that I have reason to think are of
importance to others."
"Stop, Powis--a word before, you quit me. Is Templemore _de trop_?"
"Not at all; I have a sincere regard for Templemore, and should be
sorry to see him leave us."
"And yet I think it singular a man of his habits should be
rusticating among these hills, when I know that he is expected to
look at the Canadas, with a view to report their actual condition at
home."
"Is Sir George really entrusted with a commission of that sort?"
inquired Paul, with interest.
"Not with any positive commission, perhaps, for none was necessary.
Templemore is a rich fellow, and has no need of appointments; but, it
is hoped and understood, that he will look at the provinces, and
report their condition to the government, I dare say he will not be
impeached for his negligence, though it may occasion surprise."
"Good night, Ducie; Templemore prefers a wigwam to your walled
Quebec, and _natives_ to colonists, that's all."
In a minute, Paul was at the door of John Effingham's room, where he
again tapped, and was again told to enter.
"Ducie has not forgotten my request, and here is the secretary that
contains poor Mr. Monday's paper," he remarked, as he laid his load
on a toilet-table, speaking in a way to show that the visit was
expected. "We have, indeed, neglected this duty too long, and it is
to be hoped no injustice, or wrong to any, will be the consequence."
"Is that the package?" demanded John Effingham, extending a hand to
receive a bundle of papers that Paul had taken from the secretary.
"We will break the seals this moment, and ascertain what ought to be
done, before we sleep."
"These are papers of my own, and very precious are they," returned
the young man, regarding them a moment, with interest, before he laid
them on the toilet. "Here are the papers of Mr. Monday."
John Effingham received the package from his young friend, placed the
lights conveniently on the table, put on his spectacles, and invited
Paul to be seated. The gentlemen were placed opposite each other, the
duty of breaking the seals, and first casting an eye at the contents
of the different documents, devolving, as a matter of course, on the
senior of the two, who, in truth, had alone been entrusted with it.
"Here is something signed by poor Monday himself, in the way of a
general, certificate," observed John Effingham, who first read the
paper, and then handed it to Paul. It was, in form, an unsealed
letter; and it was addressed "to all whom it may concern." The
certificate itself was in the following words:
"I, John Monday, do declare and certify, that all the accompanying
letters and documents are genuine and authentic. Jane Dowse, to whom
and from whom, are so many letters, was my late mother, she having
intermarried with Peter Dowse, the man so often named, and who led
her into acts for which I know she has since been deeply repentant.
In committing these papers to me, my poor mother left me the sole
judge of the course I was to take, and I have put them in this form
in order that they may yet do good, should I be called suddenly away.
All depends on discovering who the person called Bright actually is,
for he was never known to my mother, by any other name. She knows him
to have been an Englishman, however, and thinks he was, or had been,
an upper servant in a gentleman's family. JOHN MONDAY."
This paper was dated several years back, a sign that the disposition
to do right had existed some time in Mr. Monday; and all the letters
and other papers had been carefully preserved. The latter also
appeared to be regularly numbered, a precaution that much aided the
investigations of the two gentlemen. The original letters spoke for
themselves, and the copies had been made in a clear, strong,
mercantile hand, and with the method of one accustomed to business.
In short, so far as the contents of the different papers would allow,
nothing was wanting to render the whole distinct and intelligible.
John Effingham read the paper No. 1, with deliberation, though not
aloud; and when he had done, he handed it to his young friend, coolly
remarking--
"That is the production of a deliberate villain."
Paul glanced his eye over the document, which was an original letter
signed, 'David Bright,' and addressed to 'Mrs. Jane Dowse,' It was
written with exceeding art, made many professions of friendship,
spoke of the writer's knowledge of the woman's friends in England,
and of her first husband in particular, and freely professed the
writer's desire to serve her, while it also contained several
ambiguous allusions to certain means of doing so, which should be
revealed whenever the person to whom the letter was addressed should
discover a willingness to embark in the undertaking. This letter was
dated Philadelphia, was addressed to one in New-York, and it was old.
"This is, indeed, a rare specimen of villany," said Paul, as he laid
down the paper, "and has been written in some such spirit as that
employed by the devil when he tempted our common mother. I think I
never read a better specimen of low, wily, cunning."
"And, judging by all that we already know, it would seem to have
succeeded. In this letter you will find the gentleman a little more
explicit; and but a little; though he is evidently encouraged by the
interest and curiosity betrayed by the woman in this copy of the
answer to his first epistle."
Paul read the letter just named, and then he laid it down to wait for
the next, which was still in the hands of his companion.
"This is likely to prove a history of unlawful love, and of its
miserable consequences," said John Effingham in his cool manner, as
he handed the answers to letter No. 1, and letter No. 2, to Paul.
"The world is full of such unfortunate adventures, and I should think
the parties English, by a hint or two you will find in this very
honest and conscientious communication. Strongly artificial, social
and political distinctions render expedients of this nature more
frequent, perhaps, in Great Britain, than in any other country. Youth
is the season of the passions, and many a man in the thoughtlessness
of that period lays the foundation of bitter regret in after life."
As John Effingham raised his eyes, in the act of extending his hand
towards his companion, he perceived that the fresh ruddy hue of his
embrowned cheek deepened, until the colour diffused itself over the
whole of his fine brow. At first an unpleasant suspicion flashed on
John Effingham, and he admitted it with regret, for Eve and her
future happiness had got to be closely associated, in his mind, with
the character and conduct of the young man; but when Paul took the
papers, steadily, and by an effort seemed to subdue all unpleasant
feelings, the calm dignity with which he read them completely effaced
the disagreeable distrust. It was then John Effingham remembered that
he had once believed Paul himself might be the fruits of the
heartless indiscretion he condemned. Commiseration and sympathy
instantly took the place of the first impression, and he was so much
absorbed with these feelings that he had not taken up the letter
which was to follow, when Paul laid down the paper he had last been
required to read.
"This does, indeed, sir, seem to foretell one of those painful
histories of unbridled passion, with the still more painful
consequences," said the young man with the steadiness of one who was
unconscious of having a personal connexion with any events of a
nature so unpleasant. "Let us examine farther."
John Effingham felt emboldened by these encouraging signs of
unconcern, and he read the succeeding letters aloud, so that they
learned their contents simultaneously. The next six or eight
communications betrayed nothing distinctly, beyond the fact that the
child which formed the subject of the whole correspondence, was to be
received by Peter Dowse and his wife, and to be retained as their own
offspring, for the consideration of a considerable sum, with an
additional engagement to pay an annuity. It appeared by these letters
also, that the child, which was hypocritically alluded to under the
name of the 'pet,' had been actually transferred to the keeping of
Jane Dowse, and that several years passed, after this arrangement,
before the correspondence terminated. Most of the later letters
referred to the payment of the annuity, although they all contained
cold inquiries after the 'pet,' and answers so vague and general, as
sufficiently to prove that the term was singularly misapplied. In the
whole, there were some thirty or forty letters, each of which had
been punctually answered, and their dates covered a space of near
twelve years. The perusal of all these papers consumed more than an
hour, and when John Effingham laid his spectacles on the table, the
village clock had struck the hour of midnight.
"As yet," he observed, "we have learned little more than the fact,
that a child was made to take a false character, without possessing
any other clue to the circumstances than is given in the names of the
parties, all of whom are evidently obscure, and one of the most
material of whom, we are plainly told, must have borne a fictitious
name. Even poor Monday, in possession of so much collateral testimony
that we want, could not have known what was the precise injustice
done, if any, or, certainly, with the intentions he manifests, he
would not have left that important particular in the dark."
"This is likely to prove a complicated affair," returned Paul, "and
it is not very clear that we can be of any immediate service. As you
are probably fatigued, we may without impropriety defer the further
examination to another time."
To this John Effingham assented, and Paul, during the short
conversation that followed, brought the secretary from the toilet to
the table, along with the bundle of important papers that belonged to
himself, to which he had alluded, and busied himself in replacing the
whole in the drawer from which they had been taken.
"All the formalities about the seals, that we observed when poor
Monday gave us the packet, would seem to be unnecessary," he
remarked, while thus occupied, "and it will probably be sufficient if
I leave the secretary in your room, and keep the keys myself."
"One never knows," returned John Effingham, with the greater caution
of experience and age. "We have not read all the papers, and there
are wax and lights before you; each has his watch and seal, and it
will be the work of a minute only, to replace every thing as we left
the package, originally. When this is done, you may leave the
secretary, or remove it, at your own pleasure."
"I will leave it; for, though it contains so much that I prize, and
which is really of great importance to myself, it contains nothing
for which I shall have immediate occasion."
"In that case, it were better that I place the package in which we
have a common interest in an _armoire_, or in my secretary, and that
you keep your precious effects more immediately under your own eye."
"It is immaterial, unless the case will inconvenience you, for I do
not know that I am not happier when it is out of my sight, so long as
I feel certain of its security, than when it is constantly before my
eyes."
Paul said this with a forced smile, and there was a sadness in his
countenance that excited the sympathy of his companion. The latter,
however, merely bowed his assent, and the papers were replaced, and
the secretary was locked and deposited in an _armoire_, in silence.
Paul was then about to wish the other good night, when John Effingham
seized his hand, and by a gentle effort induced him to resume his
seat. An embarrassing, but short pause succeeded, when the latter
spoke.
"We have suffered enough in company, and have seen each other in
situations of sufficient trial to be friends," he said. "I should
feel mortified, did I believe you could think me influenced by an
improper curiosity, in wishing to share more of your confidence than
you are perhaps willing to bestow; I trust you will attribute to its
right motive the liberty I am now taking. Age makes some difference
between us, and the sincere and strong interest I feel in your
welfare, ought to give me a small claim not to be treated as a total
stranger. So jealous and watchful has this interest been, I might
with great truth call it affection, that I have discovered you are
not situated exactly as other men in your condition of life are
situated, and feel persuaded that the sympathy, perhaps the advice,
of one so many years older than yourself, might be useful. You have
already said so much to me, on the subject of your personal
situation, that I almost feel a right to ask for more."
John Effingham uttered this in his mildest and most winning manner;
and few men could carry with them, on such an occasion, more of
persuasion in their voices and looks. Paul's features worked, and it
was evident to his companion that he was moved, while, at the same
time, he was not displeased.
"I am grateful, deeply grateful, sir, for this interest in my
happiness," Paul answered, "and if I knew the particular points on
which you feel any curiosity, there is nothing that I can desire to
conceal. Have the further kindness to question me, Mr. Effingham,
that I need not touch on things you do not care to hear."
"All that really concerns your welfare, would have interest with me.
You have been the agent of rescuing not only myself, but those whom I
most love, from a fate worse than death; and, a childless bachelor
myself, I have more than once thought of attempting to supply the
places of those natural friends that I fear you have lost. Your
parents--"
"Are both dead. I never knew either," said Paul, who spoke huskily,
"and will most cheerfully accept your generous offer, if you will
allow me to attach to it a single condition."
"Beggars must not be choosers," returned John Effingham, "and if you
will allow me to feel this interest in you, and occasionally to share
in the confidence of a father; I shall not insist on any unreasonable
terms. What is your condition?"
"That the word money may be struck out of our vocabulary, and that
you leave your will unaltered. Were the world to be examined, you
could not find a worthier or a lovelier heiress, than the one you
have already selected, and whom Providence itself has given you.
Compared with yourself, I am not rich, but I have a gentleman's
income, and as I shall probably never marry, it will suffice for all
my wants."
John Effingham was more pleased than he cared to express with this
frankness, and with the secret sympathy that had existed between
them; but he smiled at the injunction; for, with Eve's knowledge, and
her father's entire approbation, he had actually made a codicil to
his will, in which their young protector was left one half of his
large fortune.
"The will may remain untouched, if you desire it," he answered,
evasively, "and that condition is disposed of. I am glad to learn so
directly from yourself, what your manner of living and the reports of
others had prepared me to hear, that you are independent. This fact,
alone, will place us solely on our mutual esteem, and render the
friendship that I hope is now brought within a covenant, if not now
first established, more equal and frank. You have seen much of the
world, Powis, for your years and profession?"
"It is usual to think that men of my profession see much of the
world, as a consequence of their pursuits; though I agree with you,
sir, that this is seeing the world only in a very limited circle. It
is now several years since circumstances, I might almost say the
imperative order of one whom I was bound to obey, induced me to
resign, and since that time I have done little else but travel. Owing
to certain adventitious causes, I have enjoyed an access to European
society that few of our countrymen possess, and I hope the advantage
has not been entirely thrown away. It was as a traveller on the
continent of Europe, that I had the pleasure of first meeting with
Mr. and Miss Effingham. I was much abroad, even as a child, and owe
some little skill in foreign languages to that circumstance."
"So my cousin has informed me. You have set the question of country
at rest, by declaring that you are an American, and yet I find you
have English relatives. Captain Ducie, I believe, is a kinsman?"
"He is; we are sister's children, though our friendship has not
always been such as the connexion would infer. When Ducie and myself
met at sea, there was an awkwardness, if not a coolness, in the
interview, that, coupled with my sudden return to England, I fear did
not make the most favourable impression, on those who witnessed what
passed."
"We had confidence in your principles," said John Effingham, with a
frank simplicity, "and, though the first surmises were not pleasant,
perhaps, a little reflection told us that there was no just ground
for suspicion."
"Ducie is a fine, manly fellow, and has a seaman's generosity and
sincerity. I had last parted from him on the field, where we met as
enemies; and the circumstance rendered the unexpected meeting
awkward. Our wounds no longer smarted, it is true; but, perhaps, we
both felt shame and sorrow that they had ever been inflicted."
"It should be a very serious quarrel that could arm sister's children
against each other," said John Effingham, gravely.
"I admit as much. But, at that time, Captain Ducie was not disposed
to admit the consanguinity, and the offence grew out of an
intemperate resentment of some imputations on my birth; between two
military men, the issue could scarcely be avoided. Ducie challenged,
and I was not then in the humour to balk him. A couple of flesh-
wounds happily terminated the affair. But an interval of three years
had enabled my enemy to discover that he had not done me justice;
that I had been causelessly provoked to the quarrel, and that we
ought to be firm friends. The generous desire to make suitable
expiation, urged him to seize the first occasion of coming to America
that offered; and when ordered to chase the Montauk, by a telegraphic
communication from London, he was hourly expecting to sail for our
seas, where he wished to come, expressly that we might meet. You will
judge, therefore, how happy he was to find me unexpectedly in the
vessel that contained his principal object of pursuit, thus killing,
as it might be, two birds with one stone."
"And did he carry you away with him, with any such murderous
intention?" demanded John Effingham, smiling.
"By no means; nothing could be more amicable than Ducie and myself
got to be, when we had been a few hours together in his cabin. As
often happens, when there have been violent antipathies and
unreasonable prejudices, a nearer view of each other's character and
motives removed every obstacle; and long before we reached England,
two warmer friends could not be found, or a more frank intercourse
between relatives could not be desired. You are aware, sir, that our
English cousins do not often view their cis-atlantic relatives with
the most lenient eyes."
"This is but too true," said John Effingham proudly, though his lip
quivered as he spoke, "and it is, in a great measure, the fault of
that miserable mental bondage which has left this country, after
sixty years of nominal independence, so much at the mercy of a
hostile opinion. It is necessary that we respect ourselves in order
that others respect us."
"I agree with you, sir, entirely. In my case, however, previous
injustice disposed my relatives to receive me better, perhaps, than
might otherwise have been the case. I had little to ask in the way of
fortune, and feeling no disposition to raise a question that might
disturb the peerage of the Ducies, I became a favourite."
"A peerage!--Both your parents, then, were English?"
"Neither, I believe; but the connection between the two countries was
so close, that it can occasion no surprise a right of this nature
should have passed into the colonies. My mother's mother became the
heiress of one of those ancient baronies, that pass to the heirs-
general, and, in consequence of the deaths of two brothers, these
rights, which however were never actually possessed by any of the
previous generation, centered in my mother and my aunt. The former
being dead, as was contended, without issue--"
"You forget yourself!"
"Lawful issue," added Paul, reddening to the temples, "I should have
added--Mrs. Ducie, who was married to the younger son of an English
nobleman, claimed and obtained the rank. My pretension would have
left the peerage in abeyance, and I probably owe some little of the
opposition I found, to that circumstance. But, after Ducie's generous
conduct, I could not hesitate about joining in the application to the
crown that, by its decision, the abeyance might be determined in
favour of the person who was in possession; and Lady Dunluce is now
quietly confirmed in her claim."
"There are many young men in this country, who would cling to the
hopes of a British peerage with greater tenacity!"
"It is probable there are; but my self-denial is not of a very high
order, for; it could scarcely be expected the English ministers would
consent to give the rank to a foreigner who did not hesitate about
avowing his principles and national feelings. I shall not say I did
hot covet this peerage, for it would be supererogatory; but I am born
an American, and will die an American; and an American who swaggers
about such a claim, is like the daw among the peacocks. The less that
is said about it, the better."
"You are fortunate to have escaped the journals, which, most
probably, would have _begraced_ you, by elevating you at once to the
rank of a duke."
"Instead of which, I had no other station than that of a dog in the
manger. If it makes my aunt happy to be called Lady Dunluce, I am
sure she is welcome to the privilege; and when Ducie succeeds her, as
will one day be the case, an excellent fellow will be a peer of
England. _Voila tout_! You are the only countryman, sir, to whom I
have ever spoken of the circumstance, and with you I trust it will
remain a secret"
"What! am I precluded from mentioning the facts in my own family? I
am not the only sincere, the only warm friend, you have in this
house, Powis."
"In that respect, I leave you to act your pleasure, my dear sir. If
Mr. Effingham feel sufficient interest in my fortunes, to wish to
hear what I have told you, let there be no silly mysteries,--or--or
Mademoiselle Viefville--"
"Or Nanny Sidley, or Annette," interrupted John Effingham, with a
kind smile. "Well, trust to me for that; but, before we separate for
the night, I wish to ascertain beyond question one other fact,
although the circumstances you have stated scarce leave a doubt of
the reply."
"I understand you, sir, and did not intend to leave you in any
uncertainty on that important particular. If there can be a feeling,
more painful than all others, with a man of any pride, it is to
distrust the purity of his mother. Mine was beyond reproach, thank
God, and so it was most clearly established, or I could certainly
have had no legal claim to the peerage."
"Or your fortune--" added John Effingham, drawing a long breath, like
one suddenly relieved from an unpleasant suspicion.
"My fortune comes from neither parent, but from one of those generous
dispositions, or caprices, if you will, that sometimes induce men to
adopt those who are alien to their blood. My guardian adopted me,
took me abroad with him, placed me, quite young, in the navy, and
dying, he finally left me all he possessed As he was a bachelor, with
no near relative, and had been the artisan of his own fortune, I
could have no hesitation about accepting the gift he so liberally
bequeathed. It was coupled with the condition that I should retire
from the service, travel for five years, return home, and marry.
There is no silly-forfeiture exacted in either case, but such is the
general course solemnly advised by a man who showed himself my true
friend for so many years."
"I envy him the opportunity he enjoyed of serving you. I hope he
would have approved of your national pride, for I believe we must put
that at the bottom of your disinterestedness, in the affair of the
peerage."
"He would, indeed, although he never knew anything of the claim which
arose out of the death of the two lords who preceded my aunt, and who
were the brothers of my grandmother. My guardian was in all respects
a man, and, in nothing more, than in a manly national pride. While
abroad a decoration was offered him, and he declined it with the
character and dignity of one who felt that distinctions which his
country repudiated, every gentleman belonging to that country ought
to reject; and yet he did it with a respectful gratitude for the
compliment, that was due to the government from which the offer
came."
"I almost envy that man," said John Effingham, with warmth. "To have
appreciated you, Powis, was a mark of a high judgment; but it seems
he properly appreciated himself, his country, and human nature."
"And yet he was little appreciated in his turn. That man passed years
in one of our largest towns, of no more apparent account among its
population than any one of its commoner spirits, and of not half as
much as one of its bustling brokers, or jobbers."
"In that there is nothing surprising. The class of the chosen few is
too small every where, to be very numerous at any given point, in a
scattered population like that of America. The broker will as
naturally appreciate the broker, as the dog appreciates the dog, or
the wolf the wolf. Least of all is the manliness you have named,
likely to be valued among a people who have been put into men's
clothes before they are out of leading-strings. I am older than you,
my dear Paul," it was the first time John Effingham ever used so
familiar an appellation, and the young man thought it sounded
kindly--"I am older than you, my dear Paul, and will venture to tell
you an important fact that may hereafter lessen some of your own
mortifications. In most nations there is a high standard to which man
at least affects to look; and acts are extolled and seemingly
appreciated, for their naked merits. Little of this exists in
America, where no man is much praised for himself, but for the
purposes of party, or to feed national vanity. In the country in
which, of all others, political opinion ought to be the freest, it is
the most persecuted, and the community-character of the nation
induces every man to think he has a right of property in all its
fame. England exhibits a great deal of this weakness and injustice,
which, it is to be feared, is a vicious fruit of liberty; for it is
certain that the sacred nature of opinion is most appreciated in
those countries in which it has the least efficiency. We are
constantly deriding those governments which fetter opinion, and yet I
know of no nation in which the expression of opinion is so certain to
attract persecution and hostility as our own, though it may be, and
is, in one sense, free."
"This arises from its potency. Men quarrel about opinion here,
because opinion rules. It is but one mode of struggling for power.
But to return to my guardian; he was a man to think and act for
himself, and as far from the magazine and newspaper existence that
most Americans, in a moral sense, pass, as any man could be."
"It is indeed a newspaper and magazine existence," said John
Effingham, smiling at Paul's terms, "to know life only through such
mediums! It is as bad as the condition of those English who form
their notions of society from novels written by men and women who
have no access to it, and from the records of the court journal. I
thank you sincerely, Mr. Powis for this confidence, which has not
been idly solicited on my part, and which shall not be abused. At no
distant day we will break the seals again, and renew our
investigations into this affair of the unfortunate Monday, which is
not yet, certainly, very promising in the way of revelations."
The gentlemen shook hands cordially, and Paul, lighted by his
companion, withdrew. When the young man was at the door of his own
room, he turned, and saw John Effingham following him with his eye.
The latter then renewed the good night, with one of those winning
smiles that rendered his face so brilliantly handsome, and each
retired.