A GREAT PRIZE.
One of the beauties of this world is, for the many who are not too good
for it, that they never can tell what may turn up next, and need not
over-exert themselves in the production of novelty, because somebody
will be sure to do it for them. And those especially who have the honour
and pleasure of dealing with the gentler sex are certain, without any
effort of their own, to encounter plenty of vicissitude.
Such was the fortune of Dr. Fox, when he called that day at
Walderscourt. He found his sweet Nicie in a sad condition, terribly
depressed, and anxious, in consequence of a long interview with her
mother, which had been as follows.
For the last fortnight, or three weeks, Lady Waldron had not recovered
strength, but fallen away even more, declining into a peculiar and
morbid state. Sometimes gloomy, downcast, and listless, secluding
herself, and taking very little food, and no exercise whatever; at other
times bewildered, excited, and restless, beginning a sentence and
breaking it off, laughing about nothing, and then morose with every one.
Pretty Tamar Haddon had a great deal to put up with, and probably would
not have shown the needful patience, except for handsome fees lightly
earned by reports collected in the village. But Sergeant Jakes being
accessible no more--for he had cast off the spell in the Abbey, that
Sunday--poor Lady Waldron's anxiety was fed with tales of very doubtful
authority. And the strange point was that she showed no impatience at
the tardiness of the enquiry now, but rather a petulant displeasure at
its long continuance.
Now that very morning, while Fox was on the road to call upon his
beloved, she was sent for suddenly by her mother, and hastened with some
anxiety to the room which the widow now left so seldom. Inez had long
been familiar with the truth that her mother's love for her was not too
ardent; and she often tried--but without much success--to believe that
the fault was on her part. The mother ascribed it very largely to some
defect in her daughter's constitution. "She has not one drop of Spanish
blood in her. She is all of English, except perhaps her eyes; and the
eyes do not care to see things of Spain." Thus she justified herself,
unconscious perhaps that jealousy of the father's love for this pet
child had been, beyond doubt, the first cause of her own estrangement.
This terribly harassed and lonely woman (with no one but God to comfort
her, and very little sense of any consolation thus) was now forsaken by
that support of pride and strength of passion, which had enabled her at
first to show a resolute front to affliction. Leaning back upon a heavy
couch, she was gazing without much interest at the noble ivory crucifix,
which had once so strongly affected her, but now was merely a work of
art, a subject for admiration perhaps, but not for love or enthusiasm.
Of these there was no trace in her eyes, only apathy, weariness,
despondence.
"Lock the outer door. I want no spies," she said in a low voice which
alarmed her daughter; "now come and sit close to me in this chair. I
will speak in my own language. None but you and I understand it here
now."
"It is well, mother mine," replied her daughter, speaking also in
Spanish; "but I wish it were equally well with you."
"It will never be well with me again, and the time will be long before
it can be well with you. I have doubted for days about telling you, my
child, because I am loth to grieve you. But the silence upon this matter
is very bitter to me; moreover it is needful that you should know, in
case of my obtaining the blessed release, that you also be not triumphed
over. It is of that unholy outrage I must speak. Long has it been a
black mystery to us. But I understand it now--alas, I cannot help
understanding it!"
Inez trembled exceedingly; but her mother, though deadly pale, was
calm. Both face and voice were under stern control, and there were no
dramatic gestures.
"Never admit him within these doors, if I am not here to bar them. Never
take his hand, never listen to his voice, never let your eyes rest upon
his face. Never give him a crust, though he starve in a ditch; never let
him be buried with holy rites. As he has treated my dear husband, so
shall God treat him, when he is dead. It is for this reason that I tell
you. If you loved your father, remember it."
"But who is it, mother? What man is this, who has abandoned his soul to
the Evil One? Make me sure of his name, that I may obey you."
"The man who has done it is my own twin-brother, Rodrigo, Count de
Varcas: Rodrigo, the accursed one."
The Spanish lady clasped her hands, and fell back against the wall, and
dropped her eyes; as if the curse were upon her also, for being akin to
the miscreant. Her daughter could find no words, and was in doubt of
believing her own ears.
"Yes, I know well what I am saying;" Lady Waldron began again with some
contempt. "I am strong enough. Offer me nothing to smell. Shall I never
die? I ought to have died, before I knew this, if there were any mercy
in Heaven. That my twin-brother, my own twin-brother, the one I have
loved and laboured for, and even insulted my own good husband, because
he would not bow down to him--not for any glory, revenge, or religion,
but for the sake of grovelling money--oh Inez, my child, that he should
have done this!"
"But how do you know that he has done it? Has he made any confession,
mother? Surely it is possible to hope against it, unless he himself has
said so."
"He has not himself said so. He never does. To accuse himself is no part
of his habits, but rather to blame every other. And such is his manner
that every one thinks he must be right and his enemies wrong. But to
those who have experience of him, the question is often otherwise. You
remember that very--very faithful gentleman, who came to us, about a
month ago?"
"Mother, can you mean that man, arrogant but low, who consumed all my
dear father's boxes of cigars, and called himself Señor José Quevedo,
and expected even me to salute him as of kin?"
"Hush, my child! He is your Uncle's foster-brother, and trusted by him
in everything. You know that I have in the Journals announced my desire
to hear from my beloved brother--beloved alas too much, and vainly. I
was long waiting, I was yearning, having my son in the distance, and you
who went against me in everything, to embrace and be strengthened by my
only brother. What other friend had I on earth? And in answer to my
anxiety arrives that man, sedate, mysterious, not to be doubted, but
regarded as a lofty cavalier. I take him in, I trust him, I treat him
highly, I remember him as with my brother always in the milky days of
childhood, although but the son of a well-intentioned peasant. And then
I find what? That he has come for money--for money, which has always
been the bane of my only and well-born brother, for the very dismal
reason that he cannot cling to it, and yet must have both hands filled
with it for ever. Inez, do you attend to me?"
"Mother, I am doing so, with all my ears; and with all my heart as well
I heed. But these things surprise me much, because I have always heard
from you that my Uncle Rodrigo was so noble, so chivalrous, so far above
all Englishmen, by reason of the grandeur of his spirit."
"And in that style will he comport himself, upon most of life's
occasions, wherein money does not act as an impediment. Of that
character is he always, while having more than he can spend of it. But
let him see the necessity, and the compulsion to deny himself, too near
to him approaching, and he will not possess that loftiness of spirit,
and benevolence universal. Departing from his larger condition of mind,
he will do things which honour does not authorise. Things unworthy of
the mighty Barcas, from whom he is descended. But the Barcas have often
been strong and wicked; which is much better than weak and base."
Her ladyship paused, as in contemplation of the sterling nobility of her
race, and apparently derived some comfort from the strong wickedness of
the Barcas.
"Mother, I hope that it is not so." Nicie's view of excellence was
milder. "You are strong but never wicked. I am not strong; but on the
other hand, I trust, that I am not weak and base."
"You never can tell what you can do. You may be most wicked of the
wicked yet. Those English girls, that are always good, are braised
vegetables without pepper. The only one I ever saw to approve, was the
one who was so rude to me. How great her indignation was! She is worthy
to be of Andalusia."
"But why should so wicked a thing be done--so horrible even from a
stranger?" The flashing of Nicie's dark eyes was not unworthy of
Andalusia. "How could the meanest greed of money be gratified by such a
deed?"
"In this manner, if I understand aright. During the time of the French
invasion, just before our marriage, the Junta of our City had to bear a
great part of the burden of supporting and paying our brave troops. They
fell into great distress for money, which became scarcer and scarcer,
from the terrible war, and the plundering. All lovers of their country
came with both hands full of treasure; and among them my father
contributed a loan of noble magnitude, which has impaired for years to
come the fortunes of our family. For not a _peseta_ will ever be repaid,
inasmuch as there was no security. When all they could thus obtain was
spent, and the richest men would advance no more, without prospect of
regaining it, the Junta (of which my father was a member) contrived that
the City should combine with them in pledging its revenues, which were
large, to raise another series of loans. And to obtain these with more
speed, they appealed to the spirit of gambling; which is in the hearts
of all men, but in different forms and manners.
"One loan that was promulgated thus amounted to 100,000 dollars,
contributed in twenty shares of 5,000 dollars each: and every share was
to have a life of not less than fifteen years in age appointed to
represent it. No money was to be repaid; but the interest to accumulate,
until nineteen out of those twenty lives became extinct, and thereupon
the whole was to go to the last survivor, and by that time it would be a
very large sum. I believe that the scheme came from the French, who are
wonderfully clever in such calculations; whereas finance is not of us.
Do you seem to yourself to understand it?"
"Not very much, but to some extent. I have read of a wheel of life; and
this appears to me to be a kind of wheel of death."
"So it is, my child. You can scarcely be so stupid, as you have been
described to me. I am not too strong of the arithmetic science, though
in other ways not wanting. You will see, that there was a royal treasure
thus, increasing for the one who should deserve it, by having more of
life than the nineteen others, and acquiring it thus, for the time he
had to come. That kind of lottery, coming from Paris, was adopted by
other Governments, under the title of _Tontine_, I think. My dear
father, who was a warm patriot, but unable to contribute more without
hope of return, accepted two of those five thousand dollar shares, and
put into one the name of my brother, and into the other that of my dear
husband, then about to be: because those two were young, while himself
was growing old. Your father has spoken to me of his share, several
times, as it became of greater value; and he provided for it in his
will, supposing that he should ever become the possessor, although he
approved not of any kind of gambling.
"If you can represent to yourself that scheme, you will see that each
share was enlarged in prospect, as the others failed of theirs by death;
and, of the twenty lives appointed, the greater part vanished rapidly;
many by war, and some by duels, and others by accident and disease;
until it appears--though we knew it not--that your father and your Uncle
Rodrigo were the sole survivors. Your father and I kept no watch upon
it, being at such a distance; but now I have learned that your Uncle has
been exceedingly acute and vigilant, having no regard for your dear
father, and small affection, I fear, for me; but a most passionate
devotion to the huge treasure now accumulated upon heavy interest, and
secured by the tolls of the City.
"I am grieved by discovering from this man Quevedo, that your Uncle has
been watching very keenly everything that has happened here; he has
employed an agent, whose name I could not by any means extort from
Quevedo, and not contented with his reports, but excited by the tidings
of your father's ill-health, he has even been present in these parts
himself, to reconnoitre for himself; for he is capable of speaking
English, even better than I do. Quevedo is very cautious; but by plying
him with Spanish wine, such as he cannot procure in Spain, feigning also
to be on his side, I extorted from him more than he wished to part with.
No suspicion had I, while he was here, that his master was guilty of the
black disgrace thus inflicted upon us: or can you imagine that I would
allow that man to remain in the house of the outraged one? And Quevedo
himself either feigns, or possesses, total ignorance of this vile deed."
"But, mother dear, how did this suspicion grow upon you? And for what
purpose--if I may inquire--was that man Quevedo sent to you?"
"He was sent with two objects. To obtain my signature to an attested
declaration as to the date of your father's death; and in the second
place to borrow money for the support of your Uncle's claim. It could
not be expected that the City would discharge so vast a sum (more than
five hundred thousand crowns they say) without interposing every
possible obstacle and delay; and our family, through your Uncle's
conduct, has lost all the influence it possessed when I was young. I am
pleased to think now that he must be disappointed with the very small
sum which I advanced, in my deep disgust at discovering, that at the
very time when I was sighing and languishing for his support, he was at
my very doors, but through his own selfish malignity avoided his
twin-sister. Quevedo meant not to have told me that. But alas! I
extorted it from him, after a slip of his faithful tongue. For you know,
I believe, that your father and uncle were never very friendly. My
brother liked not that I should wed an Englishman; all men of this
nation he regarded with contempt, boasting as they did in our country,
where we permitted them to come and fight. But you have never been told,
my child, that the scar upon your dear father's face was inflicted by
your Uncle's sword, employed (as I am ashamed to confess) in an unfair
combat. Upon recovering from the stealthy blow, your father in his great
strength could have crushed him to death, for he was then a stripling;
but for my sake he forbore. It has been concealed from you. There is no
concealment now."
"Oh, mother, how savage and ignominious also! I wonder that you ever
could desire to behold such a man again; and that you could find it in
your heart to receive his envoy kindly."
"Many years have passed since then, my child. And we have a saying, 'To
a fellow-countryman forgive much, and to a brother everything.' Your
father had forgiven him, before the wound was healed. Much more slowly
did I forgive. And, but for this matter, never would I have spoken."
"Oh, mother dear, you have had much sorrow! I have never considered it,
as I should have done. A child is like an egg, as you say in Spain, that
demands all the warmth for itself, and yields none. Yet am I surprised,
that knowing so much of him, you still desired his presence, and
listened to the deceits of his messenger. But you have wisdom; and I
have none. Tell me then what he had to gain, by an outrage hateful to a
human being, and impossible to a Christian."
"It is not clear, my child, to put it to your comprehension. The things
that are of great power with us are not in this Country so copious. We
are loftier. We are more friendly with the Great Powers that reside
above. In every great enterprise, we feel what would be their own
sentiments; though not to be explained by heretical logic. Your Uncle
has never been devoted to the Church, and has profited little by her
teaching; but he is not estranged from her so much, that he need in
honour hesitate to have use and advantage from her charitable breast.
For she loves every one, even those who mock her, with feeble imitation
of her calls."
"Mother, but hitherto you have cared little or nothing for Holy Church.
You have allowed me to wander from her; and my mind is the stronger for
the exercise. Why then this new zeal and devotion?"
"Inez, the reason is very simple; although you may not understand it
yet. We love the Institutions that make much of us, even when we are
dead, and comfort our bodies with ceremonies, and the weepers with
reasons for smiling. This heretic corporation, to which Mr. Penniloe
belongs, has many good things imitated from us; but does not understand
itself. Therefore, it is not a power in the land, to govern the law, or
to guide great actions of property and of behaviour, as the Holy
Catholic Church can do, in the lands where she has not been deposed.
Knowing how such things are with us, your Uncle (as I am impelled to
believe), having plenty of time for preparation, had arranged to make
one master-stroke, towards this great object of his life. At once to
bring all the Ecclesiastics to his side with fervour, and before the
multitude to prove his claim in a manner the most dramatic.
"Behold it thus, as upon a stage! The whole City is agitated with the
news, and the immensity of his claim. The young men say that it is just
to pay it, if it can be proved, for the honour of the City. But the old
men shake their heads, and ask where is the money to come from; what new
tolls can be imposed; and who can believe a thing, that must be proved
by the oaths of foreign heretics?
"Lo there appears the commanding figure of the Count de Varcas before
the great Cathedral doors; behind him a train of sailors bear the body
of the great British warrior, well-known among the elder citizens by his
lofty stature and many wounds, renowned among the younger as a mighty
hero. The Bishop, Archbishop, and all powers of the Church (being dealt
with privately beforehand) are moved to tears by this Act of Grace, this
manifest conversion of a noble Briton, claiming the sacred rites of
_Campo Santo_, and not likely to enjoy them without much munificence,
when that most righteous claim upon the Seculars is paid. Dares any one
to doubt identity? Behold, upon the finger of the departed one, is the
very ring with which the City's benefactor sealed his portion of the
covenant; and which he presented to his son-in-law, as a holy relic of
his ancient family, upon betrothal to his daughter.
"Thereupon arises the universal cry--'redeem the honour of the City.' A
few formalities still remain; one of which is satisfied by the arrival
of Quevedo with my deposition. The noble Count, the descendant of the
Barcas, rides in a chariot extolled by all, and scatters a few _pesetas_
of his half a million dollars. It was gained by lottery, it goes by
gambling; in six months he is penniless again. He has robbed his
brother's grave in vain. For another hundred dollars, he would rob his
twin-sister's."
"Oh, mother, it is horrible! Too horrible to be true. And yet how it
clears up everything! And even so, how much better it is, than what we
supposed, and shuddered at! But have you any evidence beyond suspicion?
If it is not unbecoming, I would venture to remind you, that you have
already in your mind condemned another, whose innocence is now
established."
"Nay, not established, except to minds that are, like mine, full of
charity. It is not impossible, that he may have joined my brother--oh
that I should call him so!--in this abominable enterprise. I say it not,
to vex you in your lofty faith. But it would have made that enterprise
far easier to arrange. And if a noble Spaniard can stoop thus, why
should not a common Englishman?"
"Because he is a gentleman;" cried Nicie, rising with a flash of
indignation, "which a nobleman sometimes is not. And since you have
spoken thus, I doubt the truth of your other accusation. But that can
very soon be put to the test, by making enquiry on the spot. If what you
suppose has happened at all, it must be of public knowledge there. Have
you sent any one to enquire about it?"
"Not yet. I have not long seen things clearly. Only since that Quevedo
left, it has come upon me by reasoning. Neither do I know of any trusty
person. It must be one faithful to the family, and careful of its
reputation; for the disgrace shall never be known in this cold England.
Remember therefore, I say, that you speak no word, not even to Mr.
Penniloe, or Dr. Fox, of this conclusion forced upon me. If in justice
to others we are compelled to avow that the deed was of the family, we
must declare that it was of piety and high religious feeling, and
strictly conceal that it was of sordid lucre."
"But mother, they may in the course of their own enquiries discover how
it was at last. The last things ascertained tend that way. And if they
should find any trace of ship----"
"I have given orders to drop all further searches. And you must use your
influence with--with all you have any sway upon, that nothing more shall
be done at present. Of course you will not supply the reason; but say
that it has been so arranged. Now go, my child; I have talked too long.
My strength is not as it was, and I dwell most heavily on the better
days. But one thing I would enjoin upon you. Until I speak again of that
which I have seen in my own mind, to its distress and misery, ask me no
more about it, neither in any way refer to it. The Lord,--who is not of
this Church, or that, but looks down upon us from the Crucifix,--He can
pity and protect us. But you will be glad that I have told you this;
because it will devour me the less."