Morley Ernstein made all sorts of good resolutions--that is to say,
not virtuous resolutions, because, as yet, there was no temptation for
him to be otherwise; but worldly good resolutions--the resolutions of
prudence, propriety, economy. In short, all those sort of resolutions
which one makes when one has fixed upon a certain line of conduct,
from feeling rather than from judgment, and wish to enchain our
purpose in its execution, by the exercise of that very power whose
sway we have cast off. Morley Ernstein resolved, then, that he would
inquire into all the facts with the most scrupulous accuracy; that he
would not assist this young man and his sister beyond a certain point;
that he would not assist the youth at all, unless he found that there
were hopes of amendment; and that, should such not be the case, he
would employ the intervention of Mr. Hamilton to give aid to the young
lady. No one on earth can doubt that these were all very prudent
resolutions. If he had been forty, he could not have been more
reasonable, though, probably, if he had been forty, he never would
have formed them. But resolutions are always the sport of accident,
and however harsh and hard it may be to say, yet I fear it is
nevertheless true, that the course of conduct which needs to be
guarded with such scrupulous care, had better never to be entered upon
at all.
To return to Morley Ernstein. At the hour of eleven, his new
cabriolet, which the poetical coachmaker had assured him would roll
over the pavement like a cloud through the sky, and one of his new
horses, which, if the same figurative personage had beheld him, would
most likely have been compared to the wind impelling the cloud, were
at the door of the hotel, together with a groom upon the most approved
scale, bearing gloves as white as the Horse Guards', and the usual
neat, but unaccountable sort of clothing, called leather breeches and
top-boots. Morley Ernstein descended with a slow step, entered his
cabriolet thoughtfully, and drove towards the house to which he had
been addressed, not going above a mile out of his way, in consequence
of his ignorance of all those narrow turnings and windings which a
professed London coachman is fond of taking. The street was a small
one, and evidently a poor one, but Morley Ernstein had expected
nothing else, and the house was neat and clean, with a white doorstep,
a clean door, and a small brass knocker. The young gentleman's groom,
by his directions, applied his hand to the implement of noise, and
produced a roll of repeated knocks, which, in any other country, would
be held as a nuisance. A few minutes after, a neat maid-servant
presented herself, and, in answer to the question, "Is Mr. William
Barham at home?" replied in the affirmative.
Morley Ernstein then descended, gave his name, and was ushered up a
flight of stairs, having a centre line of neat stair carpet, not much
wider than one's hand. The drawing-room into which he was shewn was
very nicely furnished with a number of little ornaments, not indeed of
the kind that could be purchased, but of the sort which a dexterous
and tasteful female-hand can produce, to trick out and decorate the
simplest habitation. There was a small piano in one corner of the
room, a Spanish guitar, with a blue ribbon, lying on the sofa, a pile
of music on the top of the piano, some very well executed landscapes
lying, half finished, on the table, together with a box of colours,
and a glass of water. All, in short, bespoke taste and skill, and that
graceful occupation of leisure hours, which is so seldom found
uncombined with a fine mind.
The room was empty of human beings, and while Morley was making his
survey, he heard the maid-servant run up stairs to another flight, and
say--"Master William--Master William, there is a gentleman below in
the drawing-room wishes to speak to you."
There was no reply; and after some running about, the girl returned to
say, that Master William had gone out without her knowing it. As she
spoke, however, there was a knock at the door, and, exclaiming, "Oh!
there he is!" she ran down to open it.
Morley Ernstein remained in the middle of the drawing-room, with the
door partly unclosen, so as to allow him to hear the murmur of voices
in the passage below, and the moment after, some light foot-steps
ascending the stairs. They were not the steps of a man, and ere he
could ask himself, "What next?" the door of the room opened wide, and
a young lady entered the room, whose appearance answered too well the
description which had been given, for him to doubt that she was the
late possessor of the diamond ear-rings.
She seemed to be about nineteen; and, both in features and figure, was
exceedingly beautiful. Dressed in mourning, there could be no bright
colours in her apparel, but every garment was so arranged as
tastefully to suit the other; and the whole was in the very best
style, if not absolutely from the hands of the most fashionable
dressmaker. Yet all was plain--there was nothing at all superfluous;
and, indeed, her beauty required it not. The luxuriant dark hair
clustered under the close bonnet, and contrasted finely with the pure,
fair skin, warmed by a bright blush, like that of a rose, which one
could hardly believe that the air of London would leave long
unwithered. The large and dark, but soft eyes, spoke mind and feeling
too; though there was an occasional flash of brightness in them, which
seemed to say, that mirth had not always been so completely banished
as it seemed at this moment. The whole face looked but the more lovely
from the darkness of her garb; and the beautiful small foot and ancle
were certainly not displayed to disadvantage in the tight-fitting
black silk stockings and well-made shoe. She bowed distantly to
Morley, as she entered the room, with a look that expressed no sort of
pleasure, adding--"The servant tells me, sir, that you wish to see my
brother. He will be here in five minutes; for I left him only at a
little distance, at a shop where he wanted to purchase something. Will
you not sit down?"
She pointed coldly to a chair, and as she spoke, began removing the
drawings from the table; but Morley replied--"Perhaps I had better
return again; I fear I interrupt you."
The lady looked up with an air of hesitation--
"Indeed, sir," she said, after a moment's pause, "I do not know well
how to reply to you. My brother will be angry, perhaps, if I say what
I think, and yet--"
Morley was not a little surprised at this unfinished reply, and he
answered, with interest, which, it is not to be denied, was increasing
every moment under all he heard and saw--
"Pray explain yourself, madam. I think you must be under some mistake;
but at all events, your brother cannot be made angry by what you say;
for of course, unless you desire it, I shall never repeat it to him,
or to any one."
"Well then, sir," she said, gravely and sadly, "I was going to say,
however rude and harsh you may think it, that I certainly would rather
that you did not wait for my brother, and cannot but hope that he may
be absent also when you come again."
Morley smiled at this very strange reception, but still he could not
help thinking that there was some mistake. "Indeed, Miss Barham." he
replied, "this is so unexpected and extraordinary, that I rather
believe you are in error regarding me."
"Oh, no!" replied the lady in the same tone; "his description, sir,
was very accurate. Are you not Mr. Neville?"
"Oh, no!" answered Morley, with a smile, "my name is Morley Ernstein,
and I came with a view of doing your brother good and not harm."
"Ernstein!" she cried, starting with a wild look of joy and
satisfaction. "Morley Ernstein! Oh! then you are the gentleman whose
name was to the draft! It was you who bought the diamonds, then; but
my brother told me he had not seen you--that it was through a third
person--" and she blushed deeply as she spoke.
"He said true, miss Barham," replied Morley; "it was through another
person, but from that other person I learnt something of your own and
your brother's situation, in explanation of the cause for which the
diamonds were sold."
"Oh! they should not have told all that!" murmured the young lady.
"How did they know it? It was sad enough to sell them at all!" and her
eyes filled with tears.
"I made the inquiry," said Morley; "and came here, believe me, without
any intention of obtruding myself upon your confidence, but simply
with the intention of seeing your brother, and ascertaining whether
anything could be done for him. But now I am here," he added, "may I
venture to ask who is this Mr. Neville for whom you took me? I hope I
do not presume too far."
"O no, sir," she answered, with a faint smile, accompanied by another
deep blush--"if you were aware, sir, of all that you have done by
giving that sum for the ear-rings, you would feel that you have a
claim to ask such a question. I do not know this Mr. Neville; my
brother says he is a man of fortune, but I do not believe it. I know,
however, that he has led William into sad extravagance, that he and
his companions have ruined him, and that William has ruined me,
leaving me literally destitute, till your kindly taking those trinkets
at a price I am afraid too high, has set me free from the difficulty
that pressed upon me."
It may well be believed, that a young man of one-and-twenty, with a
heart not the coldest in the world, began to feel some sensations of
satisfaction at having met with the sister rather than the brother,
notwithstanding all the good resolutions he had previously made.
"I have the ear-rings with me now," said Morley; "you will easily
understand that I had no object in buying such things but to afford a
little assistance where it seemed needful. I am aware that it has
caused you much pain to part with these jewels. You must take them
again, and keep the money as a loan, till such time as it is quite
convenient for you or your brother to pay me;" and taking out of his
pocket the little case which he had previously sealed up, he offered
to return it.
The fair girl drew back, however, though not without a look of
pleasure.
"Oh, no!" she answered, "I cannot take them. You must excuse me--I do
not borrow money of--of--."
"Of a stranger you would say," said Morley. "But surely, miss Barham,
that objection may soon cure itself. When you know me better----."
"Ah, then," she replied, "perhaps I might feel differently; but now,
I cannot, indeed--besides, if my brother knew----."
"Would he be angry?" demanded Morley, thinking; "if such were the
case, the youth would be more scrupulous than had been represented."
"Oh, no!" answered the young lady; "but he would think--he would--he
would--I cannot explain myself," she added. "But before he comes, let
me express my deep sense of your generosity and kindness, sir. It is
what one so seldom meets with, that it touches me the more."
"Nay, then," said Morley, "shew that you do not reject it by keeping
these trinkets. I have no use for them--I can do nothing with them;
the money that I gave will never even be missed in my banker's
account; and, as I said before, you or your brother can pay me when
you can find it convenient. My object in coming here today," he added,
"was to see what could be done for him; and, as I was prepared to find
him somewhat wild and thoughtless, what you have said concerning him
has not surprised me. If I can befriend him, however, I will; but
whatever may result from this visit between him and me, let me, at all
events, be considered as a friend by you, Miss Barham."
"You have acted like one, indeed, this day!" she answered, with the
tears rising in her eyes.
"Well, then," said Morley, "as the first proof that you regard me as
such, take these things back: they only embarrass me."
As he spoke, there was another loud knock at the door, and before the
quick step, which was instantly heard on the staircase, had reached
the room, Morley had placed the little case in Miss Barham's hand, and
she had received it with evident confusion and hesitation. The next
moment the door opened wide, and a young man, scarcely of eighteen
years of age, entered quickly, with his long and shining, but somewhat
dishevelled hair, tossed loosely about a face, quick and intelligent
enough, but bearing an expression both wild and cunning. His
complexion was very different from that of his sister, for he was very
pale and sallow, and there was a certain look of premature dissipation
about him, which is not easily to be mistaken.
"Here is Neville, Helen!" he exclaimed, as he entered; but the instant
his eyes lighted upon Morley Ernstein, he started, and looked both
surprised and annoyed.
Ere anything more could pass, however, a slower step was heard
mounting the staircase, and through the door, which the youth had left
open behind him, appeared a fashionably-dressed man coming up with an
air of easy nonchalance, as if he were entering the abode of people
very much below him, looking at his boot, which he tapped occasionally
with his cane, and not raising his eyes in the slightest degree
towards the drawing-room--though the door, as I have said, was
open--till he was upon the very threshold. When he did look up,
however, and saw the figure of Morley Ernstein standing exactly
opposite to him, he started, with an appearance of even greater
surprise than had been shewn by the brother of Miss Barham; and at the
same time his brow contracted, and his eye flashed, in a way that he
seemed to think very imposing, for it was evident that his whole
demeanour had much preparation in it.
Morley, in the meantime, could hardly suppress a smile, at seeing the
man for whom he had been mistaken, and who had been described as so
much like himself. This Mr. Neville was certainly not less than
fifteen or sixteen years older; he was shorter, too, by two or three
inches, not nearly so powerful in make, and though dressed in the very
extreme of the fashion, which, in that day, was somewhat extravagant
in itself, he wanted that easy tone and indescribable grace which
marks the gentleman, both in mind and in station.
The feelings of Miss Barham, however, were evidently anything but
pleasant, and it was with some satisfaction that Morley saw her draw
in a slight degree nearer to himself, as her brother and his companion
entered. All the parties gazed upon each other for a moment in
silence; but the very first words which were spoken, and which
proceeded from the lips of Mr. Neville, at once showed Morley that the
fable of the borrowed plumes might be acted in real life. "I say,
Barham!" he exclaimed--"what is all this, my boy?"
Morley might perhaps have felt himself a little awkward at being found
alone with Miss Barham, by any high-toned man of his own class; it
might have produced an instant shyness--an uncertainty as to whether
he should explain the circumstance or not; but the words, the manner,
and the voice of the worthy who now entered, at once set him at his
ease.
"Mr. Barham," he said, "I called here to speak a few words to you,
but as I find you are occupied, I shall take another opportunity."
"And pray, sir, who may you be?" demanded Mr. Neville, not suffering
the young man to reply.
"I really do not know, sir," said Morley Ernstein, looking at him from
head to foot, with a contemptuous air, "why I should answer you any
questions, until I know who it is that presumes to put them to me."
"My name is Neville, sir--my name is Neville," exclaimed the other;
"have you anything to say to that?"
"Nothing at all, sir," replied Morley, "as my business does not lie
with Mr. Neville, but with Mr. Barham."
"But I am Mr. Barham's friend, sir," said Mr. Neville, "and he does
not seem to know you any more than I do. I am Mr. Barham's friend, I
say."
"I am very sorry to hear it," replied Morley, calmly, though provoked;
"for, from all I can see, your acquaintance does not seem likely to be
advantageous to him."
"Oh, sir! oh!" exclaimed the other, with a furious look--"now, I
insist upon having your card. I will have satisfaction, sir--I will
have satisfaction."
"Nay, my dear young lady," said Morley, gently passing Miss Barham,
who was endeavouring to interpose; "I understand this gentleman, and
you do not.--I never give my card, sir, to people that I do not know.
If you are the sort of person I take you to be, such satisfaction as a
horsewhip may give, you shall command. If you be not such a personage,
and prove the fact to my conviction, I will either make you an
apology, or meet you in the way that you require. Stand out of the
way, sir, for I am very likely, at this moment, to throw you from the
top of the stairs to the bottom. Mr. Barham, I much wish to have a few
words of conversation with you, and if you could make it convenient to
call upon me to night, at Thomas's, in Berkeley-square, towards seven
o'clock, I should be glad to see you. You will ask for Sir Morley
Ernstein. Miss Barham, I shall have the honour of paying my respects
to you on another occasion."
"Missed fire, by Jove!"--exclaimed Mr. Neville, as Morley descended
the stairs, opened the door, and beckoned to his cabriolet, which was
wandering up and down the street--"I say, what's to be done now? That
bird's worth plucking, and you are a fool if you don't do it. I must
have a feather, too, if it can be managed--but pray, introduce me to
your sister. Miss Barham, how do you do?"
Miss Barham drew back. "I must beg to decline the introduction, sir,"
she said; "I have no inclination to make your acquaintance; I told
William so, this morning, and he might have saved me the pain of
seeing you here, as his only pretext was an appointment to meet you,
and it seems that you had joined each other before you came in."
"Hey! how is this, Barham?" exclaimed the other; "I thought you had
talked to her about it all."
"So I did," replied William Barham; "but she is foolish. I tell you
what, Helen; this wont do--you don't know what you are about; and it
is all nonsense, too, because you have often told me about such things
that--"
"It will so far do, William," replied Helen Barham, interrupting him,
"that I will beg you will leave me my rooms to myself. If you do not,
I must take means to free myself from society I do not like."
Thus saying, she passed through the door leading into another chamber,
and was heard to lock it behind her.
"Leave me with her, Neville," said her brother--"leave me with her; I
will bring her to, and will join you in an hour at Williams's."
"Well, mind you!" cried the other, somewhat sternly--"remember, my
lad, I have got my thumb upon you!" and uttering these words, Mr.
Neville marched out of the room. As soon as the door of the house
closed upon him, the youth knocked gently at that of his sister's
room. "Helen!" he exclaimed; "Helen!--he is gone. Do come out and
speak to me, there is a dear girl!"
Helen Barham did come out; but her eyes were red with tears. "Oh,
William!" she said, "I wonder you are not ashamed to see me----"
"Nonsense, Helen," he cried, "I have often heard you laugh at idle
prejudices."
"Fie--fie!" she continued, not attending to him; "to wish to sell
your sister to such a being as that! I did say that there is nothing I
would not do to save you from destruction, but--oh! William----"
"Well, then, Helen," he said, "this is the only way of saving me from
destruction."
"Not now, William," she exclaimed, "not now! The money which you got
for the ear-rings will do for some time, surely; and before that is
spent, I may get some other means of keeping myself and you."
"You will never get enough to keep us comfortably," replied the youth;
"and as to that, it does not matter whether you do or not; I tell you,
the only way to save me from destruction, is----"
"Is by my own, you would say," replied his sister.
"Stuff and nonsense!" answered her brother; "they never hang people
for that, Helen; and I tell you, that man could hang me, or very near
it, if he chose."
The face of Helen Barham turned as pale as death, and she sank into a
chair without any reply, gazing in her brother's countenance, with
silent agony, for several moments.
"It is true, Helen," said her brother, doggedly, and setting his teeth
hard, "it is true what I tell you."
"Whoever heard of such horror!" exclaimed Helen Barham. "The brother
would sell his sister, to be the mistress of a low-bred, horrible
villain; and that villain would hang the brother, if the sister will
not consent to her own destruction. Is that it, William?"
"Not exactly," replied the youth; "you twist the matter which way you
please, Helen. I said he could hang me if he liked, not that he would;
and as for the rest, Helen, I don't sell you. I only want you to do
the best for yourself, and for me too. You can never get enough by
teaching, to keep me or you either. You are fond enough of fine
clothes, I can tell you; and here's a man will give you as many as you
want. He will settle five hundred a-year on you, just as if you were
his wife. He can't marry you, you know, because he is married
already."
"Hush! hush! hush!" cried Helen Barham, stopping her ears "hush! and
leave me. Do not make me hate myself! What did I ever say, William, to
make you think that I would become any man's mistress for fine
clothes?"
"No," replied her brother, "but I have heard you say that marriage is
love; that a man and woman who have promised themselves to each other,
ought to consider themselves just as much married as if all the
ceremonies in the world had passed between them."
Helen hid her eyes in her hands, saying, "I have been very foolish,
William, and I have talked wildly; but you have misunderstood
me--sadly, too. I meant, that they had never a right to break that
promise. Love!--can you talk to me of love with such a man as that?"
"Why, I suppose, then, you are in love with the other I found here,"
said her brother. "Pray, what was he doing here with you alone?--What
is it he wants with me, too?"
"He wants," exclaimed Helen, her face brightening up with renewed
hope--"he wants to save you, William; he wants to aid you--to deliver
you, if you will let him. Go to him, William--go to him; tell him the
whole--tell him all the truth, and, I am sure, if it be in the power
of man to help you, he will. He is generous and kind; and came here
for the purpose of assisting you; he came not to see me; but the man
from whom he bought the diamonds told him something about you, and he
came on purpose to offer you aid."
"That old fool, Higgins, has made a blunder," said the youth,
thoughtfully; "I'll go and call upon him, Helen, and see if anything
can be got out of him; but, as to telling him the whole, you do not
think me such a fool, do you, to put my neck in two men's power,
because it happens to be in that of one? You seem to be mightily
smitten with him, Helen; and perhaps might not object to the
arrangement there, eh? But, I'll tell you what--that wont do, my lady.
Neville's the man, depend upon it; and I insist that you treat him
civilly, at least. For to-day, I must quiet matters down as well as I
can, but to-morrow I shall bring him here to tea."
Helen Barham again burst into tears, and in that state the youth left
her. But ere half an hour was over, Mr. Neville was again in the
house, and, passing by the maid, he entered the drawing-room
unannounced, saying, he "only wanted to speak two words to Miss
Barham." He certainly was not long with her, and what he said was in a
low tone, for the maid, who was not at all inquisitive, could not
catch the words through the keyhole of the door. In less than a minute
and a half, he quitted the house again, and the maid looked at him
from the parlour-window, as he mounted a beautiful horse and rode
away. The moment after, she heard something heavy fall in the room
above, and running up, found Helen Barham lying senseless on the
floor.