Si ad honestatem nati sumus ea aut sola expetenda est, aut certe omni
pondere gravior est habenda quam reliqua omnia.--Tully.
Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes
that gentleness, And shew of love as I was wont to have.--Julius
Caesar.
I rose at my usual early hour; sleep had tended to calm, and, I hope,
also, to better my feelings. I had now leisure to reflect, that I had
not embraced my party from any private or interested motive; it was not,
therefore, from a private or interested motive that I was justified in
deserting it. Our passions are terrible sophists! When Vincent had told
me, the day before, that it was from men, not measures, that I was to
change, and that such a change could scarcely deserve the name, my heart
adopted the assertion, and fancied it into truth.
I now began to perceive the delusion; were government as mechanically
perfect as it has never yet been (but as I trust it may yet be), it
would signify little who were the mere machines that regulated its
springs: but in a constitution like ours, the chief character of
which--pardon me, ye De Lolmites--is its uncertainty; where men
invariably make the measures square to the dimensions of their own
talent or desire; and where, reversing the maxim of the tailor, the
measures so rarely make the men; it required no penetration to see how
dangerous it was to entrust to the aristocratic prejudice of Lincoln,
or the vehement imbecility of Lesborough, the execution of the very same
measures which might safely be committed to the plain sense of Dawton,
and, above all, to the great and various talents of his coadjutors. But
what made the vital difference between the two parties was less in the
leaders than the body. In the Dawton faction, the best, the purest, the
wisest of the day were enrolled; they took upon themselves the origin
of all the active measures, and Lord Dawton was the mere channel through
which those measures flowed; the plain, the unpretending, and somewhat
feeble character of Lord Dawton’s mind, readily conceded to the abler
components of his party, the authority it was so desirable that they
should exert. In Vincent’s party, with the exception of himself, there
was scarcely an individual with the honesty requisite for loving the
projects they affected to propose, or the talents that were necessary
for carrying them into effect, even were their wishes sincere; nor were
either the haughty Lincoln, or his noisy and overbearing companion,
Lesborough, at all of a temper to suffer that quiet, yet powerful
interference of others, to which Dawton unhesitatingly submitted.
I was the more resolved to do all possible justice to Dawton’s party,
from the inclination I naturally had to lean towards the other; and
in all matters, where private pique or self-interest can possibly
penetrate, it has ever been the object of my maturer consideration to
direct my particular attention to that side of the question which such
undue partizans are the least likely to espouse. While I was gradually,
but clearly, feeling my way to a decision, I received the following note
from Guloseton:--
“I said nothing to you last night of what is now to be the subject of
my letter, lest you should suppose it arose rather from the heat of an
extempore conviviality, than its real source, viz. a sincere esteem for
your mind, a sincere affection for your heart, and a sincere sympathy in
your resentment and your interest.
“They tell me that Lord Dawton’s triumph or discomfiture rests entirely
upon the success of the motion upon--, brought before the House of
Commons, on the--. I care, you know, very little for my own part, which
way this question is decided; do not think, therefore, that I make any
sacrifice when I request you to suffer me to follow your advice in the
disposal of my four votes. I imagine, of course, that you would wish
them to adopt the contrary side to Lord Dawton; and upon receiving a
line from you to that effect, they shall be empowered to do so.
“Pray, oblige me also by taking the merit of this measure upon yourself,
and saying (wherever it may be useful to you), how entirely, both the
voters and their influence are at your disposal. I trust we shall yet
play the Bel to this Dragon, and fell him from his high places.
“Pity me, my dear friend; I dine out to-day, and feel already, by an
intuitive shudder, that the soup will be cold, and the sherry hot.
Adieu.
“Ever your’s,
“Guloseton.”
Now, then, my triumph, my vanity, and my revenge might be fully
gratified. I had before me a golden opportunity of displaying my own
power, and of humbling that of the minister. My heart swelled high at
the thought. Let it be forgiven me, if, for a single moment, my previous
calculations and morality vanished from my mind, and I saw only the
offer of Vincent, and the generosity of Guloseton. But I checked the
risings of my heart, and compelled my proud spirit to obedience.
I placed Guloseton’s letter before me, and as I read it once more in
order to reply to it, the disinterested kindness and delicacy of one,
whom I had long, in the injustice of my thoughts, censured as selfish,
came over me so forcibly, and contrasted so deeply with the hollowness
of friends more sounding, alike in their profession and their creeds,
that the tears streamed fast and gushingly from my eyes.
A thousand misfortunes are less affecting than a single kindness.
I wrote, in answer, a warm and earnest letter of thanks for an offer,
the judicious kindness of which penetrated me to the soul. I detailed,
at some length, the reasons which induced me to the decision I had
taken; I sketched also the nature of the very important motion about
to be brought before the House, and deduced from that sketch the
impossibility of conscientiously opposing Lord Dawton’s party in
the debate. I concluded with repeating the expressions my gratitude
suggested, and after declining all interference with Lord Guloseton’s
votes, ventured to add, that had I interfered, it would have been in
support of Dawton; not as a man, but a minister--not as an individual
friend, but a public servant.
I had just despatched this letter, when Vincent entered: I acquainted
him, though in the most respectful and friendly terms, with my
determination. He seemed greatly disappointed, and endeavoured to shake
my resolution; finding this was in vain, he appeared at last satisfied,
and even affected with my reasons. When we parted, it was with a
promise, confirmed by both, that no public variance should ever again
alter our private opinions of each other.
When I was once more alone, and saw myself brought back to the very foot
of the ladder I had so far and so fortunately climbed; when I saw
that, in rejecting all the overtures of my friends, I was left utterly
solitary and unaided among my foes--when I looked beyond and saw no
faint loophole of hope, no single stepping-stone on which to recommence
my broken, but unwearied career--perhaps one pang of regret and
repentance, at my determination, came across me: but there is something
marvellously restorative in a good conscience, and one soon learns to
look with hope to the future, when one can feel justified in turning
with pride to the past.
My horse came to the door at my usual hour for riding: with what
gladness I sprung upon his back, felt the free wind freshening over my
fevered cheek, and turned my rein towards the green lanes that border
the great city on its western side. I know few counsellors more
exhilarating than a spirited horse. I do not wonder that the Roman
emperor made a consul of his steed. On horseback I always best feel my
powers, and survey my resources; on horseback, I always originate my
noblest schemes, and plan their ablest execution. Give me but a light
rein, and a free bound, and I am Cicero--Cato--Caesar; dismount me, and
I become a mere clod of the earth which you condemn me to touch; fire,
energy, etheriality have departed; I am the soil without the sun--the
cask without the wine--the garments without the man.
I returned home with increased spirits and collected thoughts; I urged
my mind from my own situation, and suffered it to rest upon what Lady
Roseville had told me of Reginald Glanville’s interference in my behalf.
That extraordinary man still continued powerfully to excite my interest;
nor could I dwell, without some yearning of the kindlier affections,
upon his unsolicited, and, but for Lady Roseville’s communication,
unknown exertions in my cause. Although the officers of justice were
still actively employed in the pursuit of Tyrrell’s murderer, and
although the newspapers were still full of speculations on their
indifferent success, public curiosity had began to flag upon the
inquiry. I had, once or twice, been in Glanville’s company when the
murder was brought upon the tapis, and narrowly examined his behaviour
upon a subject which touched him so fearfully. I could not, however,
note any extraordinary confusion or change in his countenance; perhaps
the pale cheek grew somewhat paler, the dreaming eye more abstracted,
and the absent spirit more wandering than before; but many other causes
than guilt, could account for signs so doubtful and minute.
“You shall soon know all,” the last words which he had addressed to me,
yet rang in my ears, and most intensely did I anticipate the fulfilment
of this promise. My hopes too--those flatterers, so often the pleasing
antitheses of reason, whispered that this was not the pledge of a guilty
man; and yet he had said to Lady Roseville, that he did not wonder at
my estrangement from him: such words seemed to require a less favourable
construction than those he had addressed to me; and, in making
this mental remark, another, of no flattering nature to Glanville’s
disinterestedness, suggested itself; might not his interference for me
with Lord Dawton, arise rather from policy than friendship; might it not
occur to him, if, as I surmised, he was acquainted with my suspicions,
and acknowledged their dreadful justice, that it would be advisable
to propitiate my silence? Such were among the thousand thoughts which
flashed across me, and left my speculations in debate and doubt.
Nor did my reflections pass unnoticed the nature of Lady Roseville’s
affection for Glanville. From the seeming coldness and austerity of Sir
Reginald’s temperament, it was likely that this was innocent, at least
in act; and there was also something guileless in the manner in which
she appeared rather to exult in, than to conceal, her attachment. True
that she was bound to no ties; she had neither husband nor children,
for whose sake love became a crime: free and unfettered, if she gave her
heart to Glanville, it was also allowable to render the gift lawful and
perpetual by the blessing of the church.
Alas! how little can woman, shut up in her narrow and limited circle
of duties, know of the wandering life and various actions of her
lover. Little, indeed, could Lady Roseville, when, in the heat of her
enthusiasm, she spoke of the lofty and generous character of Glanville,
dream of the foul and dastardly crime of which he was more than
suspected; nor, while it was, perhaps, her fondest wish to ally herself
to his destiny, could her wildest fancies anticipate the felon’s fate,
which, if death came not in an hastier and kinder shape, must sooner or
later await him.
Of Thornton, I had neither seen nor heard aught since my departure from
Lord Chester’s; that reprieve was, however, shortly to expire. I had
scarcely got into Oxford-street, in my way homeward, when I perceived
him crossing the street with another man. I turned round to scrutinize
the features of his companion, and, in spite of a great change of dress,
a huge pair of false whiskers, and an artificial appearance of increased
age, my habit of observing countenances enabled me to recognize, on
the instant, my intellectual and virtuous friend, Mr. Job Jonson. They
disappeared in a shop, nor did I think it worth while further to observe
them, though I still bore a reminiscetory spite against Mr. Job
Jonson, which I was fully resolved to wreak, at the first favourable
opportunity.
I passed by Lady Roseville’s door. Though the hour was late, and I had,
therefore, but a slight chance of finding her at home, yet I thought
the chance worth the trouble of inquiry. To my agreeable surprise, I
was admitted: no one was in the drawing-room. The servant said, Lady
Roseville was at that moment engaged, but would very shortly see me, and
begged I would wait.
Agitated as I was by various reflections, I walked (in the restlessness
of my mood) to and fro the spacious rooms which formed Lady Roseville’s
apartments of reception. At the far end was a small boudoir, where none
but the goddess’s favoured few were admitted. As I approached towards
it, I heard voices, and the next moment recognised the deep tones of
Glanville. I turned hastily away, lest I should overhear the discourse;
but I had scarcely got three steps, when the convulsed sound of a
woman’s sob came upon my ear. Shortly afterwards, steps descended the
stairs, and the street door opened.
The minutes rolled on, and I became impatient. The servant
re-entered--Lady Roseville was so suddenly and seriously indisposed,
that she was unable to see me. I left the house, and, full of bewildered
conjectures, returned to my apartments.
The next day was one of the most important in my life. I was standing
wistfully by my fireplace, listening to a broken-winded hurdy-gurdy,
with the most mournful attention, stationed opposite to my window, when
Bedos announced Sir Reginald Glanville. It so happened, that I had that
morning taken the miniature I had found in the fatal field, from the
secret place in which I usually kept it, in order more closely to
examine it, lest any more convincing proof of its owner, than the
initials and Thornton’s interpretation, might be discovered by a minuter
investigation.
The picture was lying on the table when Glanville entered: my first
impulse was to seize and secrete it; my second to suffer it to remain,
and to watch the effect the sight of it might produce. In following
the latter, I thought it, however, as well to choose my own time for
discovering the miniature; and as I moved to the table, I threw my
handkerchief carelessly over it. Glanville came up to me at once, and
his countenance, usually close and reserved in its expression, assumed a
franker and bolder aspect.
“You have lately changed towards me,” he said:--“mindful of our former
friendship, I have come to demand the reason.”
“Can Sir Reginald Glanville’s memory,” answered I, “supply him with no
probable cause?”
“It can,” replied Glanville, “but I would not trust only to that. Sit
down, Pelham, and listen to me. I can read your thoughts, and I might
affect to despise their import--perhaps two years since I should--at
present I can pity and excuse them. I have come to you now, in the love
and confidence of our early days, to claim, as then, your good opinion
and esteem. If you require any explanation at my hands, it shall be
given. My days are approaching their end. I have made up my accounts
with others--I would do so with you. I confess, that I would fain leave
behind me in your breast, the same affectionate remembrance I might
heretofore have claimed, and which, whatever be your suspicions, I have
done nothing to forfeit. I have, moreover, a dearer interest than my own
to consult in this wish--you colour, Pelham--you know to whom I allude;
for my sister’s sake, if not for my own, you will hear me.”
Glanville paused for a moment. I raised the handkerchief from the
miniature--I pushed the latter towards him--“Do you remember this?” said
I, in a low tone.
With a wild cry, which thrilled through my heart, Glanville sprung
forward and seized it. He gazed eagerly and intensely upon it, and his
cheek flushed--his eyes sparkled--his breast heaved. The next moment he
fell back in his chair, in one of the half swoons, to which, upon any
sudden and violent emotion, the debilitating effects of his disease
subjected him.
Before I could come to his assistance he had recovered. He looked
wildly and fiercely upon me. “Speak,” he cried, “speak--where got you
this--where?--answer, for mercy’s sake!”
“Recollect yourself,” said I, sternly. “I found that token of your
presence upon the spot where Tyrrell was murdered.”
“True, true,” said Glanville, slowly, and in an absent and abstracted
tone. He ceased abruptly, and covered his face with his hands; from this
attitude he started with some sudden impulse.
“And tell me,” he said, in a low, inward, exulting tone, “was it--was it
red with the blood of the murdered man?”
“Wretch!” I exclaimed, “do you glory in your guilt?”
“Hold!” said Glanville, rising, with an altered and haughty air; “it is
not to your accusations that I am now to listen: if you are yet desirous
of weighing their justice before you decide upon them, you will have the
opportunity: I shall be at home at ten this night; come to me, and you
shall know all. At present, the sight of this picture has unnerved me.
Shall I see you?”
I made no other rejoinder than the brief expression of my assent, and
Glanville instantly left the room.
During the whole of that day, my mind was wrought up into a state of
feverish and preternatural excitation. I could not remain in the same
spot for an instant; my pulse beat with the irregularity of delirium.
For the last hour I placed my watch before me, and kept my eyes
constantly fixed upon it. Should any one think this exaggerated, let
him remember, that it was not only Glanville’s confession that I was
to hear; my own fate, my future connection with Ellen, rested upon
the story of that night. For myself, when I called to mind Glanville’s
acknowledgment of the picture, and his slow and involuntary remembrance
of the spot where it was found, I scarcely allowed my temper, sanguine
as it was, to hope.
Some minutes before the hour of ten I repaired to Glanville’s house. He
was alone--the picture was before him.
I drew my chair towards him in silence, and accidentally lifting up my
eyes, encountered the opposite mirror. I started at my own face; the
intensity and fearfulness of my interest had rendered it even more
hueless than that of my companion.
There was a pause for some moments, at the end of which Glanville thus
began.