Morley Ernstein cast down the evening newspaper in disgust, and walked
up and down the room with angry feelings in his heart, which would not
bear control. Whither was it that his thoughts first wandered? The
reader need hardly ask--it was to Juliet Carr. As early in the day as
the usages of society had permitted, he had called upon Lady Malcolm,
but, as almost invariably happens when one has a particular object in
seeing any friend, male or female, both Lady Malcolm herself, and Miss
Carr were reported by the servant to be out. His next visit was to Mr.
Hamilton, and there the report was very unfavourable. The next was to
a surgeon; for his shoulder, though the wound had been but slight, was
becoming very painful. The man of healing, of course, put him to ten
times more pain, in order to give him relief; and thus Morley had all
the most unpleasant preparatives that a man can have, for seeing his
name in a newspaper. He had been disappointed in his expectations--he
had been grieved for a friend--he had been put to positive pain
himself, and now he saw such an account of an affair, which was
assuredly not discreditable to himself, as to produce an impression
the most to be dreaded, on the minds of those he loved and esteemed.
His imagination was a quick one, and with the rapid magic of thought,
he summoned to his mind, all that Juliet Carr would think--all that
Juliet Carr would feel, on hearing that he had quarrelled with, and
fought a swindler "_on account of a lady!_"
Men little know to what an immense extent their own acquaintance with
all the evil and wickedness of the world affects their estimate of
other people's thoughts and opinions. The rascal, nine times out of
ten, supposes every body to possess the same rascally feelings as
himself; and men, in picturing to their own mind the thoughts of
women, imagine that those thoughts are founded upon knowledge that few
of the gentler sex have any means of possessing. Morley Ernstein,
himself, though he believed the mind of Juliet Carr to be as pure as
that of an angel, fancied nevertheless, that the moment her eye rested
upon that paragraph, she would see him in the midst of scenes of vice
and licentiousness, quarrelling with a blackleg, for an abandoned
woman.
Morley was quite mistaken, however. It is true, that scarcely one of
all the many male eyes which that day read the news of Bow-street,
failed to receive exactly such an impression from the paragraph
concerning himself. But what did Juliet Carr think? Any thing but what
her lover supposed. Juliet Carr was a great reader of character; she
was endowed by nature with that discriminating power--for depend upon
it, reader, it is a gift, not an acquirement--which enables us by some
traits, often even undefinable to ourselves, and generally totally
unnoticed by others, to distinguish at once the innate or habitual
springs of action in those with whom we are brought in contact. I know
not well, whether that gift be most likely to prove a blessing or a
curse. It may often guide our actions, but it seldom guides our
affections, and too often renders the struggle between inclination and
reason, more painful than it always is. Juliet Carr had discovered
very rapidly all the principal traits of Morley Ernstein's character;
but even had not that been the case, she was not sufficiently
acquainted with the evils of the world in general, to conjure up the
picture which Morley supposed would present itself to her imagination.
Thus, when she read the account of the duel, she felt quite certain
that the cause of quarrel was some impetuous act springing from a
generous impulse. When she came to the fact of his having fired in the
air, a smile of pleasure brightened her face, crossing the look of
painful anxiety with which she had been reading; but when in the end
she found that he was wounded, she dropped the paper from her hand
with feelings of mingled fear and sorrow, and with something like
self-reproach, as if her counsels of the night before had caused the
injury under which he suffered. Taking up the newspaper quickly again,
she carried it at once into the neighbouring room, where Lady Malcolm
was sitting, and pointing out the paragraph with a pale cheek and an
anxious eye, which her worthy cousin did not fail to remark, she asked
Lady Malcolm, if she could not send to obtain some more certain
information as to the real state of their young friend. Lady Malcolm
replied, that she would write at once, and the letter was accordingly
despatched.
It was now about half-past eight o'clock at night, and to make sure of
the note being properly delivered, and that a correct account of
Morley Ernstein's health should be brought, Juliet's cousin despatched
an old and faithful servant of her own; who was well acquainted with
good Adam Gray, the young gentleman's attached dependent. In about
three quarters of an hour the man returned, saying, that he had left
the note, and that Sir Morley Ernstein must be better, for he had gone
out, the waiter said, on purpose to see Miss Barham.
Lady Malcolm remarked that Juliet turned slightly pale, and being the
best disposed woman in the world to relieve persons from unpleasant
sensations, she replied, "Nonsense! there must be some mistake,
William. Did you see old Adam Gray."
"No, my lady," replied the man; "I did not; but the waiter told me;
that Sir Morley had especially directed him, if any one called, to say
that he had gone to see Miss Barham."
Lady Malcolm was one of those who make the most of a difficulty by
attempting to get over it, and she was in the high road to try whether
she could not persuade the man that he was mistaken, when Juliet rose
quietly, and went into the other room, as if to seek a book. Her
ladyship then saw that there was no need of proceeding further, and
suffered her servant to depart.
In the meanwhile, Juliet rested her hand upon the table in the next
room for a moment, and gazed thoughtfully at the lamp. The flame was
bright and clear--and whether she found some fanciful affinity between
the object on which her eyes were fixed, and that of which her mind
was in search, I know not; but certainly at that moment she was
seeking for light, upon subjects connected with her own feelings, and
with the circumstances round her, and the lamp of the mind had
suddenly become dim and shadowy. Now many a reader may think that the
question with which she busied herself was, whether Morley Ernstein
was really in love with another? whether, after all that his lips had
said, and all that his look had said--nay, all that his whole
demeanour had said, during the preceding evening, his heart could
really be given to a different object--his affections at that very
time engrossed by another? Such, however, was not the question that
Juliet Carr addressed to herself. It did not at all refer to the
feelings of Morley Ernstein. It referred to her own. She asked
herself, what it was that made such strange sensations shoot through
her bosom, at the thought of his passing that evening with another?
She asked herself, why she should feel as if a cold hand pressed her
heart, at the idea of his being attached to another? Had she been
dreaming? Had she been indulging visions that she had no right to
indulge? or, had she really suffered her imagination to be captivated
by a wild, gay, ardent, young man, who perhaps addressed the same
flattery of words and manner to some new acquaintance every night?
Juliet Carr was frightened at her own feelings, and for the rest of
the evening, though not absolutely melancholy, she was grave and
thoughtful.
About eleven o'clock on the following day, Lady Malcolm went out, not
telling her fair visitor where she was going at that early hour. It
must be recollected, that she was first cousin to Juliet's mother, and
her period of life was somewhat more than that mother's age would have
been had she been still living. She was, perhaps forty-eight or nine;
and cares and sorrows--those sad beauty-killers--had left her less of
the appearance of youth than might have been her portion, if her life
had passed smoothly and happily. It was upon the strength of her age,
then, that Lady Malcolm now ventured towards Berkeley-square, in order
to visit Morley Ernstein, and enquire into his proceedings with her
own lips.
In the meantime, however, that young gentleman himself, as so often
happens on such occasions, had been impelled towards the house of Lady
Malcolm, taking his way, as if on purpose, by streets the most
distinct and opposite to those which the good lady herself pursued. He
had not the slightest idea, it is true, that there was a chance of her
coming to call upon him; but still, if the truth must be told, his
heart beat with a pleasurable pulse when he heard that Lady Malcolm
was out, and that Miss Carr was at home.
He followed the servant quickly up the stairs, through the first
drawing-room, and into the second, where Juliet was busy, writing a
letter; so that she scarcely heard his name announced ere he was
before her. The colour mounted up into her cheek, a smile came upon
her lip, and she received him kindly and courteously; but still there
was, in her manner, or at least Morley thought so, a certain degree of
coldness, which his warm and eager nature could not endure, even for a
moment. Time to think had been allowed him since the first impression,
which had been produced upon his mind by reading the newspaper-account
of his duel with Neville, and various other circumstances had
combined, to fix him in a resolution which he now proceeded to
execute. He sat down, then, at once beside Juliet Carr, saying--
"You must forgive me for coming at this early hour, and, still
further, you must forgive me for preventing you from writing your
letter, perhaps for a long time, as I intend to stay here till Lady
Malcolm comes back."
There was something in his manner that agitated Juliet Carr, but she
would not give way to the sensations of her own heart, nor suffer
herself to fancy, for a moment, that there was any other feeling
towards her in his, than common friendship.
"Indeed, I am very happy to see you," she replied; "we were very
anxious to hear of you last night; for we saw, in the newspaper, an
account--"
"Of my having become a duellist, notwithstanding all your kind
cautions," said Morley.
"Yes," answered Juliet Carr, with a bright smile; "but also of your
having acted well and nobly, even though you did yield to the bad
influence of man's customs."
"You mean in not firing at my adversary," said Morley. "Well, I will
confess to you, that at the moment I was conversing with you, the
night before, I had fully made up my mind to shoot him. Nay, more, I
thought I should be serving society by so doing."
"Oh, then," exclaimed Juliet, warmly, "I do rejoice that I said what I
did, if I am to believe it had any effect upon you. Think, with what
different feelings we should now have met, if you had killed that
man--think how sad and melancholy you would have been."
"Your words had every effect," replied Morley, "for they entirely
stopped me in my purpose, and I will own, now, that I am most glad I
listened to them; not only, because it gives me pleasure to have
followed your counsel, but because I am satisfied, that counsel was
right; and now let us speak, Juliet," he continued, "of that newspaper
account which you saw of the business, for, believe me, your good
opinion is more valuable to me than anything else in life."
Juliet blushed, and her heart beat quickly; but following that first
impulse, which generally affects the mind of woman on such occasions,
she sought to avoid the more agitating part of the theme, and replied,
quickly, "I see that one part of the account must be false; for it
stated that you were severely wounded. It was that which made me and
Lady Malcolm so anxious to hear how you were. She wrote to you last
night, but--"
"I was out," replied Morley, with that straight-forward frankness of
demeanour, which wrought a change in Juliet's feelings at every
word--"I would have come, in answer to her note, myself, but I was
obliged to go out, early in the evening, to see a young lady of the
name of Barham, whose situation is one which, I think, will interest
you deeply when you come to hear the particulars."
Juliet Carr drew a long, deep sigh; her eyes remained fixed upon the
table; the fine turned upper lip quivered, as she listened; and the
beautiful nostril expanded, as if some struggling feelings in her
breast required more breath in their eager contest.
"It was my intention," continued Morley, "to interest Mr. Hamilton, my
former guardian, in this business, and to induce him to do all for
Miss Barham that I could wish to do; but he, I am sorry to say, is
extremely ill, and I must apply to Lady Malcolm and yourself to help
me."
"Oh, that we will, willingly!" exclaimed Juliet. "But what is the
matter, Morley?--why cannot you act for yourself? Is this the lady,
about whom they say you fought the duel?"
There was a slight smile upon her face as she asked the last
question--but each of the three was somewhat difficult to answer, and
Morley chose the least.
"It was not exactly about her that the quarrel took place," he said,
"though it was in her house. This man, Neville, who is a swindler, had
gone there with purposes which, perhaps, Juliet, I could better
explain to Lady Malcolm than yourself. It is sufficient to say, that
they were insulting to an innocent and amiable girl, overwhelmed with
misfortunes of various kinds: first, the death of her father, a poor,
but respectable clergyman, after a long and tedious illness, which
exhausted all his resources; next, the pressure of poverty; and last,
but greatest of all, the infamous conduct of a brother, who has
abandoned himself to every sort of evil, and would sell or betray his
sister for a very slight consideration. It was the wish to see if I
could do something, both to relieve and reclaim this youth, that took
me to Miss Barham's house, when I met the man, Neville, there. I had
never beheld her before, but I then saw enough to make me sure that
she was innocent and good, and you may easily imagine, that I did not
feel disposed to suffer her to be injured or insulted in my presence."
"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Juliet, enthusiastically, "I am sure you would
not--I am sure that you would do everything in your power to protect
and assist her."
Somehow or another, I know not well how, Morley Ernstein seemed to
feel he had got a little the advantage of Juliet Carr, and he replied,
with a smile--
"I am most anxious to do everything; but how it is to be done is the
question, Juliet; for I must let you into one secret--this Miss Barham
is young and very beautiful."
He saw the colour in Juliet's cheek vary, in a manner that gave him
greater pleasure than anything that he had beheld for many a day; and
yet he hastened to restore it to a steadier tone.
"There are two difficulties, Juliet," he said; "one of which I do not
like to encounter, and one of which I have no right to encounter. You
will easily understand," he continued, with a smile, "that I cannot
take this pretty Helen Barham to my house, or even send her thither
and give her an asylum there, though, for a thousand reasons, it were
better that she should leave London. If she remains, I cannot shield
her from persecution and annoyance; and my being with her frequently,
might produce an impression on the minds of others, that my views
towards her were of an evil nature; while in herself," he added,
slowly and gravely, "it might induce a belief that I am actuated by
feelings of personal attachment, which I can never feel. Do not
suppose me vain, Juliet; but it is right to remember that, thrown
altogether into my society, resting upon me for protection and
support, experiencing some kindness from me, and feeling more
gratitude than I deserve, she might learn to entertain sentiments that
I could never return, and should be deeply grieved to disappoint."
Juliet's lips moved, though there was no sound proceeded from them,
but her heart said something that Morley Ernstein might have been glad
to hear.
"To speak the truth, Juliet," continued Morley, "it is more lest she
should mistake me, than lest others should mistake me, that I am
anxious. It so seldom happens that a man is very eager to serve a
woman without some motive, that she might well think I am influenced
by an attachment to herself, unless--unless--unless, in short, I can
find some more proper person than myself to stand prominently forward
in this business. Some facts which I heard last night, and which made
me hurry to her instantly, render it the more necessary that she
should be removed from her present abode at once."
"Why?" demanded Juliet; "is she in any danger?"
"She is in danger of being placed in the most painful situation
possible," replied Morley. "Her brother has thrown himself entirely in
the power of the swindler Neville. Their views upon this poor girl are
such as I can hardly explain, for there are things which, to ears so
pure as yours, are offensive even to hear named."
"Alas!" replied Juliet, looking up in his face, with a sweet yet sad
smile, "one cannot live any time in the world, Morley, without being
well aware that there are many vices and evils of all kinds going on
around us. I am not sure that it would be beneficial to us to be
ignorant that such things exist, if they must exist; but, however, I
can easily conceive that this man's views and purposes are infamous.
The only thing I cannot comprehend is, how a brother can lend himself
to disgrace a sister. What can be his inducement? What can be the
motive strong enough to lead him to an act which one would imagine the
most depraved mind would shrink from with horror?"
"The hope of life, Juliet," replied Morley--"the fear of death. These
are his inducements; but that part of the subject I must not touch
upon with you. Wherever he is concerned, I will deal with the affair
myself, and hope still to save him from the consequences of his own
crime and folly. If he cannot be saved, however, we must shield his
sister from his importunities; and if you will help me in this--if you
will give her your countenance, assistance, and protection, I am sure
she will be grateful, and I, Juliet, will be deeply so."
"I will do anything you like," cried Juliet, with a glowing
countenance; "I will go to her this moment, if you please. Oh, I
forgot I was in London!" she added, sitting down again on the sofa,
from which she had partly risen. "But, however, whatever you think
best to be done, I am quite ready to do. You know, I believe, Morley,
that my means of helping her--in point of money, I mean--are not very
large, and that I have some poor pensioners at home, but still I have
quite enough to give her assistance for the time, and I shall soon
have more."
Morley gazed at her with sensations that kept him silent for a moment.
"It is unnecessary," he replied, at length; "I can supply all that. I
have far more than I know how to employ properly, Juliet, and, indeed,
I think that when I have engaged you so deeply in this affair that you
cannot escape me, I shall try to induce you to give me counsel in the
disposal of that wealth which is too great not to imply a serious
obligation to employ it properly. Will you be my monitor, Juliet?"
Juliet Carr looked down, and again turned pale, saying, in a low
voice, "Willingly, Morley, if I could be vain enough to think my
counsels would aid or benefit you."
Strange as it may seem, the same sudden paleness which had alarmed
Morley Ernstein on the preceding night, making him doubt whether
Juliet's heart was free, and resolve to bridle his impetuous spirit
and proceed coolly and slowly to ascertain what were her real feelings
before he committed himself, lest vanity should meet a rebuff and love
a disappointment--the same sudden paleness now produced a contrary
effect. During their conference of that morning there had been a
thousand little signs, a thousand little passing expressions of the
countenance, which had raised hope and expectation. There had been a
light in her eyes when she raised them suddenly to his face, a
changing colour under his glance, an agitation in the voice, an
occasional embarrassment in the manner,--all of which shewed Morley
Ernstein that he had the power, at least, of producing emotion in the
heart of Juliet Carr, and there is something in that power which
renders it akin either to love or fear. Morley was very sure that
there was no touch of the latter passion in her feelings. He hoped,
then, naturally enough, that there might be somewhat of the former.
How the matter would have gone on at that moment, Heaven only knows,
but just as the words passed Juliet's lips, there was a loud knock at
the street-door, and Juliet added--"There is Lady Malcolm!"
There was no time left then for any long explanations, but Morley took
the hand which rested on the table--it was certainly a fair book,
that might have been kissed by Jews or infidels, with no light
devotion--and pressing his lips upon it, he said--"Thus, dear Juliet,
I seal your promise."
"What promise?" exclaimed Juliet Carr, with a start and a blush.
"To be my monitor," replied Morley. He would have fain added "for
life," but he dared not risk all at that moment, and ere either of
them could utter more, Lady Malcolm entered the room.