All had gone well with Morley Ernstein's plans. Lady Malcolm and
Juliet Carr had remained with Helen Barham some time, had tended her
with care and kindness, and had entered into every arrangement with
her for the purpose of removing her speedily from the situation in
which she was placed. Each became interested in her almost as much as
Morley himself, for there was in her that quality which does more to
prepossess than even beauty itself, and which may be called
engagingness. She remained very sad indeed, during the whole of the
conversation with those two ladies; but that sadness seemed to them so
natural under the circumstances, that it produced no surprise, and
excited no suspicion, as to what might perhaps be the real cause
thereof. It was settled that she was to come to Lady Malcolm's house
the next day, and to remain there till Juliet received an answer from
her father, or till Lady Malcolm herself could execute her scheme of
quitting London for a short period.
Thus, then, as I have said, Morley's plans were proceeding as
prosperously as could be; but, alas! how often, and how sadly does it
happen, that the shoals and rocks of disaster lie close to the port of
success! It is strange to see how very, very frequently, at the very
moment that all seems sure to the eye of human calculation, the will
of God disappoints man's expectations, and the voice of fate
proclaims--"It shall not be!" Wisely and excellently, we know, it must
be so ordained; and human presumption certainly requires such checks,
however painful they may be.
Morley Ernstein had heard from Lady Malcolm all that had been done;
and a sort of feeling, which he could not very well define, prevented
him from going to see Helen Barham that day. We, however, may well
enquire, though he would not, what was the nature of his sensations.
Was it that her society, with the constant consideration of sorrows,
and painful circumstances, was becoming at all wearisome to him? Not
at all. It might have been so with some men, with those who are
volatile as well as eager, the straw-fire of whose enthusiasm is
quenched as soon as lighted. But such was not the case with Morley
Ernstein. He was, as we have seen, often struggled for by two spirits,
but both spirits were powerful and resolute, and their action was to
give energy and perseverance to all he undertook.
Was it that he himself, notwithstanding his love for Juliet
Carr--love, which was every moment becoming more ardent and
passionate--felt in the society of Helen Barham a charm that he would
not indulge in?--that there was a pleasure in soothing and consoling
her, a degree of excitement in sitting beside her, talking with her
over all her inmost feelings, dwelling with her upon the past,
consulting with her upon the future--a sentimental luxury, if we may
so call it, in the very tenderness of his compassion which he knew to
be dangerous, if not wrong?
Perhaps it was so. There was a vague impression upon his mind that it
was something like wronging Juliet Carr to give so much of his
tenderness to another; and the higher spirit having then the power, he
resisted his inclination, and did not go. But that fact itself made
him listless.
Morley remained in his own room, writing and reading, and had not been
out since he left Lady Malcolm, when a note was brought up in
Lieberg's handwriting. It was to the following effect:--"My dear
Ernstein,--If you dine at home, will you let me share your dinner, for
I have something of importance to say to you." Morley instantly wrote
to beg him to come; and a few hours after, he and Lieberg were seated
together at the social meal, waiting till the servants had taken their
departure ere they approached the business which the visitor had to
speak upon.
"This trout is excellent," said Lieberg; "your host shows his taste,
Morley, in giving you trout instead of sea-fish at this season of the
year. Sea-fish is intolerable at Midsummer, and especially as you
English people dress yours. Who could endure the thought of frying and
grease; or even of boiled fish and lobster sauce, cayenne pepper, and
anchovy, and all the concatenation of horrors which follow the
invariable dish of fish, at an ordinary English table? Trout or smelts
are the only things tolerable at this season of the year. I must have
had a presentiment that you would have trout to-day, when I invited
myself to dine with you. Do you give in to the doctrine of
presentiments, Morley?"
"All men, I suppose, have a vague superstition of the kind in regard
to great events; but I do not think, Lieberg, that supernatural
warnings would be wasted upon a dish of trout."
"I don't see why," replied Lieberg. "These little things are great to
little men; and if, as I believe, the whole universe around us swarms
with kindred spirits, only separated from us by the thin partition of
our mortal clay, interesting themselves in our happiness, and giving
us intimation of things that affect our present state, I do not see
why one of these same aërial brethren of ours should not tap at the
wainscot to tell me that there is a dish of trout, or any other little
pleasant sin, awaiting me at the house of my friend."
Morley smiled in spite of himself; for the knowledge that Lieberg had
come to speak to him upon some important business, and the fact of
being obliged to wait till after dinner to know what that business
was, oppressed his eager spirit, and occupied his thoughts too much
for him to relish any ordinary conversation. "I should not think," he
replied, "that they would take the trouble of knocking at all, except
upon great occasions."
"True," replied Lieberg. "But men's estimation of what are great
occasions is various. Some may think death itself but a light thing,
and a bad dinner a very serious one. I do not know that I am not of
that opinion myself. I certainly know one thing--that I would rather
die a thousand times, than live on, forty or fifty years, gorging fat
pork every day, as I have seen your peasantry in Hampshire."
Adam Gray, who stood behind his master's chair, and the waiter, who
was taking away Lieberg's plate, were both on the broad grin; but he
went on, with the same grave face, treating habitually the servants
who were in the room exactly as if they had no being for him, except
in so far as the moving about of various objects in the room was
concerned.
"But tell me, Ernstein," he said, "now that we are talking
metaphysically, are you not a predestinarian?--but, indeed, I am sure
you are."
"In truth, my dear Lieberg," replied Morley, "I think we know very
little of the matter. I believe in God's overruling providence. I
believe in his foreknowledge of all that must take place. I believe
that it is by his will or permission that it does take place; but
still I believe in man's responsibility for his own actions, and in
his perfect freedom to choose between good and evil!"
"And in that of spirits, too?" demanded Lieberg, gravely.
"Really, I have never considered the matter, with reference to such
personages as that," replied Morley, with a laugh. "I think it better
to mind my own business, and not to pry into their affairs. But
really, Lieberg, your mixture of moral philosophy and roast lamb,
metaphysics and mint sauce, is too German for my English
understanding."
Lieberg in turn laughed, saying--"It is not very usual table-talk, I
confess, but it was suggested to me by the subject that brought me
here to-day. One part of my creed is, that persons who are destined to
affect each other's fate, are generally brought together by a power
manifestly superior to their own will, and that--struggle against it
as much as we please--the overruling hand which is upon us links in
act with act, life with life, and circumstance with circumstance, in
such a manner as to connect two persons together in particular events
by means the most unlikely."
"Well!" exclaimed Morley, eagerly, and with his curiosity greatly
excited--"well, Lieberg, what then? How does this bear upon the
matter?"
"Why, I think, my dear Morley," replied Lieberg, "that you and I seem
destined by fate, though, perhaps, not by disposition, to act
together. Our first acquaintance was strange. The singular accident
that happened to you; the danger that you ran; the fit of sickness
that followed; my having a week or ten days to spare, for the purpose
of nursing you;--all gave a marked commencement to our intimacy; and
now, many other things are combining to compel us, whether we will or
not, to co-operate in matters of some moment."
"Indeed!" said Morley. "Can you not tell we in what respect?"
"Not just at present," replied Lieberg. "But, to look once more to the
past, I can recollect various curious circumstances which brought
about our first meeting in the coach, and without which it could not
have taken place. It hung upon the balance of a straw, whether I
should go back to Germany in the end of April last, or whether I
should go to the south of France, when, meeting a young fisherman
accidentally at dinner, I was captivated by his account of fly-fishing
in the north, and went to bestow my idleness there. Then, again, I had
actually taken my place in the coach from York to London for the
preceding day; but a packet of letters which I expected, was delayed
for two or three hours, by some accident happening to the mail, and I
lost my place and my money rather than come away without them:
otherwise we should, in all probability, never have met."
Morley paused, and pondered over the past. He, too, recollected the
accidental circumstances which had prevented him from taking post
horses and coming to town in his own carriage, and he could not help
acknowledging that there was something strange in the whole affair.
There was something strange--there is something strange in every mesh
of the fine network of fate, for the eye of him who examines it
curiously; and every part of every man's history, if he could trace
the connexion with other parts, would present points as curious and
interesting as those to which Morley's attention was now called. He
did not reply, however, directly to Lieberg's observations, and both
falling into a reverie for a few minutes, went on towards the
conclusion of their dinner very perseveringly. At length the dishes
were taken away, the wine set upon the table, and the room cleared. No
sooner was this done, than Morley burst forth impetuously--"Now,
Lieberg--now, what is it? I am anxious to hear."
Lieberg smiled, replying--"I see you are, Morley, and I will not keep
you in suspense a moment longer.--I did not know that this man had
such good claret--this is real La Tour.--Well, you recollect the story
you told me about your quarrel with Neville, and the wild young scamp
you wanted to save from what old ladies call 'his evil courses,' and
his pretty sister, and the whole of that business?"
"Yes," replied Morley, impatiently, "I recollect very well. What of
that?"
"Why, simply this," replied Lieberg--"I find that there is floating
about London a note, or draft or bill of exchange, or something of
that kind, for five hundred pounds, purporting to be from my hand. Now
it so happens, that being tolerably well to do in this world of
ours--that is to say, having perhaps a thousand a year more than my
habits or wishes require--I never gave such a thing to any man on earth;
and having received intimation of the fact, I caused inquiries to be
quietly made, as to the person who had taken this unpleasant liberty
with my name. I have obtained pretty good information upon the
subject, and I find that there is little or no doubt that the forger
is no other than your friend and protégé, William Barham."
Few things on earth could have been more painful to Morley Ernstein at
that moment than to find that full information regarding the crime and
the criminal had reached Lieberg's ears from any other lips than his
own. I have already shown the nature of his apprehensions in respect
to his friend's future conduct; but his mind was too candid and
straightforward to shuffle or palter with the open facts in any way,
and he replied, after a very brief pause given to thought, "I am
afraid what you have heard is quite true, Lieberg. I had intimation of
the fact likewise, and intended to speak with you about it to-morrow.
I trust and hope that you will not think of proceeding against this
young man, and all I can say is, that I am quite willing to pay the
money myself, if you will consent to receive the bill without
disowning the signature."
Lieberg laughed. "Oh!" replied he, "you value the young lady's smiles
at five hundred pounds, do you, Morley? Well, if such be your
arrangements, I will do whatever I can."
Morley paused, and there was a strong struggle in his mind. He knew
what Lieberg suspected; and he believed that a strange view of honour,
not uncommon in the world, would both prevent his friend from
interfering in any way, if he thought that Helen Barham was likely to
become connected with him by the ties of illicit love, and would make
him consent to receive and pay the forged bill, and, in fact, enter
into all those arrangements most to be desired for her very benefit.
He was strongly tempted, it must be acknowledged, to suffer Lieberg to
remain in the belief which he evidently entertained. But the idea of a
falsehood, even implied, was so repugnant to his principles, that he
would not admit it into any part of his conduct.
"You are mistaken, Lieberg," he said, at length. "I still tell you, as
I told you before, that I have no such purposes towards Miss Barham as
you suppose. I wish to spare her the agony of seeing her brother die
upon the gallows. I wish to save the unfortunate lad himself, who is a
mere boy, and has been misled by others. But I tell you fairly, I have
no intention whatsoever of even attempting to injure this poor girl in
the way you mean, nor do I think there would be the least chance of
success, even if I were to try. She is a girl of good principles, of
firm character, and seems to have monopolized the whole of the high
feelings which Nature intended for her brother and herself."
"You will certainly not succeed," answered Lieberg, in a calm and
reasoning tone, "if you leave her any hope of your marrying her. If
her brother were hanged, or transported, or anything of that kind, the
disgrace would so strongly forbid the bans, that she would lose the
expectation, and yield to your views very readily, depend upon it.
Indeed, seriously, I think that it would be far the best arrangement
for all parties. The youth would only have one light swing between
heaven and earth, very soon over, which would relieve him from a
multitude of cares. The young lady would be placed under the
protection of a gentleman and a man of honour, one who has generously
befriended her, who would treat her well and tenderly, and provide for
her when it was necessary for them to part; instead--as will most
certainly happen, if you do not take her--instead of her falling into
the power of some other man, who may be a rascal and a scoundrel, who
may ill-treat and abuse her even while they live together, and abandon
her to the public streets when he is tired. You will place yourself in
the situation that nine young men of fortune out of ten are placed in,
with only this difference, that instead of an opera dancer, a chorus
singer, a stage soubrette, or any other mercenary woman, you will have
a companion really attached to you, and influenced by gratitude and
affection."
"Do you know, Lieberg," exclaimed Morley, "that I have scarcely
patience to sit and listen to you! I tell you that I have no such
intentions as you suppose. I tell you that I shall never dream of
entertaining them; and that whatever may happen to the young man, Mr.
Hamilton, myself, and two or three other people, whom I have engaged
or will engage in the business, will take ample care that no
temptation--at least in the shape of poverty and exposure--shall ever
be thrown in Miss Barham's way, either to become the mistress of an
unprincipled scoundrel, or be thrown upon the public streets. Pray
speak to me no more upon such a subject, or, on my honour, I shall
think you the Devil himself."
Lieberg burst into a fit of laughter. "Well, Morley," he said, "if you
will not take the opportunity that offers, I cannot help it; but,
really, the chances in my own favour are now so great, that I, who
have not such powers of resisting temptation as you have, must yield a
little."
"Lieberg!" exclaimed Morley, starting up, and laying his hand upon his
arm, "you promised me--"
"Ay," replied Lieberg, "but our position is very much changed now. I
have now become a party interested, without seeking it."
"And will you," exclaimed Morley Ernstein--"and will you really
follow the base example of that man Neville, and trade with the
brother's blood, for the purpose of taking the sister's honour?"
"Sir!" exclaimed Lieberg, raising his head, and gazing at him for a
moment, with his dark eye flashing fiercely. But the next instant he
recovered himself; his brow lost its frown, his eye its fire, and he
replied, "No, Morley, no. Put that on one side altogether, and rest
satisfied that, as far as depends upon me, her brother does not die. I
do not intend to trade with her fears, whatever I may do with her
gratitude."
"Then you assure me he shall be saved," said Morley.
"Nay," answered Lieberg, "I cannot promise that."
"Why not?" demanded his friend. "I am sure, Lieberg, you will not act
ungenerously by him. Be generous at once, and let it not be said that
you did a noble and kind act by halves. Save the youth, even though he
be criminal, and aid me also in placing him in such a situation as to
remove him from temptation to commit such acts again. Leave this poor
girl to those who will do all that is possible to raise her rather
than to sink her, to soften her present fate, and make her forget the
many sorrows that have already befallen her. Indeed, indeed, Lieberg,
she has suffered bitterly in heart and spirit, and cruel would that
man be who would open before her a path, beginning in sin, going on in
self-reproach, and ending in disappointed affection and unavailing
remorse.
"Well," answered Lieberg, after a moment's thought, "I promise you,
firmly and fully, as far as it is possible for me, to save this young
man. In regard to my further conduct in the business, I will make no
promises of any kind. I will be guided by circumstances, and no one
has a right to demand anything further of me. I confess I have become
interested in the girl from your account of her, and I shall certainly
like to see her; but you mistake me if you suppose that I am
deliberately planning the seduction of a woman I have never beheld.
Besides, I take it for granted, from all you have said, that she is as
much in love with you as you seem to be with her, otherwise I think
she must be a very hard-hearted sort of person. If she be in love with
you, she is, of course, not likely to fall in love with me, and the
matter will, doubtless, end as it has begun. So set your mind at ease,
for she has three strong safeguards. If I find that she loves you, I
shall stop short, for I never rival my friend; if I find that she is
coy, I shall stop short, for I love not maids that are long a wooing:
and if I find that she is in no way coy, perhaps I may not love her
the better either. So rest satisfied, my young Don Quixote."
Morley, however, was not satisfied, and he determined to hasten by
every means in his power the arrangements which would place Helen
Barham at a distance from a more dangerous pursuer than Neville. On
another point, too, he was not satisfied--namely, with regard to the
conditional sort of manner in which Lieberg spoke of saving William
Barham. He did not see why the promise should not be positive, and he
said, after thinking over all that had passed for a moment,
"You mistake, Lieberg, in regard to my being the least in love with
Miss Barham; depend upon it, if I were, I should take a different tone
with any one who spoke lightly of her. I am not the least in love with
her, and never shall be. But, putting that aside, let me ask why you
speak of saving William Barham conditionally; of doing what you can;
of doing all that depends upon you? Why cannot you certainly save him,
by destroying at once the forged draft, or whatever it may be, if I am
willing to pay the money?"
"The latter part will be an easy business," replied Lieberg, "for I am
not very penurious, myself, Morley; and, though it is entirely at your
intercession I do it, yet, if I am able to save him, nobody pays the
money but myself. Why I speak conditionally is, simply because, in
this business, I have not the absolute disposal of the young man's
fate. Other people know the facts besides myself. My banker, when the
bill is presented, will see that it is not my handwriting directly.
Several of the officers of Bow-street are already aware of the
business. There is such a thing as compromising felony; I have heard,
in your law, and I can only do for him that which will not bring me
under the arm of Justice myself. Let me warn you also to be careful,
Morley, for we may get ourselves into difficulties, from which we
shall not easily be extricated."
Morley mused, embarrassed; he had never thought of the circumstances
that Lieberg brought at once before his view, and all he replied, for
several minutes, was,
"The fact of the officers being aware of this has, I suppose,
prevented him twice from coming when he promised. He has called here
more than once at my request; but never at the hour stated."
"He is afraid of being taken in a trap," said Lieberg; and then
falling into thought again, he suffered Morley to pursue his
meditations uninterrupted. At length, however, he held out his hand to
his young friend, saying, "Come, Ernstein, let us act together, we
have had a little spar, but we will be friends again. You fancy me a
much greater _roué_ than I am, simply because I am charitable towards
all human failings, and because I advised you to do what I judged the
best for you--what I thought, and do still think, would be no great
harm to any one. For my own part, I am a very moderate man in my
views, I can assure you--a quiet, calm, sober, steady person, who,
upon principle, never do anything _éclatant_, except when people drive
me to it by trying to pull me back. Let us consider, then, what can be
best done for this young man."
Morley shook his hand warmly, saying, "I believe, Lieberg, you have
the vice of making yourself appear much worse than you really are; and
I do not always feel sure whether you are not jesting with me, in
advocating things that I never see you plunge into yourself."
"There may be a little joke in the matter," said Lieberg, "for depend
upon it, Morley, men who have seen a great deal of the world, and have
got the ferocity of their virtue softened down, feel a little inclined
to sport with those who come upon them full of the sweets of
innocence, and thinking every peccadillo a mountain of iniquity. But
now, as I have said, let us consult what may best be done to save this
youth from the gallows which he so well merits."
The consultation between them was long, and at length it was
determined, that Lieberg should use every means to get hold of the
forged document; that he should pay it, if presented, without
hesitation; that, if possible, William Barham should be brought to
confer with the two friends; that the spurious bill should be shewn to
him, and that it should be made a sine qua non of his being forgiven,
to go out immediately to the East or West Indies, where some situation
was to be found for him. Pains were also to be taken to stop all
inquiries on the part of the police, and Lieberg joined so heartily in
every part of the scheme, that he left Morley with the charm of his
influence fully re-established, and the mind of his young companion
convinced that he had done him some wrong in the suspicions he had
entertained.