The day of trial at length arrived, and the court, from the roof to
the floor, seemed one sea of faces, crowded together like the "studies
of heads" on a painter's canvass. During the legal investigation,
which was conducted with deep solemnity and anxious perseverance, the
mystery became still deeper, and more inscrutable. No appearance of a
robbery could be observed, except that the finger of the lady's hand,
on which a wedding ring had probably been worn, was much bruised and
discolored, as if, immediately after her decease, it had been
violently torn off; and a vain attempt had evidently been made to
snatch away a gold chain hung round her neck, to which was appended a
small broken miniature frame, set with brilliants, and adorned with
what seemed to represent a very antique coronet. The portrait which it
once enclosed, had been, with obvious difficulty removed, as the marks
were visible all round, of some sharp-pointed instrument having been
inserted in the frame, to which there still adhered several broken
fragments of glass.
Sarah Davenport, who had been fully committed for trial, on suspicion
of being an accomplice, refused to give any references as to
character, and was strongly suspected of habitually concealing her
real name, and of more than once assuming those that were fictitious,
as her clothes and linen appeared to be marked with various initials,
but in not one case did they bear those that she pretended were her
own. It was evident that she labored under a powerful, but
forcibly-subdued excitement; yet, with a tone and manner externally
cold and hard as Siberian ice, she persisted in professing her own
perfect innocence, and her utter consciousness of anything that might
by possibility lead to a discovery of the perpetrators. She coldly,
and almost calmly, threw back glance for glance, on the spectators
nearest her, who were keenly watching every turn of her countenance,
while dark surmises, and fearful conjectures, were whispered in
murmurs of horror on every side; but at length her eye wandered to a
distant part of the court, when suddenly a livid paleness flashed upon
her face--an indescribable but startling lustre glittered in her
eyes--her whole frame shook, as in the coldest blast of winter, and
with a suppressed groan of agony and fear, she bowed her head upon her
hands, and sunk fainting upon the floor. At the same time, a man was
observed hastily to leave the court, and, gliding with rapid steps
through the narrow passages, disappeared, before any of those who
stood near had presence of mind to stop him, or could even identify
his appearance.
Nothing apparently touched the feelings of Sarah Davenport, except
when a suspicion seemed to be implied that she meant to injure the
boy; and when a question to this effect was put to her by the court,
she wrung her hands and burst into tears, saying, in accents of
piercing anguish, though with a shudder as if death were upon her,
"No! oh, no! Who suspects that I would injure a hair of his head! He
once loved me! Few--few but he, ever did!--none that have not
afterwards given me reason to hate them! I am a solitary, lost, and
desolate being; but let him not forget in after years, that I saved
his life!--that I saved it at a risk you never can conceive!"
An impulse of mournful interest and astonishment ran through the
assembled multitude, when they beheld the rare and singular beauty of
the child, after he was led into court; and it seemed as if the
spectators had ceased to breathe as soon as he began to answer some of
the questions which were skilfully put, to draw out his recollections
of past times, and especially the dark history of the last few weeks.
He was at first shy and intimidated, but gradually regained an
unexpected degree of self-possession, and spoke with a surprising
degree of intelligence and distinctness of all he remembered.
The boy retained a faint recollection of having been awakened, on the
night of the murder, by some violent scene of strife and horror; but
his faculties had evidently been so benumbed by opiates, that no
distinct impression remained; and to his own young mind, the whole
seemed like a fearful dream, too dreadful to look back upon even yet,
except with bewildering terror. He gave a clear account, however, of
the last evening he had passed with his mother, of whom he spoke in
accents of infantine affection, evidently unable yet to conceive that
he should see her face no more.
An old gentleman, he said, had come into the room and spoken angrily
to her; while, with astonishing precision, the boy acted over the
whole scene, recapitulated some of the language they had used, and
described how his mother had hung to him with frantic eagerness,
saying she would promise anything, if she might only retain her child;
how the stranger, who was very tall, and wore a black coat, had spoken
again with angry vehemence before he left the room; and how his
mother, when left alone, had prayed and wept over him with looks of
agonized and desolate grief, until he had been carried away to bed by
the maid, who administered some medicine to him, which she said the
doctor had ordered.
He spoke much also of a large room, hung with pictures, in which his
earliest days had been passed, and of a small dark apartment close
beside it, into which he had often been precipitately hurried,
apparently for concealment, and where toys and sweetmeats had been
always provided to keep him quiet, while he was punished with the
utmost severity, for making the slightest noise; and he still
remembered with looks of apprehension, the gentleman dressed in black,
who most frequently visited him there, and often caused his mother to
weep bitterly.
Sarah Davenport was then recalled, and rigidly cross-examined,
respecting the gentleman who had visited at the house; but she
doggedly asserted her entire ignorance respecting his rank in life, or
connections, and pertinaciously maintained that the lady's death had
been her own voluntary act, and that the sleeping potion had been
given to the boy by his mother's own imperative orders, as she did not
herself know even what it contained.
During a long and anxious consultation of the jury, there was a hushed
and intense silence in the court, so still and unbroken, that the
breathing of an infant would have been audible, while every eye
perused the countenance of the prisoner, with an intensity that
brought a hectic flush, burning like fire, upon her cheek, and she
gazed around with a glance of anger that caused her beauty for the
moment to look like that of a fiend or a fury.
At length, after arduously scrutinizing every atom of evidence that
could be gathered, the jury, though morally certain of the prisoner's
being an accomplice in the crime, felt unwillingly obliged to bring in
a verdict of "not proven," and she was immediately liberated, after
which, amidst the yells, jeers, and execrations of the populace who
were convinced of her criminality, she hurried from the court, and was
seen no more.
Nothing is half so attractive as a mystery, and many crowded at first,
with a temporary enthusiasm, to see the beautiful boy, so strangely
bereaved, and so cruelly abandoned; but the interest and excitement of
hearing and relating his story were soon superseded by greater wonders
and fresher news. In a world where all are rushing on headlong in
pursuit of novelty, and where events, great or small, are speedily
hurried into one common oblivion, people were tired at last of
thinking or talking about young Henry and his concerns.
Every one of the Admiral's friends hinted that he could have managed
the whole affair ten times better than Sir Arthur; all blamed him for
many things, and praised him for very few; the Admiral was wondered
at, criticised, discussed, admired, pitied, and censured, more than he
remembered to have been for many years before; and the givers of
advice were lavish of propositions and objections, all which were
borne by their venerable friend with good-humored indifference,
whether adopted or not. At length some perfectly new murders from
London came on the tapis in society; those who liked reading in the
Jack Sheppard style were satiated with studies from the life; the
Mording Post assumed a terrifying interest; and the lady of fashion
who consulted Sir Henry Halford about her appetite, because she could
no longer enjoy her murders and robberies at breakfast, would have
thought, when they were coming out hot and hot every week, that it was
a wearisome repetition to speculate another hour upon a murder nearly
a month old.
In short, "the Portobello story" ceased to be told or listened to.
Henry had had his day. There is no such thing now as a nine days'
wonder, because nothing lasts so long. Young De Lancey had been talked
of as much as any reasonable being could expect to be talked of; and
now it was universally voted a bore whenever the subject occurred in
conversation; for, as Lady Towercliffe remarked, with a very
long-drawn yawn, when, for the last time, it was alluded to in her
presence, "It was a shocking, barbarous, and really startling affair;
but all stories should be allowed to die out like an echo, which grows
fainter and fainter at every repetition. One cannot be for ever
talking of the same thing."
When Henry De Lancey lost one parent, he certainly gained another in
Sir Arthur, who often afterwards remarked, that in no instance could
virtue be more obviously its own parent, than in the case of any
kindness he had shown to this fascinating boy, whose gay, joyous
spirits became a source of perpetual amusement to him, while the
Admiral seemed to derive new life from watching the frolicsome gambols
of his young companion, occasionally enlivened by the gleeful vivacity
of his niece Marion, when she escaped a single day from the trammels
of school, bringing generally in her train two of her favorite
juvenile companions, Clara Granville and Caroline Smythe, both several
years older than herself.
On many occasions the sensibility of Henry De Lancey seemed already to
have attained almost the depth and intensity of manhood, so strong
were the bursts of natural feeling with which he occasionally spoke or
acted, while it was deeply affecting to trace throughout the
extraordinary progress thus early made in his education, the careful
culture given to his remarkable abilities--the pains bestowed by his
solitary parent to strengthen his mind for future difficulties and
sorrows, the earliest and worst of which she could so little have
foreseen or apprehended.
With considerable thoughtfulness of character, however, and natural
integrity of mind, which Sir Arthur was delighted from the first to
remark, yet, when the merry group of young friends assembled together
on the shore of Portobello, building houses of sand, or running
eagerly in search of shells, it would have been difficult to say which
was the most carelessly happy, while the Admiral seemed to borrow
their young spirits for the time, and gazed with ceaseless delight on
those joyous countenances, radiant with laughter and smiles, which
were archly turned towards their aged playmate, sometimes with a
challenge to run after them, or lighted up with smiles of affection
when they brought him a bouquet of his favorite flowers, torn roughly
from the stems, and crumpled in their little hands.
Sir Arthur often seemed almost ashamed to betray the engrossing
interest and delight he felt in his young companion, who gained every
day a stronger hold upon his affections, and it appeared as if he were
anxious to forget that a time had ever existed when the playful and
interesting boy was unknown to his heart; but a circumstance occurred,
not long after Henry's adoption, which brought painfully to mind, with
greatly increased solicitude, the fearful mystery that hung over his
origin, proving also that danger still threatened him from some
unforeseen quarter.
While the whole party of his young guests were noisily engaged on the
shore in a game at hide-and-seek, one day in the month of July, Sir
Arthur had seated himself on a bench within sight of them, sometimes
watching their gambols with pleasure, and frequently conning over a
newspaper, which proved by undeniable and satisfactory demonstration,
that the country was entirely ruined--that the Government was coming
to an end--that the Houses of Lords and Commons would be completely
demolished--that the ministry had not another day to exist--and, as a
grand climax, that anarchy, confusion, bankruptcy, and revolution,
were about finally to drop their extinguisher over Great Britain. Sir
Arthur had read the same thing in different words every day during
fifty years, and under twenty varied administrations; yet still the
wonder grew, how a constitution so mismanaged could so long survive,
and that when all was wrong at the head of the country, it still had a
leg to stand on. The Admiral's patriotic meditations had been several
times interrupted by repeated complaints from the little girls, that
Henry had hid himself so well, that they could not possibly find him;
but he was too much pre-occupied to give the subject much attention,
till at length Martin announced that the children's dinner had waited
some time, and that still the boy was not to be found, though his
companions had been searching for him at least half an hour.
Upon hearing this, Sir Arthur hastily started up, making a
considerable expenditure of energetic and wondrous explanations, while
he gazed around with increasing surprise at the wide waste of sand,
like an Arabian desert, with which he was on every side encompassed,
and where it seemed to him as if a mouse could not be long concealed.
A hasty and most anxious search was instantly commenced in the garden,
while Sir Arthur and Martin shouted the name of Henry at the full
pitch of their voices, but in vain; not a sound was heard in reply,
nor was there a spot unexamined in which he could by possibility be
lurking.
The Admiral now became seriously alarmed at so unaccountable a
disappearance, especially when the child's gardening tools, with which
he had been last observed, were found mutilated and broken, at a great
distance, on the beach--one of his shoes had fallen off close to the
water, and his hat lay nearly buried in the tide. Sir Arthur instantly
summoned the police to his aid, but the search continued fruitless,
till at length the dreadful conjecture became more and more probable,
that Henry must have rashly ventured into the water, and been washed
away by the waves--in pursuance of which apprehension Sir Arthur
summoned more assistance, that the water might instantly be dragged.
Martin, meantime, no less active than his master, had accidentally met
a stranger on the beach, who mentioned, on hearing of his alarm, that
on the road to Leith, half an hour before, he had observed a boy
struggling and screaming in the arms of a female, dressed like a
nursery-maid, who complained loudly that the child would not go home,
when a young man, rather strangely dressed, and of very singular
appearance, had instantly offered his assistance, and carried him
forcibly onwards. This gentleman said he had stopped the woman to
remonstrate with her on using the boy so roughly, as a cap was drawn
over his eyes, and he seemed to suffer agonies of terror, sobbing
convulsively, and trembling in every limb; but the man had answered in
reply, with a strong Irish accent, that he would see the child safe to
his friends, and let no one do the poor boy "a taste of harm." The
stranger added indifferently, that it was no affair of his, therefore
he ceased to interfere; but he thought both the man and the woman had
a very bad expression, and he would not trust either of them with his
dog for an hour, to use it kindly.
Without wasting time in returning to communicate what he had heard,
Martin hurried forward to Leith, where, with reckless speed and
untiring diligence, he threaded all the narrow streets, and elbowed
his way among carts, carriages, parcels, and passengers, till at
length he reached the pier, to which he had been so eagerly aiming his
steps. At its farthest point stood a smoking steam-boat in full boil,
while men and women, boxes, packages, bags, and trunks were pouring
in; and at length, as he breathlessly approached within some hundred
yards, an arbitrary little bell was rung, to summon stragglers on
board, and to hurry stragglers away.
A single plank, connecting the steam-boat with the pier, was on the
point of being withdrawn, when Martin approached; and while he paused,
in momentary hesitation whether to pursue his almost hopeless search,
the steward peremptorily desired him to hasten on board instantly, if
he were coming at all, as not a moment more could be lost.
At this moment a cry, almost amounting to a scream of childish joy,
became audible on the deck--a young boy was seen vehemently struggling
in the arms of a female; and in an instant, pursued by a man who
vainly endeavored to overtake him, he rushed past the steward, ran
across the temporary bridge, and clasped Martin round the knees,
exclaiming, with eager incoherent exclamations of almost hysterical
delight, "Take me, Martin! take me! O let me go home to Sir Arthur! I
did not come away without leave! I did not, indeed! That naughty,
horrid woman forced me! She tied a cap over my face, and would not let
me go back! I have been so frightened and so sorry," added the child,
bursting into tears, and sobbing as if his heart would break; "I
thought Sir Arthur would be angry, and I thought, perhaps, I would
never see him again! O take me home, Martin! take me home! and let me
never see these people again!"
The boy put his hand, with an air of happy confidence and security
into that of Martin, who snatched him up in his arms, with a thousand
expressions of joyful surprise; but a moment afterwards, when he
recollected himself, his first impulse was to secure the culprits who
had decoyed Henry away, and to deliver them up to a magistrate for
examination. With this intention, he looked hastily around, intending
to cause their immediate apprehension; but the steam-boat had sailed
off; and all the gesticulations he could make to bring them back only
caused the steward laughingly to shake his head, thinking that Martin
had merely missed his passage, as he deserved, for not showing more
alacrity in obeying his injunctions to embark.
At Portobello, meantime, Sir Arthur had suffered agonies of grief, and
even of self-reproach, thinking he had too securely relied on the
safety of his young protege; and with a heavy heart he was still
directing his steps, and conducting his assistants to the most
probable places for finding the child's body, having already ordered
his maid to have everything in readiness, in case a chance remained of
his being restored to life, when he felt a gentle pull at the skirt of
his coat, and, on looking down, he uttered a volley of joyful
exclamations, on beholding the radiant countenance of Henry, whom he
clasped in his arms with unutterable joy. While Martin and the boy
himself gave each his own history of the strange adventure, Sir Arthur
walked up and down in a state of irrepressible irritation, clenching
his teeth, and grasping his walking-stick firmly in his hand, as if
about to wreak instant vengeance on the miscreants. At length, after
exhausting his indignation, he took Henry again in his arms, declaring
he would never for a moment lose sight of him again.
Nothing in Henry's narrative threw the slightest gleam of light on the
plans or intentions of the strange man and woman, which seemed
destined to remain buried in impenetrable obscurity. They had
evidently been accomplices in decoying him from home; and the boy had
brought away from the steam-boat a small book which they had given
him, full of ribald songs and profane jests, but covered with
magnificent boards, and clasped with silver hinges, which seemed to
have once belonged to some ancient missal, and still retained in the
inside a collection of texts beautifully written in a very remarkable
hand, which seemed to be that of a highly-educated female.
For some time afterwards, several suspicious-looking people were seen
lurking about Sir Arthur's premises, late at night; and one evening a
shot was fired suddenly in at the drawing-room window, which passed so
near to Henry's head, that his hair was actually disturbed; but though
an active police had been placed on the watch, not a trace could be
obtained of the authors of this outrage.
As time wore on, and the mind of Henry rapidly expanded on all
subjects of classical learning and general science, the fearful and
melancholy events of his early years faded considerably from his mind,
while he made astonishing progress at the excellent school where Sir
Arthur placed him, exhibiting that happy, but rare combination of deep
thought, and refinement of mind, with extreme liveliness of fancy, and
enthusiasm of character. This threw a perfect witchery over his
conversation, which sparkled with vivacity, or flowed with uncommon
depth and power, as best suited the occasion, while at the same time,
during his intercourse with Sir Arthur, he became imbued with the
highest principles of honor and good-feeling; and from his master he
imbibed the most enlightened knowledge of the doctrines and duties of
Christianity, with the profoundest reverence for its precepts and
practice.
Sir Arthur felt a dreary blank during Henry's absence at school, which
became more and more intolerable as his eyesight was at length nearly
extinct; and he had serious thoughts of engaging a person to walk out
with him during the day, and to read to him during the evening, being
of opinion that it is the highest wisdom, as well as the best
Christianity, cheerfully to meet every appointed privation, and derive
from the blessings that remain, as much enjoyment as they can afford.
Sir Arthur often remarked to his friend, Lady Towercliffe, that it is a
misfortune to wear out a taste of any inoffensive occupation; and he
began to fear it might be possible for him to survive his enjoyment of
reading. "In my long life," he observed, "I have myself travelled all
the travels described by others, thought all the thoughts, and felt
all the feelings. If I read such a book as Robertson's America, for
instance, the question forces itself upon me, 'what the better would I
be of knowing this whole volume by heart!' The time was once, when a
romance carried me off into another existence altogether, and I seemed
to awaken as from a dream, when called back to the ordinary business
of life; but now I can anticipate from the first page, the whole
_denouement_ of every novel, and never for an instant forget my own
identity in reading the story."
"It is a shocking symptom of advancing years," said Lady Towercliffe.
"But you must wait till I publish."
"Yet," continued Sir Arthur, "there is one volume always new, in which
I never can tire of reading my own heart and character; and in the
Bible, the descriptions of eastern countries are so like what I have
observed myself of the scenery, customs, and manners, that they fill
me with recollections and associations that are of endless interest."
No sooner had Sir Arthur mentioned incidentally, to Lady Towercliffe,
and several friends, that he would willingly give a handsome salary to
a person of good reading and writing abilities, than it seemed as if
all the meritorious young men in Scotland happened at that very time
to be looking out for precisely such a situation; and it made Sir
Arthur almost melancholy in examining testimonials, which ought to
have procured any one of them a bishopric, to think that so many
admirable youths, of learning and talents, were ready to sacrifice
themselves for a mere home, and a pittance of £50 per annum!
No situation ever became vacant in the memory of man, for which Lady
Towercliffe had not some protege exactly suited; and no sooner did she
hear that Sir Arthur required a secretary and reader, than she wrote
him a note of seven pages, closely penned, in which she made it
evident that there was but one individual in the world who could suit,
or ought to suit, and that one individual was the bearer of her
despatch, who waited below for an answer.
It appeared that, with all her zeal in the cause, Lady Towercliffe
knew very little of the young man she so vehemently recommended; but
having accidentally met him in a bookseller's shop, he had been
employed by her to copy some verses in an album, and she thought him,
without exception, one of the most civil and grateful creatures in the
world, who really deserved encouragement.
When Sir Arthur sent for Mr. Howard up stairs, his kind heart was
almost shocked at the tone of wild energy, and the look of feverish
anxiety with which he entreated that his capabilities might be tried.
His figure, though youthful, was tall, gaunt, and meagre, while his
care-worn countenance, which bore a stern and melancholy aspect, was
lighted up by large, dark, flashing eyes, in which there gleamed an
expression of singular excitement. He appeared young and handsome, but
not prepossessing--so gloomy and determined was the expression of his
firmly-compressed mouth, that it seemed almost indicative of ferocity;
and his eye had that peculiarity invariably expressing evil--an
impossibility of looking any one steadily in the face.
"You see me under great disadvantage, Sir Arthur; friendless,
homeless, and poverty-struck," said Mr. Howard, with a look of eager,
deprecating solicitude, which spoke at once to the generous heart of
the Admiral, and filled him with commiseration. "Fate and fortune have
hitherto frustrated my efforts, and weighed me down with life-crushing
sorrows; but only give me employment, and I would not thank the Queen
to be my cousin!"
It was a favorite saying with Sir Arthur, that he would be more
ashamed to suspect mankind, than to be deceived by them; and if he had
a weakness in the world it was a total incapacity to give pain.
Touched by the nervous excitement in Mr. Howard's eye and manner,
which he attributed entirely to his necessitous circumstances, he
almost immediately engaged him, to the entire satisfaction of Lady
Towercliffe, who never asked or cared any more about her protege,
gratified that he had achieved "a job," and that by her interest, and
hers only, a place in the world had been filled up, which would have
been occupied by some one else, perhaps equally deserving, if she had
not interfered, and she was satisfied for the present to have been of
consequence to somebody, no matter whom.
Mr. Howard generally spoke in a subdued, mysterious voice, as if
afraid to let himself know what he was saying; yet sometimes his words
came forth with a rushing impetuosity, full of energy and fire, like
lightning itself. His hollow, blood-shot eyes, betrayed a wild,
watchful, suspicious expression, by no means prepossessing; and there
was something inscrutable in the bland, perpetual smile he always wore
upon his countenance, and in the frozen tranquillity of his manner,
which occasionally, though seldom, gave way to bursts of tempestuous
emotion. The very pupils of his eyes seemed to have become darker,
with a fearfully wild and ferocious expression when irritated, while
the fierce fire flashed out from beneath his lowering brows, with a
blaze of inexpressible fury; yet in a moment he could command himself
again into a cold, calm, and almost haughty exterior, while the
spectral paleness of his handsome countenance made him look like
marble itself.
Years passed on, during which Sir Arthur endured, rather than enjoyed,
Mr. Howard's attendance, whose pre-occupied air and vague manner
continually annoyed him; but his benevolent heart shrunk from
consigning the poor man to that hopeless and solitary want which he
seemed to apprehend must inevitably follow the loss of his present
situation, and from day to day he postponed the decision, till habit
grew into second nature, and he became so accustomed to hear "The
Times," column after column, spouted forth in a rather theatrical tone
by his reader, and to dictate notes and letters to his very silent and
diligent secretary, that he almost forgot at last to think of parting
with him.
When Henry returned for the first time from school, six or seven
months after Mr. Howard had become domesticated at Portobello, the
secretary professed a vehement fancy for the boy, would fetch and
carry for him like a tame dog, and loaded him with attentions; yet,
though in general most affectionately grateful to all who showed him
even a trifling kindness, these assiduities and flatteries were
lavished upon him in vain. The boy shrunk instinctively from Mr.
Howard's notice, but could assign no other reason to himself or others
for this apparently unreasonable antipathy, except merely that the
stranger resembled somebody he had seen before, but how, when, or
where, not a trace remained in his memory. This little caprice did not
appear to be noticed or resented by the secretary, till one day, when
Henry refused some bon-bons which Mr. Howard offered him, saying, the
last he accepted had made him sick, and when the boy soon after flew
gaily out of the room, Marion was for a moment startled and surprised
to observe the malignant scowl with which the eye of Mr. Howard
followed Henry. It was a glance, fell and malignant, that feared to be
seen, while his cheek became pale as death, but whether in anger or in
sorrow, Marion thought it impossible to divine.
As Henry grew older, his instinctive dread of Mr. Howard seemed only
to increase, but he was too considerate to disturb the tranquillity of
Sir Arthur by mentioning it, or to injure the poor man himself, by
giving way to a feeling of dislike so unaccountable, and yet so
perfectly unconquerable; but at length, after many years of such
prudent self-restraint, when nearly grown up to manhood he could not
help saying one day, in a careless tone, to the Admiral, after
witnessing a sudden outbreak of temper in Mr. Howard that morning,
"Your secretary always reminds me, Sir Arthur, of Sinbad's Old Man of
the Sea. It seems impossible to get handsomely rid of him, and he will
never certainly make a voluntary departure!"
"I fear not!" replied the Admiral, with something between a smile and
a sigh. "He does all I desire him, but without interest or pleasure,
and he has the most undisguised contempt for every living being,
almost amounting to hatred, yet he expresses unbounded gratitude for
being harbored in my house. What can I do? It would be cruel to kick
the man out of doors, merely because he is unhappy; but I have often
observed, Henry, that he is no favorite of yours, though that is the
only subject on which you have never been entirely open with me."
"Because I am heartily ashamed of my feelings, Sir Arthur, and you are
the last person on earth to whom I wish to tell anything against
myself. You have told me there are people with a loathing antipathy to
cats, and somewhat similar is the shuddering sensation with which I
see your worthy secretary enter the room. A sort of shiver comes over
me, and a wish to keep him off--to avoid his very glance and touch. He
has a strange under-look certainly! His smile makes me shudder! and
yet the feeling is quite undefinable! They say dogs and children have
an instinctive liking or antipathy to those who secretly like or hate
them, and perhaps my sensation is on somewhat similar grounds.
"There is something fearful in the eye of Mr. Howard, occasionally,
when I catch it fixed upon myself," added Henry rapidly, but in a sort
of musing, absent under-tone, while his voice acquired a deeper tinge
of thought, "I seem to have beheld him once in a dream! When he looks
at me in that strange and extraordinary manner, his eyes like the
flickering glare of light in a gloomy cavern, I feel and know that at
some period in my life I have seen such a countenance before! The time
and place have escaped me, but the remembrance is painful, and in his
presence I cannot but be convinced that I am in the presence of an
enemy. It is a feeling I can neither drive away, nor distinctly
realize!"
"Why did you never tell me this before, Henry?" asked the Admiral,
rising with agitation. "He has been hardly dealt with by fortune, but
surely you do not think----"
"Think!!--; I think nothing, Sir Arthur, for I know nothing, and I
ought not to have spoken as I have done,--it was wrong and rash. I
shall try to conquer this,--to conquer myself,--and, as they say,
acquired tastes are always the strongest, I may yet learn to like Mr.
Howard better than any one living; but, in the mean time, Sir Arthur,
he does occasionally look to me, very like some stray member of the
Lunatic Asylum!"
"I sometimes think," said Sir Arthur, "that Howard has a bee in his
bonnet."
"He has a whole hive of bees in his bonnet!" replied Henry in his
usual off-hand tone; but when he looked round, as is usual, when
people are spoken of, the individual himself, Mr. Howard, stood before
him. A mortal paleness had overspread his countenance, contending
emotions seemed flitting across his lowering brow, like shifting
clouds in a threatening sky, and his eye gleamed upon young De Lancey
with a look of maniacal fury; but the same artificial smile was on his
lips which he habitually assumed, while, in the blandest tone of
courtesy, he turned from the steady penetrating gaze of Henry to Sir
Arthur, saying, in a tone of servile cunning, but with a smile the
most ghastly that was ever seen on a human face,
"Every fool can find fault, but my livelihood fortunately depends not
on any boyish caprice. It is derived from the generosity of a noble
mind, unbiassed by cruel and unfounded prejudices, which may, however,
yet be my ruin. A small leak sinks a great ship, and even you, my
benefactor, may hereafter be influenced by the opinion of one who
avowedly hates me, though without cause,--I should have little to
dread if he were like you, but then who is? Come what may, however,
you deserve and shall ever retain my undying gratitude and attachment.
I have met with little kindness in life, and am never likely to forget
that little, from whatever benevolent heart it comes. In this bleak,
desolate, most harsh and cruel world, you are now my only friend."
"Those who have deserved friends, Mr. Howard, are seldom so entirely
destitute of them!" said Sir Arthur, with a certain tone of
interrogation in his voice, for he abhorred the slightest approach to
flattery, and always had an instinctive apprehension that it was
accompanied by deceit. "We are too ready often to throw the blame upon
human nature, when our own individual nature is to blame. For my own
part, I have met with little unkindness or ingratitude hitherto, and
would willingly look upon the sunny side of life, hoping all things,
and believing all things, of mankind in general, and of yourself among
the number."
The darkened sight of Sir Arthur prevented him from perceiving that in
the countenance of Mr. Howard there flitted a quick succession of
emotions, fiery and vivid as summer lightning, but Henry observed with
astonishment the powerful though ineffectual efforts he made to
control his agitation. His hands were clenched, till the very blood
seemed ready to spring; he gnawed his nether lip with frightful
vehemence, and his eyes shot fire from beneath his dark and frowning
brow. With a glance of unspeakable malevolence at Henry, and a hurried
bow to Sir Arthur, he hastened with rapid steps out of the room, and
subsequently out of the house.
"If there be a madman out of bedlam, Sir Arthur, that is he!"
exclaimed Henry, following with his eyes the rushing steps of Howard,
as he crossed the garden. "Before I go to college, let me hope you
will dismiss him. Give the man a trifling pension, or do anything for
him, rather than trust yourself in his hands, for I am mistaken,
indeed, if he is not a bad and dangerous man."
"Before you return here, I may perhaps be able to find some other
situation for him; but he has done nothing yet, Henry, to forfeit my
protection, and I scarcely think he would live, if I dismissed him. He
has drank a bitter cup of wretchedness, and without principle or hope,
he has more than hinted to me, that death itself will be his resource
if I turn him adrift. It was a well-meant officiousness of Lady
Towercliffe to force him upon my good offices, and I cannot yet see
any easy way to relieve myself of the charge, without causing more
distress than I can reconcile myself to occasioning."
"He is certainly a strange, mysterious being," replied Henry, wishing
to turn off a subject which he saw was agitating Sir Arthur with
perplexity; "but Mr. Howard is not probably the only man on earth whom
in the course of my existence I shall not be able to comprehend."