"Is Mr. Hamilton gone into the city yet?" demanded Ernstein, as the
door was opened to him by a servant who knew him well.
"No, Sir Morley," replied the man, with a look which well might be the
harbinger of bad tidings. "Have you not heard, then, that my master
was taken very ill in the middle of the night, and we were obliged to
send for Doctor Warren?"
"No, indeed," answered Morley; "and I am extremely sorry to hear it.
What is the matter, pray?"
There has not been for many years a servant in England who rightly
knew what ailed his master or mistress; whether from a general
indifference to sickness and discomfort in others, or from that want
of sympathy between the two classes, which, under the fostering care
of what we call political institutions, is daily growing up amongst
us, I cannot tell. In former times, the good old blue-bottle--the
faithful serving man, in country or in town, who--very often born on
the estates of the master whom he served--never changed his place
during the course of a long life, but went on respected, from one
station in the household to another, till very likely, loaded with
years, he died in the arms of the grandson of him whom he first
served--he had a personal interest in each sensation of his master,
and watched the looks and words of the physician, to catch his augury
of good or evil. Now, however, when every kitchen in the land is more
or less a debating society, all such individual interests are merged
into considerations of the public weal; and the cosmopolite lackey
changes his place every two years to see the world, with a trembling
apprehension lest the progress of time should produce such a foolish
feeling as attachment towards a master.
The servant of Mr. Hamilton, though a very respectable man, and a good
servant, as the world of London goes--that is to say, some four or
five shades better than an American help--had not the slightest idea
of what was the matter with his master, having only the disagreeable
impression on his mind that he, amongst other servants, had been
called up in the night, and had lost some four or five hours of rest.
"Is Mrs. Hamilton visible?" demanded Morley, finding that no further
information was to be obtained from the man.
"I dare say she is to you, sir," replied the servant; "though she bade
me not admit any one."
"Send up, and ask," said Morley; and the butler at the same moment
appearing, declared that, of course, his mistress would see Sir Morley
Ernstein.
That young gentleman was accordingly shewn into the drawing-room, and
Mrs. Hamilton soon after joining him there, gave him the unpleasant
tidings that his worthy guardian had been attacked by inflammation of
the lungs during the preceding night, and was in a state of imminent
danger. Morley was seriously grieved; for, having long been deprived
of his own father, he looked upon that gentleman in the light of a
parent. He felt also that his loss at the present moment might be far
more disastrous to him than the death of his own father had proved
many years before. Perfect quiet and tranquillity were, of course,
necessary to the invalid, and Morley did not press to see him, though
he felt an eager wish to do so; but turned his steps back towards
Berkeley-square, meditating and sad, with a shadow cast across the
bright thoughts of youth, like that flung upon the gay spring world by
the passing cloud of an April sky.
On entering his own apartments in the hotel, a waiter followed him,
saying, with that sharp, quick tone peculiar to waiters, who always
speak as if there was, not a drawn sword, but a ringing bell hanging
over their heads--"Beg pardon, sir--forgot to tell you a young
gentleman called upon you last night, named Barham--eight o'clock.
Your servant out also--beg pardon, sir note came this morning--somehow
left down stairs till you were gone."
Morley took the note; it was small, neat, well folded, addressed, in a
fine sort of a gossamer hand--"An invitation to dinner," he thought;
but when he opened it, the length at once shewed him he was mistaken.
"How to excuse myself to you, sir, I know not," it ran; "how even to
exculpate myself in my own eyes, for venturing to address a gentleman
almost a stranger to me, with the request that I am about to make. The
only palliation for such conduct is, that in the short moment during
which I saw you, you shewed yourself generous and considerate, and
that you yourself expressed an interest, which could but spring from
noble benevolence, in the wretched boy who has ruined himself, and is
now striving to drag his sister down with him. After you were gone,
and the base man who has helped to destroy him had taken his
departure, I was made acquainted with the terrible secret of his
situation. It is so awful, it is so agonizing to me, that I have
remained all day in a state almost approaching madness, not knowing
how to act, torn by contending feelings, with no one to advise me, and
with no means of deliverance, abhorring my brother's conduct and
views, abhorring the base man that has us in his power, and yet bound,
by natural feeling and long affection, to save, at any risk and at any
sacrifice, the erring being who is still my brother, but seeing no way
of so doing without becoming the victim myself. You said, sir, that
you wished to save him, but, alas! he will not let you with his own
good will. He will seek to make you a prey--to extract money from you;
but he will not tell you the secret which places him in the power of
that horrible man. I am resolved to do so, if I can see you again; and
yet I fear, even by making the request that you would come to me, to
encounter, as perhaps I may deserve, your contempt at the same time as
your pity. Whether such be the case or not, I shall always remember,
with deep thankfulness, your past conduct, and ever remain your
unhappy but grateful servant,
"HELEN BARHAM."
To fly to her at once, to give her every assistance and consolation in
his power, to treat her tenderly, kindly, generously, was the first
impulse of Morley Ernstein, and he obeyed it. He gave one casual
thought as to how he could act most prudently; but Mr. Hamilton's
illness had put all his wisely-constructed schemes to flight. He had
no one to trust to take counsel with, and though, to say truth, he
doubted himself where matters of passion were concerned, but one
course presented itself to his mind at the moment; and without waiting
for aught else than to put on his hat again, he was in the street the
minute after he had read Helen Barham's letter.
It was some time ere he reached her dwelling, and he thus might have
had plenty of space for forethought and deliberation; but men of a
vehement temperament like himself, when approaching any particular
object, occupy the time, by corporeal efforts to get forward, which
they might employ in thoughts that would much more facilitate their
after progress. Morley was upon foot, and he strode on so rapidly, as
nearly to overturn half a dozen people in his way--sometimes having to
stop to apologize for his rudeness, sometimes half inclined to pause,
and punish some of those who made impertinent observations on his
haste--while all the cool considerations of right and propriety, with
which, during the last week, he had striven to bind himself down, were
now totally forgotten in the sole object of aiding the fair girl who
was thus cast upon him for assistance.
If he was eager in the business at the first reading of the letter, he
had worked himself into more eagerness before he reached the door, and
it was only after the servant had said that her mistress was at home,
and his step was upon the stairs, that he began to think of calming
even his demeanour. He had but little opportunity, however, of doing
on those twelve or fifteen feet of stairs, what he had neglected to do
during a walk of a mile and a half. He did not give himself more time
than was necessary either, for the impetus still carried him on, and
he was treading on the maid's heels when she announced him.
Helen Barham had evidently heard his knock, and knew it, for she was
standing on the other side of the table watching the opening door,
blushing up to the eyes, and looking far more beautiful with nothing
round her face but her own rich black hair, than she had done in her
walking-dress. She moved not--she spoke not, but remained with her
eyes fixed upon him, and the hand that rested on the table trembling
with emotion. Morley easily understood that she could not welcome
him, and advancing at once towards her, he took her hand in his,
saying--"Miss Barham, I fear you have thought me very negligent for
not coming earlier, but the people of the hotel stupidly neglected to
give me your note till after my return from calling upon two friends."
"Oh, no!" she said, in a trembling and agitated voice; "you are only
too kind to come at all. It is better, too, that you did not come
earlier, for that wretched boy has only just gone out, and I believe
he would kill me if he knew that I betrayed his secret to any one."
"He need not fear your telling it to me," replied Morley; "for, depend
upon it, I will only use it for his own advantage. Let me know, then,
my dear Miss Barham, how I can serve you. Tell me what I can do to
deliver you from the terrible situation I saw you placed in
yesterday."
"I will, in a moment," she replied; "but I must first recall my
thoughts. The very fact of your coming, Sir Morley Ernstein, may well
agitate me very much. Since I wrote to you I have scarcely known
whether to regret or to be glad that I did so--whether to be sorry or
rejoice, that I had not, in my despair, abandoned myself and my
unhappy brother to our fate."
"Nay, nay," said Morley, in a soothing tone--"view it in a different
light, Miss Barham! Say simply that you saw I was interested in you,
that I was inclined to deal differently with you and yours from most
other men; that you trusted in my honour and my good feeling, and that
you were not deceived."
"I know you are generously inclined," she said--"I am sure you are;
but yet I have been thinking, since I wrote, you must despise me for
the rashness and the boldness of what I have done; or, at least, that
you must fancy it strange I should have no friends, no connexions here
to whom I can apply even for advice. Indeed--indeed, it is not my
fault! For the nine months before my poor father's death, he was a
continual sufferer; we came to London for medical advice, from a
distant part of the country, and knowing nobody here, of course made
no acquaintances. After his death, I got two pupils for singing, and
one to whom I taught drawing. That poor child is dead, and the other
two have left London: My brother, alas! has made acquaintances enough,
but I have made none."
She spoke in a tone of deep sadness, and her eyes rested fixed upon
the ground, but without tears. Morley was deeply touched, and soothed
her with every assurance of sympathy. He took her hand in his, as he
sat beside her; he besought her to trust in him fully and entirely,
promising, with all his own impetuosity, but in sincerity and truth,
to do all for her that man could do for a sister.
"If it be possible, dear Miss Barham," he said, "I will save your
brother; but at all events, it is possible to save you from the
infamous person into whose hands he would cast you. That, at least,
you must allow me to do. But now, tell me at once your brother's
situation, and let us consider together what can best be done to
disentangle him, which will apparently be the best means of serving
you."
"Oh, that I will!" she exclaimed, gently withdrawing her hand from
his, in which he had detained it perhaps an instant longer than he
himself thought right; and she then proceeded to explain to him more
fully what had taken place after he left her the day before. It was a
terribly difficult task for her. She had to allude to, if not to speak
of, so much that was wounding to all her feelings; she had to shew to
a young, handsome, and distinguished man, that, unless means could be
found for delivering her brother from the power of the low-born
swindler whom he had seen there the day before, she must either
abandon herself to that base man, or see her brother perish by an
ignominious death. She had deliberately to poise and dwell upon the
idea of becoming that man's mistress, or of destroying her own
brother, and that to the ears of one of another sex, and a higher
station than herself; and yet she did it well, at least as far as it
was possible so to do. She often turned, and paused, and hesitated,
and the tears came up in her eyes, and her voice frequently refused to
obey her will, and she told the whole in half sentences, leaving
imagination to fill up that which she dared not speak.
Thus did Morley Ernstein pass the most dangerous hour that he had ever
yet been subjected to in life. The poor girl's secret, however, was
told at length, and he found that her brother had committed a forgery
to the amount of five hundred pounds; that the note which he had
signed with a name not his own, was to pass through the hands of the
man Neville, before it was presented for payment, and that William
Barham himself did not know where it was, who possessed it, or any
means that could be employed to stop it, till it reached the fiend to
whom he had sold himself.
By the time that Helen Barham had done, Morley Ernstein was nearly as
much agitated as herself, and the sympathies that were established
between those two, as they sat there together--the deep, the strong,
the thrilling sympathies, the feelings speaking from heart to heart,
and answering each other; the admiration, the tenderness, the
compassion, on one side--the admiration, the anguish, the gratitude,
on the other, were as perilous a host as ever forced their way into
the bosom of man and woman. The interest that Morley took in her, the
anxiety that he felt to serve her; the apprehension for herself and
for her brother, which her history excited, were all open to the eyes
of Helen Barham, and were all in return powerful upon her spirit. At
that moment, when, trembling, agitated, tearful, breathless, she
concluded the sad tale with that one terrible truth, and when he,
listening with quivering lips and eyes straining upon her bright face,
heard the dark conclusion of the whole, which seemed to leave no
course for him, no hope for her, but to snatch her at once from her
unworthy brother, one rash impulse, two rash words, "Be mine!" would
have sealed the fates of both for ever. Had he uttered them, she could
but have cast herself upon his breast, or died.
Oh, it is sad to feel that there is but one thing on earth to which we
can cling, and yet not dare to cling to it! Oh, it is sad to feel
within ourselves the power to cherish and to comfort, and yet not dare
to use it! Those words, "Be mine," presented themselves to Morley's
mind, rose up in his heart, trembled upon his lips; but as the
destinies of men and states have ever depended upon accident, one
instant's pause saved him and Helen Barham; whether permanently, or
only for the time, those who read will learn. "Shall I say it?" he
asked himself; and while his heart beat like an imprisoned eagle
against the bars of its cage, his eyes turned towards the table and
rested there for a moment. There was a book upon it, which she had
evidently been reading before he came in, open, and turned upon its
face. There was a word stamped upon the back, and Morley's glance
passed over it--it was, Prayer!
In a moment lightning-like thought had passed round the whole range of
the mental horizon.
"She has been praying," he thought--"praying to that God, who made her
beautiful, and innocent, and bright--praying for help against the
infernal powers of wickedness and evil, that seem to surround her; and
shall I, the only help that he has sent her, shall I sully her
brightness, destroy her innocence, and blister that fair brow with the
name of harlot? God forbid!"
The ethereal spirit within him was triumphant in a moment, the hour of
the animal spirit was over.
"Prayer!" he said, aloud--"prayer!" and rising from his seat, he took
her hand tenderly and respectfully, and pressed it to his lips. "Here,
Miss Barham," he said, laying his hand upon the book, "is the true
means of comfort and consolation. He only to whom the words in this
book are addressed, can certainly give you deliverance. I, however, as
an instrument in his hands, will do my very best to help you; and
whatever my fortune or my influence can effect, shall not be wanting,
and what cannot fortune and influence do in this or any other land!"
He paused, and cast his eyes thoughtfully upon the ground; and she
answered simply, as if she had been speaking her thoughts to an old
and dear friend--"I was praying before you came in; and though my mind
was somewhat confused, I felt comforted and relieved. I felt as if my
heart told me, that God would send somebody to help me--I think he
sent you."
"May it prove so, dear lady," said Morley; "I trust it will prove so.
You have put your confidence in one, who, though, in some respects, a
strange, wayward young man, will try what he can do to merit it. First
let me tell you, however," he continued, seeing a slight blush come up
in Helen Barham's cheek, at the thought of having put her trust in _a
strange, wayward young man_--"let me tell you what I have done in this
business since I saw you yesterday, for you have not been absent from
my thoughts. In the first place, the person who brought me the
ear-rings saw me again last night, and gave me an intimation that this
man Neville must have some extraordinary hold upon your brother,
probably by a fault or crime which he has seduced him to commit. He
also explained to me partially the conduct and views of your brother
towards yourself. For the purpose of aiding you as far as possible, I
offered him a sum of money if he would ascertain what was the nature
of this man's power over your brother, and he promised me to obtain
the information quickly. Considering the matter further, however, I
thought that it might be necessary to remove you at once from the
influence of one who, however near akin, is most dangerous to you, and
to place you under the care of some one who would protect you against
Neville and your brother, and at the same time, guard you against all
the evils of straitened circumstances."
Helen Barham cast down her look upon the ground, and the red blood
crept up into her forehead; she then turned her eyes rapidly to the
book of Prayer, and raised them to Morley's countenance with an
inquiring glance. He understood it all as well as if she had spoken a
volume.
"Nay, my dear Miss Barham," he said; "do not misunderstand me; though
passion may often lead me to do what is wrong, I am not the cool,
deliberate villain to lay out a regular scheme for the ruin of any
one. Your youth, your beauty, your unfriended situation altogether,"
he continued, while the blush grew deeper and deeper on her cheek,
"all made me think that it would be better some man of advanced years
and high reputation--some man whose very character would be the
noblest shield for yours, should act in this business rather than
myself; and one of my visits this morning, ere I received your note,
was to the Honourable Mr. Hamilton, the great banker, who was my
guardian in times past, and has ever acted as a second father to me. I
intended to tell him the whole case, and to beg him to do what I could
not, or ought not to do--to remove you from this house altogether, and
to use every nerve to deliver your brother, but to put you quite out
of his power, both in respect of pecuniary affairs and moral
influence. Unfortunately, I found Mr. Hamilton had been seized only
last night with a dangerous disease. Mrs. Hamilton, though an
excellent person, is very different in heart and mind from her
husband; thus the whole scheme is deranged for the present. We must
therefore do the best that we can, as no time is to be lost, however
painful it may be to you to depend solely upon the assistance and
efforts of a young man like myself."
"Oh, no!" she cried, interrupting him eagerly, and laying her hand
upon his arm, while she looked up in his face with a bright smile of
confidence, that repaid him well for all that he had said and done.
"Oh, no!" she cried; "it is not painful to me. I could trust anything
to you, after your conduct to-day--my life, my honour, anything! Oh,
no! it is not painful to me;" and bending down her face upon her two
hands, she wept for a minute, with one of those bursts of emotion in
which joy and sorrow are strangely, but perhaps we may say sweetly,
blended together. Morley soothed her, but she wiped away the tears in
a few moments, and said--"Do not mind, it is only agitation, not
grief. What were you going to say?"
"Merely this," replied Morley; "we have but one course to pursue, my
dear Miss Barham, for the present. It is this--to discover, if
possible, who is the person whose name your brother has thus forged.
You must try to wring it from him, and, that being once obtained, I
will endeavour, to the utmost of my power, and by all the means at my
command, to make the person, whoever it is, abandon the thought of
proceeding against him."
"But whoever it is will never consent to save a criminal by paying so
large a sum," said Helen Barham.
"I will do that," replied Morley; and before he could prevent her, she
caught his hand, and pressed her lips on it.
"God bless you!" she cried, "and return it to you a thousandfold, in
treasures uncountable!--But, alas! I fear," she continued, after a
thoughtful pause, "I shall never induce William to give me the name."
"Try, at all events," replied Morley. "I will endeavour, through the
man who seems his confidant. If we fail by all other means, we must
come openly to himself, show him his danger, prove to him that, as
your resolution is taken, nothing can save him but confession, and
offer to do everything for him if he will but be candid. But, indeed,
my dear Miss Barham, before that time, you ought to be removed from
him entirely, and put in safety and at ease. You say you have no
friends in London; have you any in the country, with whom you could
be?"
"But few," she replied, with a sigh. "Who loves to be burdened with
the unfortunate? My father's parish was extensive, but poor;
containing no gentry of any kind. There were several large and
respectable farmers in it, and their wives were, in many cases,
excellent women; some of them loved me well enough, I believe; but
I could hardly ask any of them to receive me. My father, too, was
retired in his habits, and made few acquaintances. There was the wife
of a neighbouring clergyman, indeed, who was almost the only person
near of the same station as ourselves; he is dead, but she lives in
the village still, and, perhaps, might be willing to have me with her;
but I could do nothing there to earn my own livelihood, and I would
not be a burden to her, or to any one. Besides, I wrote to her a week
or two ago, and have not heard from her since."
"Your stay need only be for a few weeks," replied Morley. "Ere long, I
trust, Mr. Hamilton will be quite well; I will place your affairs in
his hands, Miss Barham, and then the matter will soon be settled. It
is only for the present that I do not know what to do for you. I think
it absolutely necessary that, for a time, even on his own account,
your brother should be cut off from all communication with you, if he
will not give that information which is necessary to deliver him from
the hands of this man, Neville; and yet I myself can suggest no means,
no place of refuge, without danger or discredit to you; and, believe
me," he added, "I would not, for any consideration, bring upon you
either."
"Indeed, I do believe you!" she said, looking brightly up in his face;
"but, oh, sir! you seem to fix your whole hopes and expectation upon
Mr. Hamilton's recovery. Are you very sure that, if he were well
to-morrow, he would feel in this matter as you do--that he would judge
as you do? The old see things very differently from the young; the
heart gets cased by experience, if not hardened--and judgment is a
sterner person to deal with than feeling. I recollect one of my young
pupils wanted to persuade her mother to take me with them into the
country, because I looked sad at their going--as well I might. The
mother explained to her kindly, that it would never do; and I could
not but own that she was right; and yet I loved the daughter better
than the mother."
She blushed immediately she had uttered those words, seeing that they
might have an application which she did not intend; but Morley was too
much a gentleman in heart, to give to any words a meaning different
from their real one; for there are some things which we understand
with our heart rather than with our head; and the meaning of those we
speak with is read by the spirit within ourselves, whatever may be the
mere sounds that address themselves to the ear. "What I mean,"
continued Miss Barham, "is only, you must not be disappointed if you
find that Mr. Hamilton does not quite approve of all you have done,
and does not encourage, or assist you in doing all that you would, be
willing to do. Nor can any one say that he is wrong, for indeed, Sir
Morley Ernstein, I cannot but feel that you have already done more
than the calm judgment of any man of the world would approve."
Morley smiled. "You do not know Mr. Hamilton," he said; "he is as
young in heart as I am, though old in experience, and mature in
judgment. He is one of those few, Miss Barham, in whose enthusiasms I
can trust."
"I doubt not," replied Miss Barham, "that he will take a kind interest
in me, on your account; that he will give me countenance and
protection, and ensure me the means of obtaining my own living
respectably. That is all I can desire, or expect. Most grateful to him
shall I be; but he can never do for me what you have done--raise me up
from the depth of sorrow and despair; comfort, support, protect
me--and all with honour and consideration, without one selfish or
ungenerous feeling,--without one evil thought mingling with your
benevolence to make me blush at the pity I excited, or the assistance
I received."
It was Morley who blushed now, for he felt that though he had been
generous, he had not been altogether so generous as she supposed. He
felt that the passions which man encourages, and thinks no evil,
though subdued and kept down, might have had their share; and that
those feelings had been there which we will not believe have power to
sully till we place our own heart in contrast with something brighter
than itself. He coloured, as we have said, and was somewhat confused;
and, after promising to see her again on the following morning, and
beseeching her to use every means to wring the required information
from her brother, he left her, and returned thoughtfully to his
temporary home.