The under-workings of the passions in the human heart, the movements
and the progress of that central fire in the world of each man's
breast--that fire which is never guessed at by the surface, except
from some slight and often unobserved indications, or from some
violent outburst, like the eruption of a volcano--the underworkings of
the passions, I say, are generally far more worthy of the
investigation of philosophy, if we would take the trouble, are far
more replete with the tragic and the sublime, than all the external
demonstrations to which we give so much attention. When sitting in the
midst of a social circle, and often when gay looks and light jests
abound, who is there shall say, what are the feelings really within
the very bosoms that are next to us--what the passions that are
gnawing the core of the hearts that seem all merriment?--the
cankerworm of envy--the sharp tooth of hatred--the bitter grinding
jaws of disappointment--the locusts of ill-requited love eating up all
the green things of hope? Alas! Alas! too often in the world in which
we live, if we could draw back the veil from the hearts of the most
cheerful scene, there would be much weeping amongst us for the sorrows
of others, or our own!
The drawing-room of Lady Malcolm was a pleasant and a cheerful room;
and--though in the midst of London--she had contrived, by manifold
flowers and shrubs, frequently renewed, to give it a certain degree of
freshness, an air and a scent of the country, which were wonderfully
refreshing to the London-tired senses at the end of a long season. In
that drawing-room, with the windows open and the warm air of a
summer's night stealing through the half-closed blinds, sat the good
lady herself, together with Juliet Carr and Helen Barham, waiting for
the arrival of Morley Ernstein. He was the only person invited, for
Lady Malcolm not only wished Helen Barham to remain as quietly as
might be in her house, but she also wished Morley and Juliet Carr to
have as much of each other's society, uninterrupted, as possible.
As far as all the external circumstances of life could go, nothing
could be happier for Helen Barham than the change which had occurred,
and the situation in which she was now placed. Good Lady Malcolm was
feeling and acting towards her as a mother. That worthy lady, after
embracing Morley's proposal, as eagerly as we have seen her do, had
for a little time been puzzled by the question of how she was to treat
the person whom she had promised to protect, but she had wisely put
off the consideration of it till she had seen Miss Barham with her own
eyes. When she did see her, however, all doubt upon the matter
vanished; the engaging charm which pervaded Helen's whole demeanour,
whether in sorrow or joy, gloom or gaiety, affected instantly so very
impressible a person as Lady Malcolm; and she had come away, declaring
to Juliet as soon as she got into the street, that Helen was the
sweetest creature she had ever seen in her life, and that she should
not wonder, if properly brought out, and introduced into good society,
were she to end by marrying a Duke. She consequently at once set Helen
on a par with herself and Juliet, and treated her as her own child
from the moment she entered her house, doing everything that motherly
tenderness could do to remove any little sensation of shyness and
dependence, and to make her perfectly at home and at ease in her new
abode.
Juliet, though perhaps not quite so easily charmed as Lady Malcolm,
had not only felt the fascination of Helen Barham's demeanour very
strongly, but had been more deeply interested in her than Lady Malcolm
herself, entering into all her sensations--perhaps almost divining her
thoughts. On their very first interview she had watched her beauty
with a curious and attentive eye, even while occupied in recalling her
to herself after she had fainted; and when Helen recovered, Juliet
remained meditative, if not sad, for some time. There is nothing like
woman's heart for finding out woman's secrets, and Juliet--perhaps by
questioning herself as to what would have been her own feelings had
she been so situated with Morley Ernstein--in a great degree
discovered those of Helen Barham.
When the conviction of what the poor girl's sentiments towards her
deliverer must be, flashed upon Juliet's mind, her sensations were
strange, and for a moment beyond all control. The first question she
asked herself was, "Does Morley love her after all?--Can he help
loving her--so beautiful, so interesting, so much to be pitied?" But
the next moment she recollected all she knew of his character, every
trait that she had remarked of his demeanour in regard to the very
matter with which her thoughts were busied; and, though she had at
first clasped her hand upon her heart to stop its insufferable
beating, she now took it away relieved, saying in her own mind--"'Tis
I whom he loves. Alas, poor Helen Barham!"
For an instant, for a single instant, Juliet Carr had felt the pangs
of jealousy, but the moment after, when her feeling of security in
Morley's love returned, she reproached herself bitterly for the joy
she felt at that which must needs produce another's sorrow. The few
hours' calm reflection which intervened between their visit to the
fair object of their care, and her arrival at Lady Malcolm's house,
calmed down and quieted Juliet's feelings, and enabled her to play her
part towards Helen, when she did arrive, in the manner which might be
expected from her character. AS a sort of atonement for loving Morley
Ernstein, and being beloved by him, as well as from tenderness and
interest, and kindness towards Helen, no sister could have shewn her
more affectionate care and attention than were displayed by Juliet
Carr. She sat with her in the room which had been assigned to her near
her own; she aided her to arrange it with taste; she saw if anything
was wanting, and had it instantly supplied; she talked with her of
future prospects and bright hopes, and lavished on her all those
little acts of gentle attention, which removed every feeling of
strangeness, and made Helen feel that she had a friend upon whose
bosom she could cast herself in danger, or sorrow, or temptation if it
should come, and tell her all without fear or hesitation.
That conviction was in itself a relief, a mighty relief to the poor
girl's heart; and though her mind still wandered to Morley Ernstein,
and thought dwelt, in spite of all her efforts, upon the connexion
between him and Juliet Carr, when she looked upon her lovely
companion, marked her transcendent beauty, listened to her melodious
voice, and experienced such tenderness and generous kindness, she
could not refrain, even in Juliet's presence, from looking down with a
sigh, and murmuring indistinctly with a melancholy movement of the
head, "No wonder that he loves her."
The day passed over in this manner, but before night, Helen Barham was
quite familiar with the house and its inhabitants. Everything that
Lady Malcolm saw of her, led that lady to approve her conduct more and
more. Her manners were so graceful, her whole demeanour so
distinguished, that the good lady began to feel proud of her protégée,
and looking from Helen to Juliet, as she sat at dinner, she could not
help thinking, that seldom on the face of this earth, had two such
beautiful beings sat side by side.
Helen was sad and thoughtful during the early part of the evening, but
in consideration of those with whom she dwelt, she struggled against
the gloom that oppressed her; sought her usual occupations, and
followed her ordinary pursuits. Thus while Lady Malcolm herself fell
quietly asleep over a purse that she was netting, and Juliet busied
her fingers with embroidery, Helen went on sketching with a masterly
hand, though with the carelessness of absent thoughts, a scene from
Milton's Paradise Lost, representing the contention of the archangel
and the fiend.
Juliet talked to her from time to time, and then came round to view
her work. "Why, Helen!" she exclaimed, with the first impulse of
surprise, as she looked over her shoulder; "you have drawn a friend of
ours for the angel!"
Helen looked up in her face with her large lustrous eyes, but made no
reply, and Juliet returned thoughtfully to her seat again. Helen added
several more strokes to the other figure, and then pushed it gently
across the table to her fair companion, saying, with a sad smile--
"You shall have it, for you are an angel too, I think. It is like him,
I believe--though I did not intend it."
Juliet gazed for several minutes intently at the drawing, which was
beautifully, though slightly executed, and while she was still thus
employed, Sir Morley Ernstein was announced and entered the room.
Lady Malcolm started up out of her sleep; and not a little emotion was
felt both by Helen Barham and Juliet Carr. Strange to say, however,
Juliet shewed it most. She, who had usually so much command over
herself, was now fluttered and agitated. It is true there were
sensations in her bosom towards Morley Ernstein, which produced a
thrill whenever she saw him; but in the most profound lakes the
gushing of the fountains is hidden by the depth of the waters; and
those feelings confined themselves to her heart, and did not at all
appear on the surface. In the present instance it was the presence of
Helen Barham that agitated her more than the coming of Morley
Ernstein. She sympathized with the poor girl deeply, and by a power,
which true benevolence really has, she placed herself in the situation
of her fair companion so completely, as to feel all that she felt
without losing the emotions natural to her own situation also. There
was always a great abnegation of self in the character of Juliet Carr,
and though she could not have sacrificed Morley's love for any
consideration, yet she did wish that he would now speak to Helen
first.
But Morley did not do so, and would not have done so for the world,
even on Helen's own account. There had been something in her manner
that morning which he would not suffer his mind to rest upon, the
remembrance of which he had cast from him as an idle vanity, but
which, nevertheless, influenced his conduct, making him feel that it
would be better to mark at once his attachment to Juliet Carr as
strongly as possible. After speaking for a moment, then, with Lady
Malcolm, he turned to Juliet, and took her hand in his, with his face
beaming with all the affection that was in his heart. He called her by
her Christian name, too, as she had permitted him, and every look and
every tone was calculated to leave no doubt on the mind of any one, as
to what were his feelings towards her.
Juliet was only the more agitated; but Helen was less so than might
have been expected. The marked conduct of Morley towards Juliet Carr
did her good. She had previously made up her mind, and read her fate,
and the only thing that could have shaken her greatly at that moment,
would have been the renewal of doubt and hope. Thus, when Morley
turned towards her, and spoke to her, as he had been accustomed to do,
kindly, gently, tenderly--ay, tenderly!--for a slight inclination,
which he detected in his own breast, to make his manner towards Helen
a little less warm than it had been when they were alone together,
caused him resolutely to resist such a feeling as dishonourable to
her, to Juliet, and to himself--when he spoke to her, then, kindly,
gently, and tenderly--as if, in short, he were a brother--she received
him, not without emotion, indeed, but with a much greater appearance
of calmness than she had previously hoped to obtain.
Morley congratulated her upon her change of abode, and upon the
friendship of Lady Malcolm; for it was a part of his plan, and,
indeed, was only consistent with his impetuous character, to go
straightforward to every difficult or unpleasant point, and never to
be satisfied till all was said that it might be necessary to say. Many
people do great things by avoiding difficulties, but bolder minds love
the task of overcoming them. He spoke at once, therefore, of the
change which had taken place in Helen's situation, though he knew it
might awaken unpleasant thoughts, feeling that as much must be
referred to, and even discussed at different periods, concerning her
past and her future fate, it would be better to touch upon the subject
immediately, lest every hour of reserve should render it more
difficult. He then added, in a rather lower voice--
"I have seen your brother, my dear Miss Barham, and we are to meet
again to-morrow; when I hope all things will be settled to your
satisfaction. In the meantime, I need not ask if you are comfortable
and happy with these friends, for I know Lady Malcolm is all kindness,
especially where she meets with undeserved sorrow. I think, too," he
added, turning his eyes to Juliet, "that we might very well trust the
happiness of any one to Miss Carr's tenderness."
"We have done what we could to soothe her, Morley," replied Juliet
Carr, "but it is not to be expected that Miss Barham should yet be
quite as cheerful as we will hope to see her. She can amuse herself,
however, even now, and at the same time gratify her friends--Look
here!"
"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Helen, trying to prevent Juliet from shewing
the drawing; but ere she could stop her, it was in Morley's hand--
"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, as soon as he had cast his eyes upon it,
"Why this is Lieberg!"
"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Helen again, "I did not mean it for anybody.
Indeed, I never thought of what I was drawing!"
"But this cannot have been by accident, surely," said Morley; "the
likeness is so striking. Did you ever see Count Lieberg, Miss Barham?"
"I saw him this morning," replied Helen, at once. "He called upon
me--not long before Lady Malcolm came--to tell me, what you had told
me before regarding my brother."
"And did he do anything to offend you?" asked Morley, looking at the
drawing with a smile, as he marked the character in which she had
depicted Lieberg.
"Oh, no!" replied Helen, "nothing; on the contrary, he was as kind as
he could be; but I can assure you I meant nothing by that drawing, and
had not an idea that I was sketching any one, till Miss Carr remarked
one likeness; and now you have remarked another. If there be any, it
is purely accidental, though, perhaps, without thinking of it, one
naturally takes the features which one has lately seen, as I have
remarked after reading a book, the thoughts come back to us as if they
were our own. Will you give it to me," and taking it out of Morley's
hand, she added, speaking to Juliet--"You must let me tear it, and I
will draw you another.--You shall have the angel as before," she said,
with a sad smile, and an earnest look into Juliet's eyes, "but I must
change the face of the fiend; as it seems that I most unintentionally
took that of one who has shewn himself anything but unkind to me and
mine."
"Tear it--tear it, Helen!" said Juliet "I am sure you did not mean to
give the portrait of any one in such a character."
"On my word I did not," replied Helen, and then, after putting her
hand to her brow for an instant, she added--"Come, dear Miss Carr, to
make up for destroying the drawing I gave you, if Sir Morley Ernstein
will sit down on the sofa and talk to you, I will take his portrait. I
am sure you will be glad to have it, for you said you had known him
long. I can sketch very quickly, and I once thought of trying to make
my bread by portrait-painting. But I took fright at the thought of all
the people that might come to me, and gave up the idea."
Juliet Carr blushed at the proposal, partly with feelings of pleasure,
but partly abashed; for the remembrance that Morley had not yet said
one word which could justify her, or any one, in looking upon his
attachment to her as certain, was still present to her mind. She
answered not, then, but Lady Malcolm replied for her, eagerly--
"Do--pray do, my dear child--and then you shall copy it for me."
At the same time Morley took his seat upon the sofa by the side of
Juliet Carr; Lady Malcolm rang for tea; and Helen, while she pursued
her work, joined in the conversation, not only frequently, but gaily,
as if the object on which she was employed had given her back her
cheerfulness. Once, when Juliet was about to rise she exclaimed,
quickly--
"Sit still--pray sit still--he will not remain in the same attitude if
you move!" and, about ten minutes after, she beckoned to Lady Malcolm,
asking her, "Will that do?"
"Oh, beautiful, beautiful!" exclaimed Lady Malcolm--"that is quite
perfect!"
"Not yet," said Helen, and she added some touches more.
Juliet became impatient to see the sketch likewise, and, starting up
playfully, she said--"I will be excluded no longer, Helen."
When she came round, however, her cheek took the colour of a rose. It
was not alone Morley's portrait, but her own likewise, that Helen
Barham had drawn; and, with a skill that nothing but intense feeling
could have taught her, she had cast into the looks of both, as they
seemed gazing upon each other, that expression of deep affection which
she was but too sure was in their hearts.
Morley followed Juliet to Helen's side, almost at once, and gazing
upon the picture, he first smiled with pleasure; but, the next
instant, a thoughtful expression came over his countenance, and he
looked down upon the beautiful head of Helen Barham--as she bent over
it, resting her cheek upon her hand--with sensations that it would be
difficult to describe. He asked himself hurriedly, what had been
really her feelings? and then he would not suffer his heart to answer
the question. He voluntarily suffered his ideas to remain confused;
but in their vagueness was mingled not only much apprehension, lest
there should be those things in the bosom of Helen which might affect
her after-peace, but pity for her in every way, and a certain portion,
if not of unmerited self-reproach, at least of regret, that it had not
been possible for him to protect and support her from the beginning,
through the medium of others.
Helen, however, seemed pleased with her work, she forced herself to be
cheerful, and the evening passed over apparently brightly for all. The
conversation, which had been diverted, for the time, from the subject
of Count Lieberg's visit, returned to it ere long, and Helen
recapitulated, in her own artless manner, all that had passed. At
length she came to speak of his question in regard to calling upon her
the following day, and she added--
"I was quite sure that I might tell him I was coming hither--"
Morley started, with a feeling of apprehension, but Helen instantly
added--"However, as you had told me I was not to mention the fact to
any one, I refrained, and merely said that I was seldom out, knowing
that you could inform him of what you thought fit, afterwards."
"You did quite right, dear Miss Barham," replied Morley--"you did
perfectly right. I entreated you to tell no one, and if I had wished
any exception made, I would have said so."
Both Helen and Juliet gazed at Morley with some surprise; but Lady
Malcolm instantly read a comment upon her young friend's reply,
saying--"He is too gay a personage, Helen--this Count Lieberg--to be a
very safe intimate for you. Not that I mean, my dear child, he would
or could do you any harm; nor do I know, indeed, of any harm that he
ever did do; but some men establish for themselves, by tolerating all
vices, and associating intimately with persons of dissolute habits,
the reputation of licentiousness, even when they do not deserve it.
Now, I never in all my life heard the least harm of this Count
Lieberg. I never saw his name in the papers, or anything of that kind;
but, at the same time, he is a great deal with people who are
notorious for dissipated habits, and consequently he is looked upon as
one of the same class, though, perhaps, the best of the class.
Nevertheless, Morley was quite right, Helen; there is no need at all
of his knowing where you are, and, to say the truth, I think it better
he should not."
Morley said nothing, but he was not a little obliged to Lady Malcolm
for saving him the pain of an explanation; and, shortly after, he took
his leave, promising to return the following day, and let Helen know
what was the result of his second conference with her brother.
As soon as he was gone, Helen rose to retire to her room. A slight
degree of paleness had come over her face, a look of exhaustion, which
Juliet remarked, and very well understood. She came round, then, to
where Helen stood, and putting her arm gently round her, she kissed
her cheek, saying, in a low voice--"I think, Helen, you are more of an
angel than any of us."
Helen pressed her hand gently in hers; and though not a word more was
spoken on either part, each felt that she understood the other; and
Helen Barham, with swimming eyes, retired to her chamber, and wept
with very mingled feelings.