It is now forty years since I found myself, for the first time in my
life, in the once fashionable city of Bath. I had accompanied thither
from London a dear friend from whom I had parted two years before at
Oxford; a man as noble as ingenuous, as gentle as he was brave. Few men
could boast the advantages enjoyed by Rupert Sinclair. Born of noble
blood, of a family whose peerage had been raised upon the foundation of
a huge wealth, handsome in person, intellectual, well-informed,
enthusiastic and aspiring, he bred a fascination around his existence
which it was difficult to resist. I had already graduated when Rupert
Sinclair entered Christ Church as a gentleman commoner; I was, moreover,
his senior by five years, yet from the moment I saw him until the hour
of his decease--with one painful interregnum--we were firm and
unflinching friends. He was sent to the university, like others of his
rank, to acquire such knowledge of men and books as a temporary
residence--and that alone--in an atmosphere of mingled learning and
frivolity, is generally supposed to impart. His father looked upon all
book knowledge as superfluous, except in a parson or schoolmaster; his
lady mother would have been shocked to find him, whether at Oxford or
elsewhere, any thing but the gay and fashionable nonentity which her
taste and experience had taught her to regard as the perfection of God's
fair creation. Lord Railton was a courtier, and affected to be a
politician; her ladyship was a woman of fashion. It is surprising to me
that, with their views of a nobleman's duties at Oxford, they should
have thought it necessary to procure for their son the services of one
who had nothing better to offer for his amusement, than the poor
learning he had picked up at Eton and elsewhere, to dole out again to
the best advantage, for the support of himself and widowed mother. I
ought rather to say it was surprising to me _then_. I have grown wiser
since. A tutor was necessary to the position of Lord Railton's son, and
it was my happiness to be chosen the instructor of Rupert Sinclair.
Every possible pains had been taken to ruin the intellect and impair the
moral faculties of the youth. His earliest teachers had been strictly
enjoined to give him no tasks which should subject him to the slightest
inconvenience, and were forbidden, under pain of dismissal, to ruffle
the serenity of his temper, or intercept the slightest movement of his
mind, however cross or wayward. Rupert in his very cradle had been
taught, both by precept and example, that his equals in rank were his
fellow creatures, and that all below him were--creatures, it is true,
but the fellows of one another, and not of him and such as he; that the
men to whose virtue, discretion, and conduct he was confided--his
TEACHERS--were--oh, mockery of mockeries!--his dependents and inferiors,
and necessary to him as his nurse or footman, but not a whit more so!
Lord Railton was a tyrant, self-willed and imperious by nature, and as
cold-blooded and selfish as a superadded artistocratic education could
render him. He saw little of his children, whom he terrified when he did
see them, and busied himself in this world with little more than the
intrigues and plots of the political junto to whom he was bound by a
community of interests, rather than affectionately attached. It is my
firm belief that miracles have not ceased upon the earth. Invisible
angels interpose now, as did the living saints of old, to repair the
faults and infirmities of nature, and by a suspension of our ordinary
laws to proclaim the might and mercy of the Divinity. How but by a
miracle could the character of Rupert Sinclair have belied the natural
reasoning of all ordinary mortals, exhibiting the utter annihilation of
the intimate connexion of cause and effect, and the independence of the
infant soul, when God so wills it, of the machinations of the wicked,
and the vicious trifling of the foolish? The good sense of the youth had
strengthened and increased under the enervating system which would have
destroyed a weaker brain and a less honest heart. I was the tutor of
Sinclair, but I suffered him to sketch out his own plan of study. His
mother had not failed to forward me the usual instructions respecting
the treatment of her darling child; but had she been silent I should not
have insisted upon a strict adherence to the college system with one
who, neither in the university nor in the world, to which he was about
to be summoned, would be tasked to remember or repeat one syllable of
his lessons. Great is the temptation to dwell upon these early days of
our attachment; for, alas! a pang must wait upon the pen when it traces
the last record of a period unclouded by grief. An account of the
earliest springtime that promised so fair a summer and harvest, is, it
is true, not necessary to the main plot of the drama I have undertaken
to write; but one of its chief characters can hardly be thoroughly
understood without some reference to his conduct and pursuits previously
to the commencement of the action. To say that I was prepossessed in
favour of my pupil after my first conversation with him, is to say but
little. I was at once surprised, delighted, and charmed. I had expected
to receive a spoiled child of fortune; a giddy, self-willed, arrogant,
and overbearing boy. I met with one whose demeanour was gentle, modest,
and sedate. A childlike simplicity governed his manners; reflection and
sound judgment his discourse. Long before the close of my young friend's
academical career I had gained his entire confidence--he my heart; and
_at_ the close of it, I had not occasion to change one opinion or one
sentiment entertained for my charge at the commencement of our
friendship; so transparent are the minds of the ingenuous, and of those
whom nature shelters from the baleful influences of life. It must,
however, be stated, that in the all but perfect specimen of humanity
presented to the world in the person of Rupert Sinclair, there existed
one flaw to convict it of mortality, and to establish its relation with
universal error. The simplicity spoken of as characteristic of the man,
degenerated into weakness; faith in the goodness of his fellow-creatures
into glaring credulity. It is a singular fact, and one that must be
accounted for by those who have made the _Mind_ an especial study, that
whilst no man was quicker in detecting the slightest indication of his
own imperfection in another, no one could be less conscious of its
existence in himself, or less alive to imposition, the moment it was
practised under his own eye, and against his own good-nature. How many
times, during his residence in Oxford, Rupert Sinclair became the
victim of the unprincipled and the sharper, I will not venture to say,
prepared as I am to assert that no discovery of falsehood and imposture
ever convinced him of the folly of his benevolence, or of the
worthlessness of the objects upon whom his favours had been showered.
The world is said to be divided into two classes; into those who suspect
all men until they are proved honest, and those who believe all men
honest until they are proved to be false. The name of Rupert Sinclair
might be written in neither category. He not only believed the world to
be good prior to experience, but he denied it to be bad, let experience
succeed as it might in convicting it of evil.
It was exactly two years after Sinclair quitted Oxford, that I received
a letter from him, requesting me to meet him in London as soon after the
receipt of his letter as my engagements would permit. The long vacation
had again commenced. Rupert was no longer a student, or, to speak more
correctly, books had now become the solace and recreation of his leisure
hours, rather than the business of his life. To please his fond and very
foolish mother, he had accepted a commission in the Guards. The small
ambition of Lady Railton was consummated the moment her noble boy
appeared in her drawing-room "en grande tenue;" as for the peer, he was
too absorbed in his own diplomacy to interfere with that of her
ladyship, in whose knowledge of the world and sound discretion he placed
unbounded faith. I attended to the summons of Sinclair without delay.
Upon arriving in London I went to his hotel, and found him recovering
from a fit of illness which at one period had threatened his life, but
of which he had as yet kept his family in ignorance. He had been
recommended by his physicians to try the waters and mild temperature of
Bath; and he was willing to obey them, provided I would become his
companion. My time was my own, and I loved Sinclair too well to throw an
obstacle in his way, had not the offer itself been temptation enough to
one who had passed so many months of physical inactivity, without one
holiday, in the dusty gloominess of college rooms. In the course of two
days our preparations were made, and we quitted London.
A week glided by in happy idleness. The invalid, compelled to keep his
room for many hours of the day, was thrown upon his resources, and upon
such as I could command for his amusement. The past is always a pleasant
subject of discourse where the speakers are young, and the past is a day
of sunshine, still lingering and warm. The days we had seen were bright
enough, and to speak of them was to bring them back in all their recent
freshness. Rupert was twenty-one, and he wondered at the ingratitude of
man that called this world a scene of strife and misery. I was
twenty-six, and as yet without a calamity. I had never known my father;
and I had maintained my mother in comfort for many years. I had yet to
part with _her_.
Another week, and the invalid was convalescent. The walks were extended
and the prescriptions torn up. Invitations came and were accepted. A
distant relative of Lady Railton was in Bath. Sinclair visited her, and
was the next day a guest at her table. There was another guest there.
Her name was ELINOR TRAVIS.
Twenty times, on the day I speak of, had Sinclair resolved not to keep
his engagement, but to send an apology to Mrs Twisleton, and to return
to London on the following morning. He had become tired, he said, of
idleness, and the frivolities that surrounded us. One word of
encouragement from me, and Sinclair would _not_ have dined with Mrs
Twisleton, would _not_ have met with _her_ who gave the colouring to his
future life, would _not_ have blasted every----but I must not
anticipate.
General Travis and his family were amongst the most fashionable of the
gay multitude then resident at Bath. They lived in first-rate style, and
gathered about them all who aspired to a position in that upper world
peopled pre-eminently by the "ton." The general was reputed a man of
enormous wealth, and his banker's book procured for him the respect that
was denied him in Debrett. The general was the father of two
children--daughters--Elinor and Adela. His wife was also living. They
were all, according to report, essentially dashing people. So much I
knew of them at the period of Sinclair's first acquaintance with the
ill-fated Elinor.
After dining with Mrs Twisleton, Sinclair altered his mind. His
departure was delayed. Within a day or two he was again invited to Mrs
Twisleton's, and again he met the general and his family. Well, there
was nothing to excite suspicion in all this! Sinclair said nothing; no
observation escaped me. I concluded that a few days would put an end to
the new interest that had been raised, and that we should return to
London as quietly as we had left it. I was grievously mistaken.
Since our arrival in Bath we had been early risers, and our habits
generally somewhat primitive. Suddenly Sinclair took it into his head to
walk without me for an hour or so before breakfast. He invariably looked
flushed and confused on his return. At least I thought so. I was
puzzled, but still said nothing.
I had been favoured by Mrs Twisleton with one or two invitations to
dinner, but had never cared to accept them. I resolved, should
opportunity again offer, to accompany Sinclair to this lady's house.
Whilst waiting, somewhat impatiently and in vain, for another invitation
from Mrs Twisleton, a grand ball was announced at General Travis's, and
Sinclair was in the number of the favoured guests. He was requested to
bring his friend. "His friend" did not refuse.
There were in truth grandeur, profusion, and style sufficient in the
entertainments of that evening. No additional outlay could have added to
the sumptuous provision that was made for the gratification and delight
of every sense. Eye and ear were ravished by the luxuries set before
them, and the grosser appetites were not forgotten. What Indian wealth!
What princely hospitality! Well might the general be esteemed the most
royal of entertainers. Nobility lost none of its prerogative in mixing
in such a scene as this, upon which an emperor might have descended with
no dishonour to his ermine. I experienced for a time the full power of
the enchantment, and acknowledged, against my will, the sovereign
dominion of Mammon. I was presented to my hostess and the general. The
former was a woman of fifty or thereabouts, delicately formed, pale, and
somewhat sickly-looking; there were traces of feminine beauty on her
countenance, but, such as they were, retreating rapidly before disease
or care, or some ailment hidden from the looker-on. She seemed more like
a gentle handmaiden than the mistress of the happy feast. The general
was of another race of beings. He stood six feet two, but his extreme
height was modified by the admirable proportions of his frame. He was
firmly built, and but for a certain unsatisfactory expression in his
countenance, might have been considered one of the handsomest men of his
day. This expression it is not easy to describe. It proceeded from his
eye, and seemed to communicate with all his features, leaving the stamp
of low cunning upon every one. The eye was large and grey, and very
restless; always in motion; always attempting to convey more than the
inner man would answer for, or the observer take for granted. It had a
volubility of expression like his tongue, and both bespoke their owner
no efficient actor.
"You look magnificent to-night," said Sinclair, addressing the general
after my introduction.
"So, so, with slender opportunities!" said the general. "See us in
London, my young friend. No place in the world like London for the
exercise of a man's genius--a woman's it should be said, to-night, for
Elinor is the presiding genius here. Have you ever seen these flowers?
Pretty, eh? Her handiwork."
Sinclair trifled for a moment with an exquisite specimen of artificial
flowers, adorning an alabaster vase; but he gave no answer.
"Have you seen her to-night?" continued the general.
"Not yet."
"She's with the Indian Yahoo, no doubt. He arrived this afternoon, and
she will give him no rest. She has engaged him for the first four
quadrilles, that she may hear the natural history of the Chimpanzee
without interruption, which her cousin has promised to relate to her at
the first convenient opportunity."
"Her cousin has arrived then?" asked Sinclair, turning slightly pale.
"This very day. Our information is quite correct. His mother, the Begum,
is dead, and has left him enough in jewels to purchase an empire. The
specie found in chests is immense. A lucky dog, with that brown face of
his! If it were as black as soot, he might command a duchess. Elinor and
he are first cousins, and are much attached, although they haven't seen
each other for years."
As the general spoke, music struck up, and a movement in our immediate
neighbourhood announced the approach of dancers. Amongst them was a
young and lovely woman. Her arm was in that of a small man, with a
copper-coloured face and disgusting features. His beautiful partner,
more beautiful by the contrast, looked proud of her prize, which, if I
correctly interpreted the admiring gaze of the assembly, was coveted for
one reason or another by every dowager and unmarried woman in the room.
I felt an instinctive longing to smother the Yahoo.
Inexpressibly lovely looked Elinor Travis, as she gracefully led off the
merry dance. She had reached her twentieth year, and was in the full
glory of her womanhood. Tall, yet exquisitely moulded, she left nothing
for fancy to desire or imagination to create. Her dark and animated eye
sparkled with living joy, and her perfect features were illuminated by
its fire. I had never before beheld a creature so richly endowed with
natural gifts; one who united in her person so much grace, sculpture,
and expression; and yet, strange to say, the feeling all inspired was
the very opposite to that which might have been expected. The
consciousness of beauty was too definitely written upon that brow. That
melting eye had inherited too much of the worldliness that played about
the eager vision of her sire. Maidenly modesty and retirement were
wanting to elevate and dignify mere voluptuousness. I was repulsed
rather than attracted by a form, which, had it been more feminine, might
have served for an angel; and as it was, was not sufficiently divine for
a mortal woman. Such was my first impression, formed almost upon the
instant. It never was removed.
Sinclair and I looked on. The spirits of Elinor were exuberant. She
laboured as it seemed, under more than ordinary excitement. She laughed
and chatted with her tawny partner with a delight which it was
impossible for such a copper monster to create. The gaiety of the lady
had but one effect upon her partner. At short intervals he opened his
jaws and exhibited his teeth to the company. Having rivalled a hyena in
the hideousness of his grin, he closed the jaws and hid his molars. Far
different was the effect upon another. It took but a very little time to
discover that Rupert Sinclair had not been proof against the charms of
this darling of nature. His heart had felt her witchery, and his spirit
was enchained--not utterly and irretrievably, I fondly trusted, for I
knew his worth, and could not willingly entrust him to such doubtful
keeping. Elinor Travis was not the wife for Rupert Sinclair. Thanks to
the Yahoo, my fears at first were not alarming; still it was vexatious
enough to behold the pain with which Sinclair evidently regarded the
good fortune of the Indian, and the complacency with which the monster
received the favour of one of the loveliest of her sex. Once during the
dance, the change of the figure brought the lady within a few feet of
Sinclair. Her back was towards him, but, as if aware of his vicinity,
she turned round and cast the lustre of her full eye upon him. She
smiled, and archly nodded. Rupert shook like a leaf; the colour mounted
to his cheek, and his heart beat almost audibly. I grew alarmed. My
faith in the Yahoo was shaken, and I trembled for my friend. The
position of the dancers was again reversed. Elinor faced us. Her eye
once more was fixed upon Rupert, but this time, as I believed, exulting
in triumph. Could it be possible that she was aware of her influence,
and that she inhumanly trifled with this man's affection? What meant
that ardent gaze and that triumphant smile? As the general had informed
us, so it happened. The Yahoo danced four quadrilles with Elinor, and
then vouchsafed the loan of his blackness to other ladies for the rest
of the evening. Miss Travis being at liberty, I proposed to Rupert an
adjournment to our hotel. The gentleman, in answer, started up and
secured the hand of Elinor for the next dance. His chair at my side was
filled on the instant by the general himself. I listened and replied to
the questions of the latter as well as I could, watching every movement,
step, and gesture of the young sorcerer and her victim.
"Your friend, Mr Wilson, is not so gay as usual. What has happened?"
"Nothing."
"You return to London, I believe, in"----
The general paused.
"Mr Sinclair's leave of absence," I answered, "will soon expire."
"A gentle-spirited man, Mr Wilson. He does you credit."
"He owes me little, general," I answered. "Providence has been bountiful
to him."
"Strange! And his father, they say, is as great a brute."
"Lord Railton," I said, "is not so amiable as his son."
"Proud and overbearing! But a magnificent rent-roll though! His son does
not appear a man of the world. Vastly good-natured, but he wants fire
and character."
"Mr Sinclair does not do himself justice," I replied. "There is more in
him than meets the eye."
"You are a scholar, Mr Wilson," suddenly exclaimed the general, "and can
appreciate a literary curiosity. Do me the favour to accompany me to my
study. I have a Greek manuscript which I picked up in Samaria, and which
they tell me is invaluable."
Before I could reply, the general was on his legs, and conducting me to
his room. The dance was still proceeding.
"I am a simple man, sir," said the general when we reached the
apartment, "and very moderate in my desires. We are often called
avaricious when we are simply prudent. I despise wealth but for the sake
of my children. There," he exclaimed suddenly, showing me a
jewel-case--"there's stuff that would buy up Bath."
"Indeed!"
"What do you imagine this to be, Mr Wilson?" next inquired the general,
holding up a folded letter.
"I cannot guess!" said I.
"An offer of a peerage. Why should I accept it? I have no son, and am
without personal ambition. The world do not give men credit for such
self-denial. You are a constant visitor at Sackville Park, I presume?"
"No, in truth. I have been there but once."
"Lady Railton doats upon her son, I believe?"
"A very fond mother," I replied.
The general eyed me suspiciously, and went no further; but he produced
forthwith his manuscript from Samaria. It was really a curiosity in its
way, being a transcript of one of the gospels in a dialect which I had
never before seen, and of which, I think, but few specimens can remain.
But I had a fidgety desire to get back to the ball-room, which prevented
any thing like a satisfactory inspection of the precious document.
"Shall we return, general?" I asked.
"By all means," said the general, evincing at the same time no
disposition to budge. "I trust, Mr Wilson," he continued, "that you will
be no stranger at our house. We are humble people, as you see us, but we
have friends at court. A man of your talents should command preferment;
but these are sad times, and the best fare ill enough without a helping
hand. I stand well with the premier."
"No doubt, deservedly," said I. "You have probably seen much service,
general?"
"A little, a little;" replied the soldier with mock humility. "But as to
yourself, Mr Wilson, they must make a bishop of you."
"Oh, general!" said I with unnecessary modesty.
"Ah, but I say they must! Leave that to me. We want sound and good men
like yourself at the head of the church. Methodism must be put down. It
is increasing frightfully. Vigorous and learned men are required to
cope with it."
"Methodism," said I, with becoming warmth, "is undoubtedly a great curse
to the church at the present moment, and every honest churchman is
bound, to the extent of his ability, to oppose its further progress."
"My own words, Mr Wilson; and I beg you not to suspect me of flattery
when I tell you that half a dozen men like yourself would do more to
bring back a salutary state of things than any legal enactments they
could contrive. Sinclair has told me of your energy, high honour, and
attainments, and it would be a sin to suffer them to be inactive."
I confess I shall never forgive myself for having patiently, nay
somewhat greedily, swallowed such monstrous and glaring trash as that
above related, and for having been cajoled by it into spending one long
half hour with my wily general in his study. I left the room at length,
in a state of heroic excitement, and in time to discover that Rupert
Sinclair and his partner had quitted the apartment in which I had
previously left them.
There remained upon my mind no longer a doubt of Rupert's attachment to
this lovely woman, and I contemplated its issue with no feeling of
gratification or delight. Notwithstanding the agreeable communications
of the general, I could not thoroughly trust him; and as for the young
lady herself, as I have already hinted, she was as adapted to the mild
nature of Sinclair as a lioness to a lamb. What would Lord Railton say
to the match? What would Lady Railton do, with her sublimated notions of
marquises and dukes? I deplored the ill luck that had brought us to
Bath, and resolved to carry the youth back whilst he still remained
master of his actions. But where was he? I sought him in vain in every
public room of the house. Neither he nor the syren could be found. Vexed
and hurt, although I scarcely knew why, I determined to quit the place,
and to return to the hotel. Attached to the general's house was a
spacious pleasure garden, and upon the occasion of this fete it was
studded with a number of small lamps, which cast a picturesque and
oriental gleam in parts, leaving the remaining portion of the ground in
deeper shade. The night was lovely. Passing the door that led into the
garden, I turned into the latter, almost without a thought. Visitors
were there before me, and to escape them I retired into the gloom.
Within a few yards of me passed the pair of whom I had been in search.
The arm of Sinclair was twined around the waist of Elinor, and his head
was bent on the ground. They advanced, and were soon beyond my ken. I
still heard their steps; but suddenly these ceased. The lovers had
stopped, and to my great discomfort they spoke.
"You do not know him," said a voice that did no dishonour to the coral
lips through which it came. "His heart is fixed upon this hated match."
"You smiled upon him, Elinor," said Rupert, in a voice of emotion; "you
gave him hope."
"For your sake, Sinclair, I smiled upon the man I hated; for your dear
sake. The least suspicion of the truth, and we are ruined. I cannot have
you banished from me."
"What is to be done?" exclaimed Rupert in despair.
I could hear no more. The voices dissolved into whispers, and these soon
ceased. The fate of Rupert Sinclair was sealed.
Now, what was my course at this alarming crisis? What steps did it
behove me--the friend, tutor, and counsellor of Rupert Sinclair--to take
at such a moment as this, when the happiness of his whole life was about
to be decided? Was there, in fact, any thing to do? Had not Sinclair
already reached that point at which remonstrance is vain, and advice
impertinent? And why should I remonstrate at all? What had I to say
against a union with a lovely and accomplished woman, whose father had
perhaps wealth enough to buy off the prejudices of Lord and Lady
Railton, had they been ten times as bigoted as they really were? What
could I produce against the young lady herself but a prejudice formed at
first sight, and perhaps as unfounded as it had been hastily adopted?
Was not Sinclair old enough to select his partner for himself; and when
did interference in the delicate affairs of love ever lead to any thing
but the confusion of the intruder, and the acceleration of the mischief
he absurdly hoped to prevent? I was at the height of my perplexity when
Sinclair returned to me. I heard his footsteps at the door, and
immediately plunged into my bedroom.
Next morning I was awake betimes, but Rupert was up before me. Indeed,
when I beheld him, I doubted whether he had been to rest at all. He
looked haggard and distressed. I took my cue from his downcast
appearance.
"Rupert," said I, "it is my intention to quit Bath."
"When?" he inquired.
"Possibly to-day. To-morrow at the furthest."
Rupert sighed.
"We return together, I presume?" said I in continuation.
"Wilson," answered Rupert, in a tone of kindness, "I have never deceived
you yet; I will not deceive you now. Nor shall you suffer in any way
from acts of mine. I cannot leave this place. It is not expedient that
you should stay."
"Your leave of absence soon expires," I said.
"I shall not fail to be at my duty, Wilson," continued Sinclair. "But
there is important business to do before I leave this city."
"You have entered, Rupert, into some rash engagement."
"Into an engagement--yes; not rashly, I believe; for I have held
consultation with my heart--deep, earnest communings, that have
sanctioned my fondest inclination."
"Beware, Sinclair!" I answered. "In some cases, the heart is no safe
monitor; and inclination and conviction become convertible terms."
"You know my secret, Wilson."
"I can guess it."
"You saw her last night. I wished you to see her. I desired to hear from
your lips a confirmation of the regard she has inspired in one"----