This man
Is of no common order, as his front
And presence here denote.
BYRON.
"Oh Lord correct me, but with judgment; not in thine anger, lest thou
bring me to nothing."
Not an eye perhaps amongst that little congregation that was not lifted
up, when, in thrilling strains, like the rich deep notes of an organ,
the stranger's voice swept through the low arches of the simple temple,
in that opening sentence of the service.
Not one amongst them, the most simple and illiterate, who did not hold
their breath as he proceeded, lest they should lose one note of a voice
"Most musical, most melancholy,"
which gave such new magic to each familiar word of prayer, or praise,
or exhortation he offered up.
"Who could that be? who read the prayers, Mary?" said Selina Seaham to
her sister, when they left the church. "It is the same stranger who sat
in our pew last Sunday."
"What a beautiful voice!" was the answer.
"Most beautiful; but more than that, Mary, I never saw a more striking
looking person."
"I did not look at him," was the quiet reply; "I only _felt_ that the
prayers and lessons were read as _we_ seldom hear them."
"Poor Mr. Wynne! it was painful to listen to him afterwards. It is
really cruel that he cannot get a more regular assistant: Sir Hugh
should really manage it for him. Mary, do use your influence over the
worthy Baronet when he returns," the sister added slyly.
Mary blushed, and shook her head. She had a short time ago yielded up
all claims upon the influence she might so largely have possessed; but
ere the following Sunday came round, the wishes of the young ladies, in
this respect, had been satisfied beyond their most sanguine
expectations.
* * * * *
Eustace Trevor had not been able to escape from the church, at the close
of the service, without a renewal of the clergyman's thanks for the
services he had so obligingly rendered him. Indeed, even then he did not
seem at all inclined to part from his stranger friend; and after a
little more conversation respecting the beauties of the neighbourhood,
he offered--seeing that Eustace also had his horse in readiness--to
conduct him a little _en détour_ from the route back to ----, in order
to show him the view from his own house, most romantically situated
amidst the woods on the high ground flanking the valley. Eustace could
not well decline the offer, and they rode on together.
His companion had soon shown himself to be a man of higher birth and
education, than are usually found amongst ministers of such remote
districts of the Principality. He had been settled for many years in
this living, and was enthusiastic in his love and admiration of the
country; so much so, that it seemed not even his failing health could
induce him to relinquish his post; although, as it had been the case
this afternoon, both himself and congregation often ran the risk of
being put to great inconvenience and extremity: the asthmatic complaint
under which he laboured being of a most uncertain and capricious
character, and the English service being entirely dependant on his
powers.
All this the good man communicated to Eustace on the way. His frank and
simple confidence on every subject connected with himself and his
concerns, without the least demonstration of curiosity respecting his
companion, winning gradually on Eustace's sensations of security and
ease, he accepted the clergyman's invitation to enter his abode; the
beauty and romantic seclusion of whose situation excited his deep
admiration and envy.
The original, but amiable and intelligent conversation of its possessor,
won more and more on his favour and confidence; the other, on his part,
evidently felt himself to be in the society of a being to whom some more
than common degree of interest attached. His keen observant eye saw
imprinted upon that striking countenance more than any mere bodily
illness, from which the stranger reported himself to have but lately
recovered. The snares of death might have encompassed him round about,
and the pains of hell got hold of him; but they were those sorrows and
pains such as the Psalmist himself had gained such deep experience of,
rather than any physical affliction which had engraven those strong
signs there.
It was truly, as a great writer of the day has expressed himself, "the
mournfulest face that ever was seen--an altogether tragic,
heart-affecting face. There was in it, as foundation, the softness,
tenderness, gentle affection, as of a child; but all this, as it were,
congealed into sharp, isolated, hopeless pain; a silent pain--silent and
scornful. The lip curled, as it were, in a kind of god-like disdain of
the thing that is eating out his heart; as if he whom it had power to
torture were greater than the cause."
"The eye, too, that dark earnest eye, looking out as in a kind of
surprise, a kind of inquiry, why the world was of that sort!"
Mr. Wynne had many questions put to him concerning the remarkable
looking stranger, from the ladies of Glan Pennant, when they met the
next day. All he could tell them was, that the stranger was perfectly
unknown to him, that he had no idea even of his name; that he now
talked of leaving the neighbourhood early that week, but Mr. Wynne
added, he was to call at the inn at ----, and hoped to find that he was
able to persuade his new acquaintance to remain and explore a little
longer the beauties of the vicinity, and at the same time, he slyly
added, "give them a second benefit of his beautiful voice." The young
ladies as slyly hoped their worthy friend might have his hopes crowned
with success. And their desire was not ungratified. The following Sunday
the beautiful voice once more made itself heard.
A great deal had taken place to change the tenor of Eustace Trevor's
views and purposes during that one short week. Only too readily had he
yielded to the parting persuasions of Mr. Wynne, that he would at least
extend his stay beyond the day he had mentioned as having been fixed for
his departure. Nay, even as he turned his horse's head back towards
----, had the yearning desire diffused itself through his heart, that
instead of that hopeless, homeless, outcast fate to which he had devoted
himself, it could have been his lot to find a little spot of earth like
that in which this day he had first performed the duties of a
profession he had once thought to commence under such different
circumstances--a spot, from the spirit of beauty, innocence, purity and
peace, seeming to breathe around, as contrasted with that world--that
_home_, from which he had been driven, appeared to his imagination
scarcely less than a little heaven upon earth, a different sphere to any
in which he had yet existed.
But this was but an imaginary suggestion--a dream-like fancy which
vaguely flitted across his mind, ill accordant with his dark and bitter
destiny. The very next day his new friend called. They rode out again
together, and one or two such meetings only served to strengthen between
these two men, of such different ages, characters and circumstances,
that strange and sudden liking which is often found to spring up between
two passing strangers of to-day, as necessarily as flowers expand from
bud to blossom in the course of a few sunny and dewy hours of one vernal
morning. As much then was elicited from Eustace, as revealed pretty
clearly to the other the purposeless circumstances of his present
position--
"A bark sent forth to sail alone,
At midnight on the moonlight sea."
Why not then, like himself, be content to tarry in the little haven of
peace where Providence had guided him? Why again return to drift at
large upon that lonely ocean?
Eustace Trevor shook his head with a melancholy smile, though at the
same time his pale brow flushed at the suggestion.
"That cannot be, my good Sir," he said, "unless at least you can
guarantee for me such seclusion in this wild and lonely region of yours
as accords with the peculiar circumstances of my case. You will be
afraid of me when I say, that it is my wish to conceal my place of
destination from every person in the world, beyond these mountains, to
whom my name could possibly be known."
Mr. Wynne paused at first, with a look of surprise; but after for a
moment steadily fixing his eyes upon the noble countenance of Eustace,
he exclaimed:
"Not at all, not at all, my dear Sir. I am quite satisfied with
believing that you have the best reasons for such a course of conduct;
that misfortune, not any fault of your own, has reduced you to such an
alternative. And I can assure you, you have come to the right place for
getting rid of old friends or enemies, whichever they may be; for during
the twenty years I have been settled here, not one of those of whom I
formerly could boast has ever found his way unbidden over these
impregnable barriers; so set your mind at rest on that score. Come and
stay with me at my hermitage, till such time as you see fit; and then,
if you tire of the company of an old fellow like myself, we can find you
out another as secure."
"My dear Sir, this kindness on your part is beyond the expression of
mere common thanks. Alas! were it only possible that I could avail
myself of it; but the facts connected with my present position are of
such a peculiar nature, that unless you are made fully acquainted with
them, it is impossible that you can rightly appreciate the extent of
security I desire; and yet, though your confidence, thank God! is not
misplaced, those facts are of such a sort as make it almost impossible
for me to reveal them. At the same time, of your generous trust, which
has not yet allowed you to seek enlightenment even as to my name,
nothing would induce me to take further advantage. Either I leave this
place to-morrow, or my _incognito_, as far as concerns yourself, must
be removed."
"And why not, if that is the only alternative which presents itself,
tell your sad history to the old man; what then? In his breast it will
lie as safely buried as if you committed the secret to yonder lichened
rock. You are young, Sir; you have written in your countenance that
which bespeaks you one of a higher order of intellect and capacity than
befits this narrow sphere; but yet for a time, till this storm is blown
over, tarry here."
We need not pursue word for word, step by step, the relation, with the
issue of which my readers are fully acquainted. We have only to say,
that Eustace Trevor finally confided his whole history to Mr. Wynne,
under the strictest promise of secrecy; and that the good man listened
with the quiet, unwondering spirit which spoke his knowledge of that
world lying in wickedness, or rather, the desperate wickedness of the
human heart; and whilst clearly perceiving the morbid nature of the
feelings which had prompted the victim of such wickedness to so
extraordinary a course of proceeding, the interest of his own romantic
mind was but the more excited; and keenly he entered into every plan
which might facilitate the detention of Eustace, taking upon himself to
have, accompanied with all secrecy and silence, every arrangement made
necessary to his comfort and convenience. Even with regard to the
assumed name the latter saw it expedient to embrace, and to which he did
not see any objection, Mr. Wynne came to his aid.
He had once, many years ago, a dear friend named Edward Temple, now no
more--by such he should be known for the present, and under that
appellation he should yield him any voluntary assistance in the duties
of his profession as might accord with his taste and inclination. So
then it was arranged, and under these circumstances the so-named Edward
Temple became established at Ll----.