What was it carried Morley Ernstein to the door of Helen Barham's
house at so early an hour on the following day? Was it that his
resolution had given way, and that the attraction which was about her
had prevailed, notwithstanding all the considerations which had
restrained him on the preceding day? If the angels are permitted to
look into men's hearts, and see with their eyes of light, the motives,
as well as the actions to which they lead, it must always afford a
curious and sometimes an amusing, though very often a sad speculation
to the bright beings above us.
So seldom does it happen, that man cannot find a valid excuse to his
own understanding for following his own inclinations, that it is not
to be wondered at that Morley Ernstein drew out of his conversation
with Lieberg on the preceding evening, a valid excuse for visiting
Helen Barham. I do not mean to say, indeed, that he was wrong; but one
thing is certain, his inclinations led him thither, as well as his
reason, and he was not sorry that a just motive impelled him to go.
Dear reader, it was very natural, and certainly not in the least
blamable; nor does it prove in the slightest degree that his affection
wavered from Juliet Carr. She was certainly a bright, a beautiful, and
an engaging creature, that he went to see; but to Morley Ernstein, she
was the creature of his compassion, of his benevolence, of his
tenderness. "We take a withering stick," says Sterne, "and plant it in
the ground, and then we water it, because we planted it."
Such was the case with Morley Ernstein, and now he went to do one of
the most difficult things on earth; to guard Helen Barham against
Lieberg, and yet not to assail the character of his friend. As usual,
he was admitted at once, for Helen was now rarely out; but when he
entered the drawing-room, and saw her, he could not help thinking that
there was some difference in her manner towards him--at least it
appeared so at first. There was a timidity, a shrinkingness--if we may
use the expression--a faltering of the voice, a dropping of the eye, a
want of that frank and straightforward pouring forth of excited and
grateful feelings, which had hitherto characterized the whole
demeanour of Helen Barham towards himself.
It puzzled Morley Ernstein; he could not understand the change.
Perhaps the reader can; at all events he will easily do so when he is
told, that Helen had been looking into her own heart, and enquiring
what were her feelings really towards the man who now stood before
her. Her emotion at the sight of Juliet Carr had first shewn her that
there were strange things in her own bosom, and she had passed a
sleepless night, thinking of but one subject on earth--Morley
Ernstein.
She gave him her hand, however--a hand which was usually as cold as
the marble from which, to judge by the colour, it was formed; but that
hand was now burning with fiery heat, and the once rosy cheek had
become much paler. As Morley felt that feverish touch, and gazed on
her face, the cause of the difference in manner he had observed,
seemed at once to display itself.
"You are ill, Miss Barham," he exclaimed with an eager and an anxious
look, that made Helen's heart beat fast, and her knees tremble under
her. "For Heaven's sake let me send for a physician."
"Oh, no, no!" she exclaimed, "I am quite well, indeed."
"Then what makes your hand burn so?" he demanded, still holding it in
his own, "and what makes you look so pale?"
"I did not sleep very well last night," she said; "there had been a
good deal to agitate me during the day, and I lay awake thinking,
anxiously enough."
"And of what were you thinking?" demanded Morley, leading her to a
sofa, and seating himself beside her. "Nay, you must tell me; for
perhaps I can relieve some of your anxiety."
Helen hesitated, and he added, "Nay, you must tell me; you will not
surely refuse?
"Refuse!" she exclaimed; "do you think I would refuse you anything,
after all you have done for me?" She paused for a moment, but then,
seeming to take a sudden resolution, she looked up, saying, "I was
thinking of you--I only heard yesterday of your having fought that
wretched man Neville, and risked your life on my account. I pondered
upon many things, but that was one of those I thought most of during
the night; and I asked myself, what would have become of me if you had
been killed?--I think I must have died."
Morley felt that both Helen and himself were standing on dangerous
ground. He was half sorry that he had come at all; but, shutting his
eyes resolutely to all that he feared to see, he replied gravely,
though in the same kind tone he always used towards her, "I had not
forgotten, Miss Barham, the situation in which you were placed, and
that it might be aggravated by the very fact of an unexplained quarrel
having occurred in your house, between myself and another person; and
therefore, to guard against the worst, I wrote down my wishes to two
gentlemen who, I knew, would attend to them, and would take care that
you were shielded through life from everything like danger and
difficulty."
"Oh, I know you are noble and good," she cried; "I know it, I know it
well:" and putting her hand over her eyes, she burst into tears.
Morley soothed her, and feeling that it would be best to change the
subject as soon as possible, he said, "Where is your brother? I was in
hopes that by coming so early, I might find him here."
Helen shook her head. "He has not been home all night," she replied;
"indeed, he very seldom is. Sometimes I do not see him for a week."
Morley mused. "I came to tell you," he said at length, "that as far as
this business of the forgery is concerned, I think you may consider
him safe. I have seen the gentleman, Colonel Lieberg, whose name was
used, and he has promised me not to proceed against your brother at
all."
"Oh, that is joyful indeed!" exclaimed Helen; "then all danger is
past, and I need not become a burden to Lady Malcolm, and Miss Carr."
This was certainly quite the contrary effect to that which Morley
wished to produce, and he went on to explain to his fair companion,
that all Lieberg and himself could do might perhaps be ineffectual. He
assured her, at the same time, that he looked upon it as more
necessary than ever she should be removed from the neighbourhood and
influence of her brother, and from the house in which she then dwelt,
till such time as an appointment in one of the Colonies could be
procured for William Barham, or some means could be taken to get him
out of England, and separate him from his evil companions.
Morley urged it upon her in various ways, and with so many arguments,
that she replied at length with a smile, though it was a sad one, "Are
you not sure that I will do anything you tell me? I should either be
very obstinate or very base, if, after all your generous kindness, I
did not follow your advice precisely. Lady Malcolm is to call for me
at one o'clock to-day, and I am quite ready to go. The only thing that
embarrasses me is, that I do not well know what to do with this house,
which my father had taken for a year. There are two or three months
still to run, and I do not like to deprive William of a home when he
chooses to have one. Yet Lady Malcolm says, I must bring the maid with
me, otherwise he will find out from her where I am."
Morley undertook to arrange the whole of that business for her, to see
the landlord of the house, and to have some person put in to take care
of it, as soon as she was gone. He then rose to depart, though the
chief object of his coming had not been spoken of as yet; but when he
took her hand to wish her good bye, he said, "There is one thing that
I must ask you to promise me, and to keep your promise most strictly,
without asking me why."
"You have but to name it," said Helen, looking up in his face timidly.
"It is simply this," replied Morley; "and it will not be very
difficult to keep, I trust. Give me your word that, under no
circumstances whatsoever, you will mention where you are going to
before you leave this house for Lady Malcolm's, or even that you are
going away at all, till you are actually gone. I say, to no one,
meaning, not only to your own brother, but speaking generally, to no
one--not even to my dearest friend."
He laid so strong an emphasis upon the last words as to make Helen
Barham give a little start, and gaze inquiringly in his face. But she.
replied, the next instant--
"I will mention it to no one upon earth. I see that you have some
strong reason for what you say, but I am quite contented to be
ignorant of it, till you think fit to tell me--though, perhaps, I may
not see you again for a long while."
Morley understood that she did not venture to ask the question "When?"
and he replied, "I shall meet you this very night, I trust, for Lady
Malcolm has asked me to spend the evening there. Believe me, dear Miss
Barham, it will be the greatest satisfaction to me that I have ever
known, to see you there; for, under the protection of that excellent
lady, and with the acquaintance and friendship of Miss Carr, you may
set the frowns of fortune at defiance; and I trust that such sorrow--I
may say, such agony of mind, as you must have been suffering when I
saw you a few days ago, may have passed away for ever."
He let go her hand as he spoke, and turned towards the door, while
Helen Barham, with her eyes gazing upon the ground, stood murmuring to
herself--"And in those few days you have done all this!"
When he was gone, she pressed her hand tightly upon her brow for
several minutes, and then saying--"I must not think of it, I will not
think of it; it is foolish--it is mad--it is wrong!" she proceeded
hastily to occupy herself with other things; putting by all the
objects that she did not intend to take with her; locking up this
drawer and that; sometimes sitting down for a moment, and sketching
with her pencil some wild, fanciful head, upon a sheet of paper which
lay on the table, and then starting up again, to employ herself more
actively--struggling vehemently, in short, against feelings and
thoughts that called loudly for attention, in every pause of
occupation. She had been thus engaged for about an hour, and the clock
stood at a quarter to twelve, when there came the roll of wheels, and
a loud knock at the door.
"There he is again!" exclaimed Helen, thinking it was the knock of
Morley's groom; "there he is again! How kind of him to come back!"
The maid, however, was the first person who appeared, bearing a card
in her hand, upon which was written--"Lieutenant-Colonel, Count
Lieberg." The girl gave the ticket to her mistress, and informed her
that the gentleman whose name it bore was below, and begged the honour
of a few minutes' conversation with her.
"Oh, let him come up!" exclaimed Helen, gladly, recollecting that the
name was that of Morley's friend, who had so generously agreed to
spare her brother--"shew him up directly;" and she waited with eager
expectation, well pleased to have an opportunity of thanking him for
his promised forbearance.
I have before described Lieberg, but still I must pause for a moment
to notice the effect his appearance produced on the mind of Helen
Barham. He came up the stairs with a quick and easy step, his whole
dress being in the height, but not the excess, of fashion, his hat,
shining like glass, held in his hand, his glossy black hair waving
lightly over his high clear forehead, his fine eyes sparkling with
that peculiar fire and lustre which rendered them so different from
the eyes of any other being, and his lips bearing a mild and pleasant
smile, while his whole air and look was that of a high-finished and
graceful gentleman. There was not a feature, there was not a line,
there was not a movement, that Helen Barham could find fault with; and
yet, strange to say, when she beheld him, though prepared to be
pleased, and ready to admire; though full of gratitude, and with a
heart tenderly alive to kindness, an unaccountable shudder came over
her the moment that her eyes rested upon him.
Is it that some faculty altogether independent of and finer than
reason itself, gives us instant intimation of the presence of a being
who purposes, or is destined to work us some grievous harm? Who is
there that has not felt antipathies, for which he could find no
motive, and against which he strove in vain, till at length something
has discovered that the being thus strangely disliked was exercising
some dark influence upon our fate and happiness? Helen Barham did not
strive to reason with her feelings; she resisted and overcame the
impression, as far, at least, as her outward demeanour was concerned;
and advancing, with the grace which she always displayed, she held out
her hand at once to Count Lieberg, saying--"Sir Morley Ernstein, sir,
has told me how nobly and kindly you are disposed to behave towards my
brother. I need not assure you that I am full of deep gratitude; and
most sincerely do I pray God to reward you as you deserve."
A strange dark shade came over Lieberg's countenance, but he
replied at once, pressing Helen's hand gently, but not a moment too
long--"Morley has been beforehand with me, then? I thought I should
have been early enough to convey you intelligence which I was sure
would please you, myself. However, I must not be angry with him; for
the satisfaction of giving you happiness and relief might well lead
him to steal a march upon his friend. I have a little, however, still
to tell you myself, which he cannot know of, as I have only heard the
intelligence this morning. I think, beyond all doubt, that I shall be
able to obtain possession of the draft without suffering it to fall
into the hands of any of the myrmidons of justice. In that case, all
danger will be at an end."
"But if not," said Helen, with her heart sinking at the idea of there
still being so much peril--"but if not, will his fate then be sealed?"
Lieberg seemed to hesitate, and taking a seat near her, he looked down
upon the floor for a moment or two, apparently in deep thought, and
then replied--"It might be difficult to save him, if we cannot get
hold of the draft ourselves, and destroy it. One would need to bribe
the officers with some enormous sum; or else I should have to refuse
to give evidence, which might place me in a dangerous position myself.
But I trust that this will not be; I trust that, ere two days more are
over, I shall have the document in my own hands. So let us not think
of such unpleasant circumstances. You must have had, I fear, a sad
time of it lately, my poor young lady. Morley's account of you and
your fate has been enough to melt a heart of stone, and, I can assure
you, it interested me not a little; so that I trust not only to be
able to relieve your mind in regard to your brother, but to do
something more for your happiness hereafter, if you will permit me."
"You are very kind, indeed," replied Helen; "but were this once off my
mind, I think, with the friends who have unexpectedly risen up around
me, I should have nothing to desire or wish for. My hours would have
been sad, indeed," she added, "if it had not been for the comfort and
consolation which have been given me by Sir Morley Ernstein."
Lieberg smiled. "He is, indeed, very amiable," he said: and Helen
blushed, till her face and neck were all one crimson. The words that
Lieberg spoke were nothing, but it was the tone and meaning smile that
brought the bright blood up into her face. There was a slight touch of
indignation, however, in her feelings; and though her face still
glowed, she raised her head high, while she replied--"He is, indeed,
very amiable, and not alone amiable, but generous; ay, and good, too.
He is one of those who, I am sure, would never take an ungenerous
advantage of any one, not even to obtain that which he most desired in
life."
"You are quite right," said Lieberg, seeing that the well of Helen's
feelings was all pure. "Morley's impulses are all generous and noble;
sometimes, perhaps, a little too generous for his own happiness, and
for those he wishes well to. There are occasions, my dear young lady,
when our own gratification is the means of gratifying another too, and
in those instances self-denial is unkind."
Helen did not understand what he meant, for she was a high-hearted,
tender being, but by no means metaphysical; and Lieberg, seeing more
deeply into her character every moment, skilfully changed the
conversation to less dangerous ground, and, in the open field, where
she was less prepared to defend herself, he put forth all those
fascinating powers which he possessed, and which were far greater than
it would be easy to do justice to. Helen listened with pleasure, and
with some surprise, and to a certain point Lieberg succeeded, for he
excited a kind of admiration; but it was the admiration of the mind,
the heart had nothing to do with it; and even had the little citadel
of Helen's bosom not been fully garrisoned, as it was, Lieberg would
have made no progress that day in attempting to storm it.
There seemed, however, to be a greater impression produced upon
himself than perhaps he had anticipated. Often, in the midst of his
brilliant conversation, he bent his eyes upon the ground for some
moments, and then raised them thoughtfully to Helen's face, gazing
upon her beauty, and seeming, as it were, to drink it in, but at the
same time with a grave and meditative air, which took from it all
offence.
With an art peculiar to himself, he brought up subject after subject
the most unlikely to arise from the circumstances in which he and
Helen Barham were placed, and he listened to all her replies with a
look of interest, which was not without its flattery. He was
surprised, it is true, to find her mind so richly stored. He was
pleased and struck with much that she said, and his whole manner, as
well as his words, shewed that it was so, while, at the same time, he
never gave up--though he never presumed upon it--that position of
mental superiority which he was so well calculated to maintain against
almost all men, and which, when not painfully felt, has no slight
effect upon the hearts of women. They do not always love those they
most approve, but in general they love those whom they look up to, be
it in right or wrong.
At length, however, as the hands of the clock approached the point of
half-past twelve, and his fair companion became somewhat penurious of
her replies, Lieberg, with quick perception, saw that his visit must
come to an end, or be tedious to her, and he knew there is nothing so
dangerous as to remain long enough to be wished away.
"She is either going out to meet Morley, or she expects him here," he
thought, "and I had better take my leave at once. He will disappoint
her ere many days be over, and then it may be my task to console. Her
heart is not so far gone to him as I imagined.--I will now wish you
good-bye, Miss Barham," he said, rising, "but I hope you will not
exclude me for the future from society that, I assure you, I value
highly. You love music, I see, and I am passionately fond of it. You
like drawing too, if I may judge from that table. I am not without
some slight knowledge of that art, and I possess some of the finest
small pictures in Europe. I will not give up the hope of some day
shewing them to you. However, for the present we have other things to
think of; the first of which, of course, is your brother. I doubt not,
by this time to-morrow, I shall have good news to bear to you; I
suppose this is as good a time to find you as I could choose?"
Helen was about to reply at once, that she would not be there on the
following day, and to inform him where he would find her; but the
promise she had made to Morley suddenly rushed to her mind. Then again
she thought, "But surely I may tell him! He has my brother's life in
his hands, and could never be meant----. But, no," she said to herself
again, "I have promised, and he shall never say that I swerved from
any promise to him, even in the least degree."
The consideration of all this, and of what she should reply, together
with the consciousness that she was long ere she did answer, called
the colour into her cheek again, as she said, with an evasion that she
did not like to use,
"I am very seldom, if ever, out."
Lieberg saw that she was more moved than was natural, by the simple
question that he had asked; but he himself was too much impressed by
her beauty and grace to judge with his usual acuteness of what was
passing in her mind. When he got into his cabriolet, his thoughts were
full of Helen Barham.
"Beautiful, indeed!" he muttered--"Beautiful, indeed! This boy is a
fool, with his advantages!" and driving on, busy with reveries of his
own, he well nigh killed two people at the corner of Oxford-street,
and grazed one of the posts with the wheel of his vehicle.