CHAPTER OF INFINITE VARIETY, CONTAINING AGONY, LAW, LOVE, QUARRELLING,
AND SUICIDE.
It may be a subject of interest on the part of the reader to inquire
what were the relative positions of Emma Phillips and our hero, now that
four years had passed, during which time he had been continually in her
company, and gradually, as he rose in importance, removing the distance
that was between them. We have only to reply that the consequences
natural to such a case did ensue. Every year their intimacy increased--
every year added to the hopes of our hero, who now no longer looked upon
an alliance with Emma as impossible; yet he still never felt sufficient
confidence in himself or his fortunes to intimate such a thought to her;
indeed, from a long habit of veneration and respect, he was in the
position of a subject before a queen who feels a partiality towards him;
he dared not give vent to his thoughts, and it remained for her to have
the unfeminine task of intimating to him that he might venture. But,
although to outward appearance there was nothing but respect and
feelings of gratitude on his part, and condescension and amiability on
hers, there was a rapid adhesion going on within. Their interviews were
more restrained, their words more selected; for both parties felt how
strong were the feelings which they would repress; they were both
pensive, silent, and distant--would talk unconnectedly, running from one
subject to another, attempting to be lively and unconcerned when they
were most inclined to be otherwise, and not daring to scrutinise too
minutely their own feelings when they found themselves alone; but what
they would fain conceal from themselves their very attempts to conceal
made known to other people who were standing by. Both Mrs Phillips and
Mr Small perceived how matters stood, and, had they any objections,
would have immediately no longer permitted them to be in contact; but
they had no objections, for our hero had long won the hearts of both
mother and uncle, and they awaited quietly the time which should arrive
when the young parties should no longer conceal their feelings for each
other.
It was when affairs were between our hero and Emma Phillips as we have
just stated, that a circumstance took place which for a time embittered
all our hero's happiness. He was walking down High Street, when he
perceived a file of marines marching towards him, with two men between
them, handcuffed, evidently deserters who had been taken up. A feeling
of alarm pervaded our hero; he had a presentiment which induced him to
go into a perfumer's shop, and to remain there, so as to have a view of
the faces of the deserters as they passed along, without their being
able to see him. His forebodings were correct: one of them was his old
enemy and persecutor, Furness, the schoolmaster.
Had a dagger been plunged into Joey's bosom, the sensation could not
have been more painful than what he felt when he once more found himself
so near to his dreaded denouncer. For a short time he remained so
transfixed, that the woman who was attending in the shop asked whether
she should bring him a glass of water. This inquiry made him recollect
himself, and, complaining of a sudden pain in the side, he sat down, and
took the water when it was brought; but he went home in despair, quite
forgetting the business which brought him out, and retired to his own
room, that he might collect his thoughts. What was he to do? This man
had been brought back to the barracks; he would be tried and punished,
and afterwards be set at liberty. How was it possible that he could
always avoid him, or escape being recognised? and how little chance had
he of escape from Furness's searching eye! Could he bribe him? Yes, he
could now; he was rich enough; but, if he did, one bribe would only be
followed up by a demand for another, and a threat of denouncement if he
refused. Flight appeared his only chance; but to leave his present
position--to leave Emma--it was impossible. Our hero did not leave his
room for the remainder of the day, but retired early to bed, that he
might cogitate, for sleep he could not. After a night of misery, the
effects of which were too visibly marked in his countenance on the
ensuing morning, Joey determined to make some inquiries relative to what
the fate of Furness might be; and, having made up his mind, he accosted
a sergeant of marines, with whom he had a slight acquaintance, and whom
he fell in with in the streets. He observed to him that he perceived
they had deserters brought in yesterday, and inquired from what ship
they had deserted, or from the barracks. The sergeant replied that they
had deserted from the _Niobe_ frigate, and had committed theft previous
to desertion; that they would remain in confinement at the barracks till
the _Niobe_ arrived; and that then they would be tried by a
court-martial, and, without doubt, for the double offence, would go
through the fleet.
Joey wished the sergeant good morning, and passed on in his way home.
His altered appearance had attracted the notice of not only his
partners, but of Mrs Phillips, and had caused much distress to the
latter. Our hero remained the whole day in the counting-house,
apparently unconcerned, but in reality thinking and rethinking, over and
over again, his former thoughts. At last he made up his mind that he
would wait the issue of the court-martial before he took any decided
steps; indeed, what to do he knew not.
We leave the reader to guess the state of mind in which Joey remained
for a fortnight previous to the return of the _Niobe_ frigate from a
Channel cruise. Two days after her arrival, the signal was made for a
court-martial. The sentence was well known before night; it was, that
the culprits were to go through the fleet on the ensuing day.
This was, however, no consolation to our hero; he did not feel animosity
against Furness so much as he did dread of him; he did not want his
punishment, but his absence, and security against future annoyance. It
was about nine o'clock on the next morning, when the punishment was to
take place, that Joey came down from his own room. He had been thinking
all night, and had decided that he had no other resource but to quit
Portsmouth, Emma, and his fair prospects for ever; he had resolved so to
do, to make this sacrifice; it was a bitter conclusion to arrive at, but
it had been come to. His haggard countenance when he made his
appearance at the breakfast-table, shocked Mrs Phillips and Emma; but
they made no remarks. The breakfast was passed over in silence, and
soon afterwards our hero found himself alone with Emma, who immediately
went to him, and, with tears in her eyes, said, "What is the matter with
you?--you look so ill, you alarm us all, and you make me quite
miserable."
"I am afraid, Miss Phillips--"
"Miss Phillips!" replied Emma.
"I beg your pardon; but, Emma, I am afraid that I must leave you."
"Leave us!"
"Yes, leave you and Portsmouth for ever, perhaps."
"Why, what has occurred?"
"I cannot, dare not tell. Will you so far oblige me to say nothing at
present; but you recollect that I was obliged to leave Gravesend on a
sudden."
"I recollect you did, but why I know not; only Mary said that it was not
your fault."
"I trust it was not so; but it was my misfortune. Emma, I am almost
distracted; I have not slept for weeks; but pray believe me, when I say
that I have done no wrong; indeed--"
"We are interrupted," said Emma, hurriedly; "there is somebody coming
upstairs."
She had hardly time to remove a few feet from our hero, when Captain
B---, of the _Niobe_, entered the room.
"Good morning, Miss Phillips, I hope you are well; I just looked in for
a moment before I go to the Admiral's office; we have had a catastrophe
on board the _Niobe_, which I must report immediately."
"Indeed," replied Emma; "nothing very serious, I hope."
"Why, no, only rid of a blackguard not worth hanging; one of the
marines, who was to have gone round the fleet this morning, when he went
to the forepart of the ship under the sentry's charge, leaped overboard,
and drowned himself."
"What was his name, Captain B---?" inquired Joey, seizing him by the
arm.
"His name--why, how can that interest you, O'Donahue? Well, if you wish
to know, it was Furness."
"I am very sorry for him," replied our hero; "I knew him once when he
was in better circumstances, that is all;" and Joey, no longer daring to
trust himself with others, quitted the room, and went to his own
apartment. As soon as he was there, he knelt down and returned thanks,
not for the death of Furness, but for the removal of the load which had
so oppressed his mind. In an hour his relief was so great that he felt
himself sufficiently composed to go downstairs; he went into the
drawing-room to find Emma, but she was not there. He longed to have
some explanation with her, but it was not until the next day that he had
an opportunity.
"I hardly know what to say to you," said our hero, "or how to explain my
conduct of yesterday."
"It certainly appeared very strange, especially to Captain B---, who
told me that he thought you were mad."
"I care little what he thinks, but I care much what you think, Emma; and
I must now tell you what, perhaps, this man's death may permit me to do.
That he has been most strangely connected with my life is most true; he
it was who knew me, and who would, if he could, have put me in a
situation in which I must either have suffered myself to be thought
guilty of a crime which I am incapable of; or, let it suffice to say,
have done, to exculpate myself, what, I trust, I never would have done,
or ever will do. I can say no more than that, without betraying a
secret which I am bound to keep, and the keeping of which may still
prove my own destruction. When you first saw me on the wayside, Emma,
it was this man who forced me from a happy home to wander about the
world; it was the reappearance of this man, and his recognition of me
that induced me to quit Gravesend so suddenly. I again met him, and
avoided him when he was deserting; and I trusted that, as he had
deserted, I could be certain of living safely in this town without
meeting with him. It was his reappearance here, as a deserter taken up,
which put me in that state of agony which you have seen me in for these
last three weeks; and it was the knowledge that, after his punishment,
he would be again free, and likely to meet with me when walking about
here, which resolved me to quit Portsmouth, as I said to you yesterday
morning. Can you, therefore, be surprised at my emotion when I heard
that he was removed, and that there was now no necessity for my quitting
my kind patrons and you?"
"Certainly, after this explanation, I cannot be surprised at your
emotion; but what does surprise me, Mr O'Donahue, is that you should
have a secret of such importance that it cannot be revealed, and which
has made you tremble at the recognition of that man, when at the same
time you declare your innocence. Did innocence and mystery ever walk
hand in hand?"
"Your addressing me as Mr O'Donahue, Miss Phillips, has pointed out to
me the impropriety I have been guilty of in making use of your Christian
name. I thought that that confidence which you placed in me when, as a
mere boy, I told you exactly what I now repeat, that the secret was not
my own, would not have been now so cruelly withdrawn. I have never
varied in my tale, and I can honestly say that I have never felt
degraded when I have admitted that I have a mystery connected with me;
nay, if it should please Heaven that I have the option given me to
suffer in my own person, or reveal the secret in question, I trust that
I shall submit to my fate with constancy, and be supported in my
misfortune by the conviction of my innocence. I feel that I was not
wrong in the communication that I made to you yesterday morning that I
must leave this place. I came here because you were living here--you to
whom I felt so devoted for your kindness and sympathy when I was poor
and friendless; now that I am otherwise, you are pleased to withdraw not
only your good will, but your confidence in me; and as the spell is
broken which has drawn me to this spot, I repeat, that as soon as I can,
with justice to my patrons, I shall withdraw myself from your presence."
Our hero's voice faltered before he had finished speaking; and then
turning away slowly, without looking up, he quitted the room.