“You have deserted me; where am I now?
Not in your heart, while care weighs on your brow;
No, no! you have dismissed me, and I go
From your breast houseless; ay, ay, it must be so,”
He answered.
--John Keats.
Mr. Grahame, though greatly agitated at the sudden appearance and
abrupt disappearance of Nathan Gomer, at a moment of such dread
importance, did not make any comment upon it to Mr. Chewkle. He felt
unequal to such a task, and perhaps, too, he thought that it would be
better not to suppose that the strange little moneyed man had either
observed or suspected any foul play in the act he must have seen in
commission. So he folded his arms, and remained silent, assuming the
aspect of profound meditation.
Mr. Chewkle, finding the coast clear of the small enemy, would have
given free vent to the feelings which were turbulent and in turmoil
within him, but Mr. Grahame repressed the very first outbreak.
“Pray be silent on the matter,” he observed, hastily, as if aroused
suddenly from a fit of abstraction, “our speculations upon the situation
are worth nothing, and may lead us astray if suffered to have the rein.
Keep what you know safely locked within your own breast. Trust the key
in my keeping alone. Your reward shall not certainly be less than your
expectations. Mr. Gomer doubtless saw me affixing a signature to a deed,
and would presume it to be my own; he could not imagine the truth; and
therefore, though startled at the moment, I do not, upon reflection,
see any occasion for alarm. Let me see you again in a few days, my good
friend, and in the meantime endeavour to suggest a mode of bringing that
wretchedly obstinate old man, Wilton, to reason.”
Mr. Grahame rang a hand-bell sharply, and Whelks instantly was in the
room. Mr. Chewkle “had a thing to say,” which had strong reference to
an immediate pecuniary supply; but Mr. Grahame did not afford him the
opportunity, for he addressed Whelks as he entered, and bade him escort
Mr. Chewkle to the door. He tendered a finger to the commission agent as
a parting salute, honoured him with a stiff bow, and retired promptly to
the further end of the library.
“This way if you please!” exclaimed Whelks to Chewkle, as with head
erect and shoulders back, he, with the stateliness of a Tartar soldier
in an Astley’s drama, marched out of the room.
Mr. Chewkle glanced at Mr. Grahame and at Whelks; he had a pressing
occasion for a few pounds; but though he had quite made up his mind to
ask for and have a sum, and indeed in a private self-communion on his
way thither that morning, he had composed the conversation which was to
take place between himself and Mr. Grahame, and which was to terminate
in a princely act of munificence towards him on the part of the latter
personage, he found himself sneaking out, treading tip-toe on the shadow
of Whelks, without having uttered a word or having obtained a penny.
The princely act of munificence did not come off upon this occasion, but
he promised himself that before long it should; and, ere he was out of
the house, he had flung his friendship for Grahame to the winds, and had
carved for himself an antagonistic attitude, in which he played the part
of one who, having in his possession a dreadful secret, by which the
safety of another is compromised, makes money by it frequently.
As the door closed upon him, Mr. Grahame turned a fitful gaze in that
direction, and quickly, but silently, turned the key in the lock.
Then he paced up and down the library, almost convulsed by a fierce,
mental struggle. He pressed his burning palm upon his aching forehead,
and muttered rapidly and wildly--
“It must be done now; there is no escape--no escape--none--retreat
is utterly impossible, and the advance must be swift, or, in spite of
crime, utter crushing ruin must be the result. No; there is no stopping
now. That forgery is useless, worthless, while he lives to prove it what
it is. But how dispose of him without having any apparent connection
with his death? Let me see! I must have no accomplice. I already have
one too many; he will be a thorn in my side, I can see that; but there
is time enough to think of the plan by which I shall get rid of him. But
this Wilton; he must die, and that immediately. Yes, he must die! he
must die! or I perish! but how to kill him--how? how?”
He threw himself in his chair, and racked his brain for a device by
which to accomplish his devilish purpose without compromising himself.
But as he did so, the magnitude of the crime he proposed to effect was
not lost upon him. He felt that his face was livid, his hands cold and
clammy, while drops of icy sweat trickled from his temples on to his
cheek bones. His teeth, too, chattered, and his limbs trembled, as
though he had been suddenly nipped by a frost.
Some hours elapsed before his torturing reverie terminated--even then he
had only an indistinct notion of the course which he calculated upon, as
the best to be adopted. The vulgar modes of knife or poison, he foresaw
could not be employed by him, because he would have to be connected,
however remotely, with the deed; and how to accomplish his design
without the aid of one or the other, was a problem harder for him
to work out than the most difficult in the “first four books” to an
indifferent mathematician.
He certainly hit upon a scheme, but he was not sure that it would
accomplish the object in view. There was not, however, time to project
a plan, requiring consummate skill in its details, and rare ability to
execute. Need was driving, and the ground was such as the devil must
cover without the option of a choice; and he made up his mind to act
at once, for he required immediately the funds which the successful
execution of his infamous purpose would place at his disposal.
As if to sustain him in the resolution he had formed, he was aroused
by the arrival of Whelks at the library door, who, when it was opened,
informed him that his son had just returned home, accompanied by the
Duke of St. Allborne, and the Honorable Lester Vane, and that they
awaited him in the drawing-room.
Dismissing Whelks with a message to the effect that he would immediately
join them, he hastened to his dressing-room, to obliterate all traces
of the mental struggle he had for so many hours endured, and, making a
slight alteration in his attire, he descended,
With solemn step and slow,
to welcome his son’s guests upon their arrival from college.
He found, on entering the gorgeously furnished apartment, his wife
and daughters entertaining the new arrivals after the manner of the
House--always excepting Evangeline, who sat back in a window recess, as
if she had no business there.
A few words of stately congratulation and welcome from Mr. Grahame,
and the whole party returned to the position which it occupied when he
entered.
The keen eye of Mr. Grahame ran over the forms of the two young men who
were thus introduced into his family for the first time, and naturally
the young Duke was the first to attract his attention.
He was tall--over six feet, and stout with his height. He was fair,
with round blue eyes, a small mouth, and no whiskers upon his cheeks or
moustache upon his upper lip, or the sign of a hair in the vicinity.
His hands and feet were small, but there was a bulky, plethoric
character about his frame, and his legs had an ungraceful leaning to
knock-kneeism.
The tone of his voice was rich and not unmusical; but, like many members
of the aristocracy, his tongue refused to have anything to do with the
letter _r_, and, as a not unusual consequence, he used words containing
that letter more frequently than did persons who could sound it like the
roll of a drumstick upon a kettle-drum.
He was dressed elegantly. The jewellery he wore, though spare in
quantity, was superb in material, and super-eminently costly.
The Honorable Lester Vane was of an entirely different stamp; and could,
perhaps, have better sustained the character of a duke than his friend.
Standing about five feet ten, he was remarkably well-formed and erect,
and seemed to be at least six feet high. He was dark; and, though not
a military man, wore a handsomely-shaped and trimmed moustache: his
features were regular and well-shaped: his eyes were a very dark blue,
and shaded by long black eyelashes: his hair and whiskers being of the
same hue as the latter. His hands were white and small, and his feet
were equally neat in their proportions. He was dressed with consummate
taste and care, and of all men was calculated to attract the notice of
women.
Malcolm Grahame, short in stature, was a rather ugly likeness of his
sister Margaret, possessing all her pride, but not enough of her
studied coldness to prevent it becoming vulgar arrogance. He was rather
overdressed, too; and, altogether, presented a remarkable contrast to
his college companions. It was soon perceptible that he toadied them,
and that they both held him at no very flattering height in their
estimation.
Why, then, did they accompany him home? An answer to that question might
have been found in the glances bestowed by both the young men on the
beautiful Helen Grahame, who, conscious of her own charms, received the
homage of their eyes as simply her due. They were both, very shortly
after their introduction, aware that she interpreted their looks of
admiration, rather steadfastly bestowed--that they did not surprise
nor did they abash her--nay, when, to show her power, she flashed those
brilliant orbs upon them by turns, with a clear, steadfast gaze, they
were fain to let their eyelids fall, to screen their unsteady eyes from
the direct, unfaltering look she bent upon them.
Both regarded her in the light of a prize worth having, though each
looked on the achievement from a different point of view. One seriously
hoped to win it without the formulary of the wedding ring--the other
with that aid, but with the addition also of a golden store.
Helen Grahame was unquestionably beautiful. The heightened colour of her
cheek, the sparkling dancing of her brilliant eye, as she observed the
impression her personal attractions had made upon the two young highborn
men, greatly enhanced that beauty, which excited admiration even when
in repose. It kept them at her side, and engrossed the largest share of
their attention.
With a woman’s quickness of perception, Helen saw that she should soon
have both these men suitors for her favour, sighing at her feet for her
love. The gracefully fashioned form of Lester Vane pleased her eye and
taste--the ducal coronet of his bulky friend roused her ambition and
dazzled her; and she foresaw that she should be perplexed, when, as she
instinctively knew would be the case, both wooed her, which to prefer.
It was something to have a handsome “Honorable” for a husband--but to be
a duchess!--ah!
Why at the moment did she sigh so sharply?--why did a spasm run through
her frame, and make her clutch convulsively at a chair for support? Was
it that this momentary pang reminded her that in neither decision
would her heart be enlisted, or that there was another and more grave
consideration which rendered such a speculation a forbidden subject?
After the common-places which usually attend an introduction, Mr.
Grahame suggested that the guests should be shown to their respective
rooms, where they might remove the traces of their journey, and prepare
their toilet for dinner, to be served at half-past eight--a suggestion
which was somewhat readily accepted, and appeared to be grateful to all
parties.
The Duke and the Honorable Lester Vane had heard Malcolm Grahame boast
of his beautiful sister Helen and his proud sister Meg. They had availed
themselves of his apparently unlimited command of money, and they
considered that his family were enormously wealthy, but vulgar and
common-place. When Malcolm invited them home to spend a week with him,
at his “place” in London, they both, having “places” of their own in the
great city, looked upon the invitation as a good joke, and accepted it
in the same spirit. They each resolved to add to the favours they had
bestowed upon him, by permitting him always to pay, by borrowing his
money in return for their company, and by running off with the pretty
sister, of whom he spoke so enthusiastically. They had even entered into
a bet with each other as to which would prove successful.
They were, however, not a little surprised to find the Grahames living
in a style of elegant luxury, and the members of it displaying a pride
of bearing not even surpassed by the ineffably proud Somerset himself,
whose wife--a Percy--never attempted the liberty of kissing him. They
were equally posed to find the pretty sister a brilliant beauty, who
could only be approached with deference and humility; who was not to be
gained with a glance of passion, or won by the pretended asseverations
of a love having no existence.
Lester Vane saw his course at once. His income was narrow, and during
his father’s life would not be increased by inheritances or bequests
from any branch of his family, near or remote. To gain a beautiful wife,
with an enormous dowry, was precisely the means by which he purposed
elevating himself to wealth, and within a few minutes after his
introduction to Helen, he abandoned his criminal project, and took up
the matrimonial one. He formed the determination, too, of thwarting,
promptly and effectually, the Duke’s designs, without appearing to do
so, until he was sure of the lady, because he knew not when and how he
might require his interest and service.
The young Duke was quite thrown out, too, by what was presented to his
astonished eyes. Malcolm Grahame, after all, was not the _parvenu_ he
had fancied him to be, and his sister, instead of being merely a pretty,
silly girl, was one to grace a throne. His was not a nature easily to
abandon a resolution once formed, and he thought of Helen as a mistress
with a gratified emotion not to be described. A passion for her was at
once raised in his heart. He, too, remembering his bet with Lester Vane,
made his resolutions in respect to the intentions of his friend, but
as his own in that particular remained unchanged, he decided upon
preserving silence respecting it for the present.
Both the young men were therefore glad to escape to their rooms, to
recover their surprise on finding themselves in an atmosphere they had
not expected, and in contact with persons differing materially from the
conceptions they had formed of them. They were anxious to reflect upon
their line of conduct during their stay, and having well considered the
path to choose, to follow it out.
The two girls and their mother were glad of an opportunity of comparing
notes and devising plans, to be carried out so long as their guests
remained.
Mr. Grahame seemed to be in a dream, glad to be away from everybody, yet
hating to be alone.
A brilliant dinner was served at the appointed hour. As there was no
point of resemblance in the characters of those present, save in those
of Margaret Grahame and her mother, the conversation was certainly not
monotonous. It afforded, however, an opportunity for those interested in
such a task to observe and mentally comment upon their companions, and
to draw conclusions to be treasured up for future use.
The Duke of St. Allborne was placed on the right hand of Mr. Grahame,
the Honorable Lester Vane on the right of Mrs. Grahame, the Duke enjoyed
the pleasure of having the fair Helen as his right hand neighbour, and
Lester Vane was honoured with the company of Margaret, for which he was
not disposed to be especially grateful.
Evangeline faced her brother Malcolm, and thus arranged they proceeded
to discuss the various courses, to partake of the choicest wines, to
converse, and to gaze upon each other.
The last item was by no means the least important. The Duke did his best
to engross the conversation of Helen, and to keep his round light blue
eyes settled upon her, which she affected only to observe now and then
by accident. Then a scarcely perceptible smile turned the corners of her
mouth.
The deep blue eyes of Lester Vane rarely left her face, even when he
was addressed by others. As often as she turned hers in his direction,
which, with a motive, she did occasionally, she perceived his earnest,
dreamy gaze fixed upon her. Twice or thrice it made her shudder, she
knew not why. It was fixed, expressive, teeming with passion, but, if it
possessed fascination, it was that of the serpent. Insensibly, every now
and then her eyes wandered towards his, and settled for a moment upon
them, each was conscious of the effect they were creating, and when
Helen averted hers, a strange dread thrilled through her frame.
Now, although the beautiful face of this girl absorbed so much of
Vane’s gaze, he was not ignorant of the fact that there was another face
possessing great claims to loveliness at the table.
At first the timid reserve of Evangeline had caused him to pass her over
unnoticed, but now that she sat almost opposite to him, he could not
fail to notice her.
She was attired in a dinner dress of pale blue and silver, and, being
very fair, looked charming. Her gentleness and quietness prevented her
attracting much attention. To the Duke she was mixed up with the lights,
the plate, and Malcolm Grahame, but the eye of Vane marked her down.
“I must fall in with her when she is alone,” he thought; “early in the
morning or in byeways. She can be made, I am sure, to believe and to
keep a secret, at any self-sacrifice.”
Once more his eye fell upon Helen, who was turning her dark, bright eyes
upon the Duke, and electrifying him with her beauty, while she confused
him by the smartness of her sallies.
“I will have her,” mused Lester Vane. “It may be a task surrounded with
almost insuperable difficulties, but I will have her.”
Margaret Claverhouse Grahame divided her attentions between her plate
and the young Duke. She had estimated Lester Vane at pretty much his
value, and therefore did not trouble her head any more about him. She
fastened her gray eyes upon the Duke as often as her dinner would admit,
and she came to the same conclusion respecting him that Lester Vane had
with her sister Helen.
“He must be mine. He is fat and awkward,” she thought, “but he is a
duke, and I am born to bear the rank of a duchess.”
On the period appointed by etiquette for the ladies to retire arriving,
the young ladies, led by Mrs. Grahame, quitted the apartment, to leave
the gentlemen to their wine. They were now on much more familiar terms
with each other, and, as the ladies retired, the Duke rising with the
gentlemen, said to Helen--
“Weally, Miss Gwahame, I gwow evwy day moah and moah convinced that the
wegulation which dwove the ladies fwom our society, though only faw a
time, was absolutely bawbawous; and the pwesent fashion which pwescwibes
a limit to the sepawation, an intwo-duction of the most admiwable kind.
Believe me, I shall, with all wespect to my hospitable host, count the
minutes until we join you in the dwawing woom.”
“And I!” exclaimed Lester Vane, in a tone of voice which compelled Helen
to turn towards him; their eyes met--again she felt a strange, thrilling
dread pass over her frame; she turned her eyes away.
“I am grateful!” she responded with a bow, and hastily quitted the room
with her mother and sisters.
She did not enter the drawing-room, but ran into her own dressing-room,
and, throwing herself in a chair, buried her face in a handkerchief.
She gave way to a passionate burst of tears; presently she drew from her
bosom a small note, broke the seal, and perused its contents many times,
and then she crushed it in her hand.
“How inopportune!” she exclaimed, in a vexed tone; “any night but this;
still the terms are so peremptory; what is to be done?” She looked at
her watch. “It is the hour,” she said; “what if I let it pass by, and go
not? we part then to meet no more--no, no, that must not be--oh, fickle
heart, to what fate will you drive me!”
At this moment her maid entered the room, and she hastily secreted the
note. She mused for a second, and then she said--
“Chayter, give me a shawl; I will walk in the garden; my head aches.”
“It is very dark, miss,” returned the girl, “and the air is getting
cold. It will be dangerous to your health to walk there now.”
“Give me a shawl, Chayter,” cried Helen, impatiently. “It is my pleasure
to walk there--my brain burns.”
The girl knew it was useless to remonstrate further, and handed her a
thick shawl, which she threw hastily over her head, and left the room.
In a moment she returned, and said--
“Chayter, that dress I bade you alter this morning, you may keep.”
“Oh thank you, miss,” exclaimed the girl, joyfully, for it was a rich
one.
“And, Chayter, remain here until you see me. Remember that if I am sent
for, to say that I am lying upon my couch for a few minutes, and do not
wish to be disturbed.”
“Yes, miss.”
“Do not mention a word to any one that I have gone to the garden.”
“Not to a soul, miss.”
“There’s a good girl; I will reward you on my return.”
As she concluded, she hastened down the private staircase.
“She’s got a sweetheart, I’ll swear!” murmured Chayter reflectively.
“I’ll find that out, see if I don’t that will be many a dress in my
way.”
Helen hurried on tiptoe until she reached one of the parlours which
had a window opening on to the lawn. She passed out thence, closing the
window silently after her.
She kept upon the lawn, in the shadow of the house, for a short
distance, and then pursuing a winding path, did not pause until she
reached a small thicket of trees planted on the banks of a tongue of
land curving the ornamental waters.
Here she stood still for a moment, and then she coughed thrice. A voice
whispered, “Helen!” and she clapped her hand. The next instant there
issued from the thicket a young man, who immediately placed himself at
her side.
“I feared you would not come, dearest!” he said, in a low tone.
“Oh, Hugh!” she answered; “it was indeed a task difficult to execute,
but you so earnestly wished me to meet you that I am here.”
“It is shameful of me to doubt you, Helen, after the proofs of affection
which you have bestowed upon me, yet I know the full value of my prize,
and I so fear to lose it.”
“And you still love me, Hugh?” she asked, thoughtfully.
“Love you!--oh, Helen! why do you ask that terrible question? Have I
changed in look, in word, in thought, in act?” he exclaimed, earnestly.
“No!” she said, “oh, no! yet do you not think a time may come when your
love for me will be diverted to another?”
“Helen!”
“Can you not, Hugh, imagine a time when one fairer, less exacting,
more gentle, than myself, may win from me that love you say I now alone
possess?”
“Helen, this language affrights me--I do not understand it!” he
exclaimed, in a tone of surprise; and then added, passionately, “surely
it is not for you to hazard such a terrible supposition! I love you,
Helen--I have sworn it! I shall never change, never swerve from that
adoration, that idolatry, with which I worship you. Oh! we are about to
part for a time, Helen, and is this a moment to raise such doubts?”
She remained silent.
He pressed his clenched hand upon his heart, and said, with deep
emotion--
“Helen, I repeat, we are about to part: you cannot have met me to tell
me that the love you have declared for me, the love which you have
proved, and which I have, oh! so fondly, so dearly cherished, has faded
suddenly away at a moment, and you wish that the separation commencing
now should last for ever? You dare not do it!”
“Oh! no, no, Hugh, no!” she cried earnestly.
“Helen!” he ejaculated, in low but deep tones, as though his very
existence depended upon her answer, “you have, as I believe, proved to
me that you loved me; you love me still, do you not?”
“Oh! yes, yes, Hugh,” she returned, with fervour, “I do, indeed, Hugh,
love you with my whole soul.”
She sank upon his breast, and he pressed his lips to hers, passionately.
At this instant there was the sound of a footstep upon the gravel path.
She sprang from his embrace.
“For Heaven’s sake, be silent!” she whispered.
She turned her eyes in the direction of the advancing footsteps, and
saw, approaching the spot where she stood with her companion, the
Honorable Lester Vane.