There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat;
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.
SHAKSPEARE.
It is not necessary to describe with much detail the effect produced by
this letter, on the mind of Eustace Trevor, or the mode of conduct he
pursued in the emergency.
We have already made the reader acquainted with the half measures he
pursued--the crooked paths he attempted, in order to extricate himself
from the threefold difficulty in which he found himself placed. His
answer in the first instance, to his brother's first startling address,
had been of that character which usually marks the tone of the
offender, when the injured one dares to rise up and interfere with his
ill-deserved security, and ill-earned joys; but though in language
fierce and vindictive, he might appear to set fear and threatening at
defiance, there was too much implied acquiescence, in the power these
threats exercised over his mind--in the testy assurance which
accompanied his reply (how far true we have seen) that his marriage was
not in any such immediate question as Eustace seemed to imagine--that
his father's state of health rendered it an affair of most uncertain
termination--till finally, a second letter from his brother, brought
him, at last, to declare in terms, the bitterness of which may be well
imagined, that he had put off his marriage _sine die_, in further proof
of which, he was to hold no further communication by person or letter
with Mary Seaham;--he then hoped that Eustace might be satisfied, and
that he would have left England.
That he might prevail on Mary to consent to a private marriage, was now
probably the object of Eugene's mind. For to relinquish, without a
struggle, any acquisition on which he had set his heart, would have
been contrary to his nature; and then there was the probability of his
father's death, securing to him so large a provision, rendering him in a
pecuniary point of view, independent of any threats his brother might
please to put into execution; for as far as Mary was concerned, he
relied too much on the power he had gained over her devoted, gentle
affections, to fear that any accusation brought against him by his
brother, would influence her against him. Eustace might then claim his
own rights, and he would not dispute them. Nay, Mary once his own, he
reckoned too much on that brother's, (in his heart, acknowledged
generosity of spirit,) to fear that he would persevere in carrying out
his threatened, and in that case, unavailing exposure. It was in this
light, probably, that he viewed the case, when Eugene first came to
London. Eustace, too, we find, had not left town. Either he had been led
to doubt the truth of his brother's protestations, or was unable to
resist the temptation of lingering where Mary was, when he could again,
and for the last time, perhaps, hope to catch a passing glance of her
sweet face,--pale, sad, and changed, since he had last seen it--but
better thus to his mind, than bright and glowing with that dangerous
infatuation by which she was to be allured to certain misery.
We will not deny that Eustace Trevor's feelings and course of conduct on
the occasion, may seem carried to a morbid, some may almost deem, an
unwarrantable excess. But then it must be remembered, that all his
lifetime through,
"From mighty wrong to petty perfidy;"
he had suffered enough to bring any man of his sensitively high-pitched
tone of mind to this extremity.
There was one point especially, which had become the ruling power of his
mind--that phantom which by night or day--haunted his imagination. The
remembrance of his mother: her wrongs and misery.
"A potent spell, a mighty talisman,
The imperishable memory of the dead,
Sustained by love, and grief, and indignation,
So vivid were the forms within his brain,
His very eyes, when shut, made pictures of them."
Could he then image forth another? She who had filled up that yearning
vacuum in his bleeding heart, the death of his mother had occasioned;
imagine her, such was the horrid fancy which had taken possession of his
mind--picture Mary entering that same house--assuming that same
position--the victim of the same evil influences to which she had been
exposed. The thought would have been one almost to turn his brain, had
he deemed it not to be averted. As it was, the suffering that its very
idea had caused, was sufficient to produce that change in his
appearance, on which Arthur Seaham had commented, when to gain more
certain information concerning his sister, Eustace Trevor had visited
him at the Temple; a change, which no former griefs and trials, dark and
dreadful though they had been, had in so striking a manner been able to
inflict. For man is Godlike in his strength--his spirit may sustain him
under burdens it were otherwise difficult to bear--but touch only a
chord--break only a tie which binds him to a woman's delicate love,
"And his strong spirit bendeth like a reed."
On Eustace's return from the visit to the Temple, he had proof positive
of his brother not having kept his pledge, in one most important
respect; for he saw the lovers together, and the painful interview
between the brothers was the consequence--the issue of which we need not
recapitulate.
Another day, and Eustace Trevor had turned his back upon the English
shore, to track the footsteps of his friend Mr. Wynne in his travels on
the continent, still retaining the assumed name of Temple; and Eugene in
as short a space of time, was again breathing freely his accustomed
atmosphere--a London world.
We do not mean to say that his love for Mary Seaham was so soon
forgotten--that love which for the last few months had exercised a purer
and more softening influence upon his spirits, than any other feeling,
perhaps, had ever before effected.
It was still like some soft, sweet, dream of night, which often haunts
and mingles in the thoughts and actions of the day; and his marriage
with the gentle Mary, the settled purpose and intention of his heart.
But the smooth course of that love had received a check--met with a
disturbing force--his love had not quality or strength to overstep.
This to a worldling is a dangerous test; for love to him is but "a thing
apart." There are so many other resources wherefrom to drain, when that
one silvery stream of life is checked or troubled.
Why then not plunge into these broad abounding waters, which will bear
him on, no matter how turbid be their depth beneath the glittering
surface--no matter where, but on only--on too smooth, open, too
unrestrained a course. As to the stability of his feelings with regard
to Mary, Eugene felt little doubt his affections had been called forth
to an unprecedented degree. For the first time in his life, he felt what
it was to have his desires fixed on an object, in every way worthy of
esteem.
"Pure, lovely, and of good report,"
and a new and wonderful fascination had been the effect produced upon
his mind. Whilst under its immediate influence, he had seemed to exist
in another sphere, to breathe another atmosphere, to have become a new
creature; and he had contemplated his marriage with a calm, tranquil
delight, as the completion of a still more certain renovation and
transformation of his existence.
Its untoward interruption, therefore, had provoked and disappointed him
beyond measure--beyond even the fear and inconvenience of those serious
consequences into which the circumstances of the case had otherwise
threatened him. Irritated and embarrassed by the trouble and perplexity
in which the affair involved him, we will not say, however, but that in
the end this one year's certain postponement of his marriage, as decided
in his interview with Arthur Seaham, had not in a great degree relieved
his mind in the emergency. In one year, as he had said, much might
happen to change the aspect of affairs. At any rate breathing time was
afforded, in which he might, without danger to himself, indulge in the
consciousness of knowing that a tender heart was all his own. For the
sequel time would provide.
In the meantime what had he to do, but to pursue his former career, and
hush the voice of conscience in the excitement of the crowd.
"To follow all that peace disdains to seek,
Where revel calls, and laughter vainly loud,
False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek,
And leave the flagging spirits still more weak."
That the mind of man need indeed be more than human to withstand such
counter-influences has been well tested.
"Amidst such scenes, love's flower too soon is blighted."
* * * * *
What different courses marked the existence of Mary Seaham and Eugene
Trevor, during the lengthened interval which is to follow, may easily be
imagined--different as the streamlet's course through the quiet valley,
to the river's, rolling its darkened waters through the streets
tumultuous of defiling cities!
Let us then, now that our less pleasing task is accomplished, restrain
our footsteps as much as possible to the streamlet's course; that is to
say, in the ensuing pages, let us follow more closely Mary Seaham's
career than that of her lover's.
"Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence,
But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley:
Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water
Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals only;
Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it,
Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur,
Happy at length if he find the spot when it reaches an outlet."
END OF VOL. II.
LONDON:
Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
[Transcriber's Note: Hyphen and spelling variations within each volume
and between volumes left as printed.]