Such as we have described in the last chapter, had been Morley
Ernstein's interview with Helen Barham, on the night preceding his
early visit to Lady Malcolm. When that worthy lady herself returned,
and entered the room where Morley and Juliet Carr were seated, she
might well assure him that she was delighted to see him; for she was
truly delighted to see him there, in that exact spot, seated by
Juliet's side; and yet had she known that he was there, she certainly
would not have seen him at all, for she would not have come home for
an hour. Lady Malcolm loved Juliet Carr sincerely; she loved Morley
Ernstein, too, with affection that had been going on and increasing
from his childhood. She thought it the most natural thing in the world
that they should love each other, and she was quite sure, to see them
wed each other, would very greatly contribute to her own happiness.
Whenever circumstances were in such a predicament, Lady Malcolm, who,
in these respects, was the wisest as well as the kindest woman in the
world, made a point of getting out of the way of the lovers as fast
and as far as possible, but, in the present instance, she discovered
her young friend's visit too late.
Morley's story was quickly told, and Lady Malcolm soon became deeply
interested in the fate of Helen Barham. She had lived long enough in
the world to comprehend, at a word, the views of Neville, and the sort
of danger from which Morley sought to screen the fair being he had
befriended. To say sooth, on the mind of Lady Malcolm, the newspaper
account of the duel had in some degree produced the effect which
Morley had expected it would produce on every one. The bold and candid
way, however, in which he now told who the lady was, and how the duel
had arisen, not only removed all suspicions from Lady Malcolm's
thoughts, but prevented anything like apprehension of Morley's being
seriously attached to any one else than Juliet Carr; which--to
acknowledge a sad truth--would have been more painful to her, than if
her young friend had really been engaged in some passing intrigue; for
Lady Malcolm was one of those who, from seeing a great deal of the
dissipated society of a court and a metropolis, believed that every
young man must and would commit a certain portion of vices and
follies; forgetting that those vices and follies, though we may turn
from them at an after period and learn to do better, leave behind
them stains of two kinds--stains upon our happiness and upon our
candour--not only regrets, but suspicions--not only the memory of evil
acts, but the knowledge of wickedness and of crime. The tree of which
man rebelliously ate in the garden of Eden, was called the Tree of the
Knowledge of Good and Evil. Had our unhappy first parent paused to
consider, he would have known that he possessed already the knowledge
of good, and that the prohibition of God referred, in fact, to the
tasting of that which could give him the knowledge of evil. He did
eat, and the stain of that fruit came upon his soul; and so is it with
every child of man; we cannot know evil without a spot remaining on
our hearts for ever.
However, such was Lady Malcolm's code, in respect to the licence
allowed to men, and such, alas! is the code of many another excellent
woman. She was glad, indeed, to find that it was not the case with
Morley Ernstein; but she was still more glad to find, as I have said,
that the cause of the duel was no serious attachment on the part of
Morley Ernstein to any other lady than Juliet Carr, and she now most
willingly entered into all his views with the zealous benevolence and
kind feeling, which she displayed in all cases, even when her judgment
was not so much in the right as it was in the present instance.
"I will go and see her immediately, my dear Morley," she said; "and I
and Juliet will settle the whole affair with her in five minutes. As
you say, it would be very improper for you to take her into the
country yourself. Why what would the people say, Juliet?--And then he
might fall in love with her, you know," she added, laughing.
But Morley answered at once--"There is no fear of that, my dear Lady
Malcolm. I have a buckler against all such dangers. A shield that was
given me accidentally on the very day after I came of age--under my
own park wall too," he added, turning towards Juliet Carr.
But her eyes were bent down upon the back of a book which she was
examining attentively, and she only raised them when Lady Malcolm
asked--"Well, Juliet, wont you come upon this good errand? Though I
don't know, I am sure, where we can place her for the time. Must it
absolutely be in the country, Morley? Why could it not be here? She
could have a bed in the little room next to yours, Juliet; and be
quite as well as in the country."
"For a day or two," replied Juliet, to whom she looked as if for
approval of her plan; "but I think not for long, my dear cousin.
The object is, you see, to remove her from her brother. Now as long as
she remained entirely in the house, that object would be attained
here, but the first time she went out she might meet him; and one
could not keep the poor girl a close prisoner.--I will write to my
father," she continued; "there are many rooms in our house that are
never used at all."
"Oh, my dear Juliet!--write to your father!" exclaimed Lady Malcolm,
with some warmth--"write to your father! You know him as well as I do,
and that he would not give you board and lodging yourself, if you did
not pay him."
Juliet coloured painfully; and Lady Malcolm, perceiving that she had
hurt her, said--"Forgive me, dear Juliet, I did not mean to grieve
you."
"You do not quite know my father," said Juliet Carr, gently; "but I
think I can arrange the matter with him so that he will willingly
receive Miss Barham for a month or two."
Lady Malcolm looked at her, divining what she intended to do, and
said--"You are a good girl, Juliet; but you must not be a hypocrite
with me. Write to your father, and if you find any difficulty, let me
know. We can easily manage the matter together then. The season is now
at an end, or nearly so; I must go out of London very soon, and I can
take you both with me. Nay, do not shake your head, I am very poor I
know, but you shall bear half the expense, heiress!"
"And pray, what share am Ito bear in this business?" said Morley,
laughing. "You forget, my dear Lady Malcolm, that all I desired, and
all I can consent to, is, that you and Miss Carr should kindly shield
the reputation of the whole party, by giving that protection to this
poor young lady, which I, as a man and a young man, should not be
permitted to do by this good meddling world. I must insist, that
whatever expense is incurred in the matter, may fall upon me. I know
already," he added, "how many claims there are upon this sweet lady's
bounty. I have heard of all her good doings round Yelverly."
"Very little are they, indeed," said Juliet, with a sigh: "I wish I
could do more. Still I have enough to bear my part in this kind act
which you have devised for us, and dear Lady Malcolm will not be
satisfied without doing something, too; so you must be content,
Morley, with your fair third--and now I will go and get ready to
accompany you at once," she added, speaking to Lady Malcolm.
As soon as Juliet was gone, and after a note had been despatched to
Helen Barham, at Morley's suggestion, to make her aware of the
intended visit, a fit of prudence suddenly seized upon Lady Malcolm,
which threatened to be very severe, as, to say sooth, such fits were
few and far between. Morley knew how to quiet the awakened demon,
however, and when Lady Malcolm asked him anxiously--"Now, are you
quite sure, Morley, that this girl has nothing of the impostor about
her, that she is quite the sort of person she ought to be?"
"Perfectly certain, upon my honour," replied Morley. "Put your mind
perfectly at ease, my dear Lady Malcolm, I have not been deceived,
depend upon it."
"You are very young in the world, Morley," said the good lady, still a
little doubtfully; "and, remember, I am going to take Juliet with me."
"You may, with all safety," answered Morley Ernstein. "Indeed, dear
Lady Malcolm, I wish you would, for many reasons; and, believe me,
neither you yourself, nor her very best and dearest friends, could
have such a tender regard for Juliet Carr's reputation and conduct as
I have."
"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed Lady Malcolm, with a look of satisfaction; "if
that be the case, then I am perfectly content. But you must have made
quick progress, Morley!"
Morley saw that the good lady had put a much wider construction upon
his words than he intended, and not knowing how far her view of the
matter might spread ere long, he thought it better to limit her
imagination to the truth at once, although he certainly had no
inclination to make a confidant of his love, while it was yet so new.
"Now, do not, my dear Lady Malcolm," he said, taking that tone of
affectionate playfulness which he often assumed towards his mother's
friend. "Now, do not tell all the world that I am Juliet Carr's
accepted lover, for such, I can assure you, is not the case, and you
may break many a heart for nothing. I do not even yet know that she is
not engaged to some other man."
There was a sort of cloud came over Morley's brow as he spoke the last
words, which gave Lady Malcolm an insight into what was passing in his
heart, and that advantage over him which such an insight always
affords to woman in her dealings with man.
"It would break your heart, Morley, would it not?" she asked,
laughing, "if such were really the case. Well, I should not
wonder--she must have plenty of lovers, and who can tell?--But never
mind! Go along, foolish boy! Were you never told when you were young
something about jesting with edged tools? Take my word for it, Morley,
it is fully as dangerous for a lover of one-and-twenty to venture a
joke in regard to his love, as for an infant to play with a
razor--especially when he speaks in the presence of a woman! You do
not at all believe that Juliet Carr is engaged, only you wish to be
made quite sure that she is not. I have a good mind to punish you for
your pride, by telling you nothing upon the subject. However, I always
spoiled you, and gave you too many sweetmeats when you were a boy; and
so I must divulge, I suppose, that I know she is not engaged--either
heart or hand. But that is not to say she will accept you, if you
propose to-morrow. Indeed, I do not think she will.--But here she
comes; so now you leave us, for we do not intend to take you with us
to see this pretty lady."
Morley accordingly took his leave, and Lady Malcolm proceeded with
Juliet to the house of Helen Barham. They were on foot with a servant
behind them, for Lady Malcolm, as she had said, was not rich, and did
not keep a carriage. The position of the house, its distance from the
part of the world they were accustomed to frequent, and the appearance
of several streets which they passed through to arrive at it, caused
good Lady Malcolm's heart to sink a little; and, like a cowardly
child, who has determined rashly to brave the terrors of the
churchyard by night, she was almost tempted to turn and to run away
before she reached the place itself. The greater air of
respectability, however, which the street displayed when she did
arrive at it, and the neatness of the house to which she had been
directed, revived her very much; while Juliet, unconscious of all that
had been passing in her companion's mind, looked up to the windows,
somewhat tired with a long walk through the streets of London, and
congratulated herself upon having reached the place at length.
The door was opened by the usual maid-servant, who seemed somewhat
surprised to see two ladies of such an appearance, and their names
being given, she ushered them up to the drawing-room. The note, which
Lady Malcolm had sent, was on the table when that lady entered; and
beside it, Helen Barham hastily laid down a newspaper. Her eyes were
looking wild and agitated, and they fixed upon the visitor with an
enquiring look, as if her coming, notwithstanding the note, was quite
unexpected.
Juliet had delayed a moment in order to give Lady Malcolm, who had
lost some activity with years, time to climb the stairs, and before
the younger lady appeared, the kind-hearted widow had taken Helen by
the hand, and was saying a thousand gentle and tender things to her,
telling her how highly Sir Morley Ernstein had spoken of her, and what
an interest he had created for her, in the bosom of herself and Miss
Carr.
Helen was very much agitated with emotions of many kinds, and during
the few minutes that followed, those emotions increased every instant.
She had just been reading, for the first time, the account of the duel
between Morley and Neville; and the danger he had run, the wound he
had suffered and had never mentioned to her, as well as the thought
that it was in her defence that he had fought, had created in her mind
a world of apprehension and gratitude, which was well nigh
overpowering her at the moment the door of the room opened. Then,
again, the kindness of Lady Malcolm, the benevolence of her demeanour
and her tone, all moved her in another manner, so that the tears were
in her eyes when Juliet entered. Helen suddenly turned her look from
Lady Malcolm to Juliet, and those two beautiful beings stood gazing
the one at the other, as if in surprise at each other's loveliness;
but--whether it was that Helen read her fate in the exquisite and
high-souled beauty of Juliet Carr, or whether it was that, agitation
after agitation, and one emotion upon another, was more than her
overwrought mind could bear, I cannot tell--she grew gradually paler
and paler, and then sank down upon the floor, her fair head falling
back upon the sofa behind her.