I found Strachan in his room with his face buried in the bed-clothes. He
was kicking his legs as though he suffered under a violent fit of the
toothache.
"I say, Tom, what's the matter? Look up, man! Do you know I've got that
scoundrel off?"
No answer.
"Tom, I say! Tom, you dunderhead--what do you mean by making an ass of
yourself this way? Get up, for shame, and answer me!"
Poor Strachan raised his head from the coverlet. His eyes were
absolutely pink, and his cheeks of the tint of a lemon.
"O Fred, Fred!" said he with a series of interjectional gasps. "I am the
most unfortunate wretch in the universe. All the hopes I had formerly
cherished are blighted at once in the bud! She is gone, my friend--gone
away from me, and, alas! I fear for ever!
"The deuce she has! and how?"
"Oh what madness tempted me to lead her to the court?--what infatuation
it was to expose those angelic features to the risk of recognition! Who
that ever saw those dove-like eyes could forget them?"
"I have no objection to the eyes--they were really very passable. But
who twigged her?"
"An emissary of her father's--that odious miscreant who was giving
evidence at the trial."
"The policeman? Whew! Tom!--I don't like that."
"He was formerly the land-steward of the Viscount;--a callous, cruel
wretch, who was more than suspected of having made away with his wife."
"And did he recognise her?"
"Dorothea says that she felt fascinated by the glitter of his cold gray
eye. A shuddering sensation passed through her frame, just as the poor
warbler of the woods quivers at the approach of the rattle-snake. A dark
mist gathered before her sight, and she saw no more until she awoke to
consciousness within my arms."
"Very pretty work, truly! And what then?"
"In great agitation, she told me that she durst tarry no longer here.
She was certain that the officer would make it his business to track
her, and communicate her hiding-place to her family; and she shook with
horror when she thought of the odious Israelitish bridegroom. 'The
caverns of the deep green sea--the high Tarpeian rock--the Lencadian
cliff of Sappho,'--she said, 'all would be preferable to that! And yet,
O Thomas, to think that we should have met so suddenly, and that to part
for ever!' 'Pon my soul, Fred, I am the most miserable of created
beings."
"Why, what on earth has become of her?"
"Gone--and I don't know whither. She would not even apprise the Bailie
of her departure, lest she might leave some clue for discovery. She
desired me to see him, to thank him, and to pay him for her,--all of
which I promised to do. With one kiss--one deep, burning, agonised kiss,
which I shall carry with me to my grave--- she tore herself away, sprang
into the postchaise, and in another moment was lost to me for ever!"
"And my ten pounds?" said I, in a tone of considerable emotion.
"Would you have had me think twice," asked Strachan indignantly, "before
I tendered my assistance to a forlorn angel in distress, even though she
possessed no deeper claims on my sympathy? I thought, Frederick, you had
more chivalry in your nature. You need not be uneasy about that
trifle;--I shall be in funds some time about Christmas."
"Humph! I thought it was a P.P. transaction, but no matter. And is this
all the clue you have got to the future residence of the lady?"
"No,--she is to write me from the nearest post-town. You will see, Fred,
when the letter arrives, how well worthy she is of my adoration."
I have found, by long experience, that it is no use remonstrating with a
man who is head-over-ears in love. The tender passion affects us
differently, according to our constitutions. One set of fellows, who are
generally the pleasantest, seldom get beyond the length of flirtation.
They are always at it, but constantly changing, and therefore manage to
get through a tolerable catalogue of attachments before they are finally
brought to book. Such men are quite able to take care of themselves, and
require but little admonition. You no doubt hear them now and then
abused for trifling with the affections of young women--as if the latter
had themselves the slightest remorse in playing precisely the same
game!--but in most cases such censure is undeserved, for they are quite
as much in earnest as their neighbours, so long as the impulse lasts.
The true explanation is, that they have survived their first passion,
and that their faith is somewhat shaken in the boyish creed of the
absolute perfectibility of woman. The great disappointment of life does
not make them misanthropes--but it forces them to caution, and to a
closer appreciation of character than is usually undertaken in the first
instance. They have become, perhaps, more selfish--certainly more
suspicious, and though often on the verge of a proposal, they never
commit themselves without an extreme degree of deliberation.
Another set seem designed by nature to be the absolute victims of woman.
Whenever they fall in love, they do it with an earnestness and an
obstinacy which is actually appalling. The adored object of their
affections can twine them round her finger, quarrel with them, cheat
them, caricature them, or flirt with others, without the least risk of
severing the triple cord of attachment. They become as tame as
poodle-dogs, will submit patiently to any manner of cruelty or caprice,
and in fact seem rather to be grateful for such treatment than
otherwise. Clever women usually contrive to secure a captive of this
kind. He is useful to them in a hundred ways, never interferes with
their schemes, and, if the worst comes to the worst, they can always
fall back upon him as a _pis-aller_.
My friend Tom Strachan belonged decidedly to this latter section. Mary
Rivers, a remarkably clever and very showy girl, but as arrant a flirt
as ever wore rosebud in her bosom, had engrossed the whole of his heart
before he reached the reflecting age of twenty, and kept him for nearly
five years in a state of uncomplaining bondage. Not that I believe she
ever cared about him. Tom was as poor as a church-mouse, and had nothing
on earth to look to except the fruits of his professional industry,
which, judging from all appearances, would be a long time indeed in
ripening. Mary was not the sort of person to put up with love in a
cottage, even had Tom's circumstances been adequate to defray the rent
of a tenement of that description: she had a vivid appreciation not only
of the substantials, but of the higher luxuries of existence. But her
vanity was flattered at having in her train at least one devoted
dangler, whom she could play off, whenever opportunity required, against
some more valuable admirer. Besides, Strachan was a man of family, tall,
good-looking, and unquestionably clever in his way: he also danced the
polka well, and was useful in the ball-room or the pic-nic. So Mary
Rivers kept him on in a kind of blissful dream, just sunning him
sufficiently with her smiles to make him believe that he was beloved,
but never allowing matters to go so far as to lead to the report that
they were engaged. Tom asked for nothing more. He was quite contented to
indulge for years in a dream of future bliss, and wrote during the
interval a great many more sonnets than summonses. Unfortunately sonnets
don't pay well, so that his worldly affairs did not progress at any
remarkable ratio. And he only awoke to a sense of his real situation,
when Miss Rivers, having picked a quarrel with him one day in the
Zoological Gardens, announced on the next to her friends that she had
accepted the hand of a bilious East India merchant.
Tom made an awful row about it--grew as attenuated and brown as an
eel--and garnished his conversation with several significant hints about
suicide. He was, however, saved from that ghastly alternative by being
drafted into a Rowing Club, who plied their gondolas daily on the Union
Canal. Hard exercise, beer, and pulling had their usual sanatory effect,
and Tom gradually recovered his health, if not his spirits.
It was at this very crisis that he fell in with this mysterious Miss
Percy. There was an immense hole in his affections which required to be
filled up; and, as nature abhors a vacuum, he plugged it with the image
of Dorothea. The flight, therefore, of the fair levanter, after so brief
an intercourse, was quite enough to upset him. He was in the situation
of a man who is informed over-night that he has succeeded to a large
fortune, and who gets a letter next morning explaining that it is a mere
mistake. I was therefore not at all astonished either at his paroxysms
or his credulity.
We had rather a dreary dinner that day. The judges always entertain the
first day of circuit, and it is considered matter of etiquette that the
counsel should attend. Sometimes these forensic feeds are pleasant
enough; but on the present occasion there was a visible damp thrown over
the spirits of the party. His lordship was evidently savage at the
unforeseen escape of M'Wilkin, and looked upon me, as I thought, with
somewhat of a prejudiced eye. Bailie Beeric and the other magistrates
seemed uneasy at their unusual proximity to a personage who had the
power of death and transportation, and therefore abstained from emitting
the accustomed torrent of civic facetiousness. One of the sheriffs
wanted to be off on a cruise, and another was unwell with the gout. The
Depute Advocate was fagged; Whaup surly as a bear with a sore ear, on
account of the tenuity of his fees; and Strachan, of course, in an
extremely unconversational mood. So I had nothing for it but to eat and
drink as plentifully as I could, and very thankful I was that the claret
was tolerably sound.
We rose from table early. As I did not like to leave Tom to himself in
his present state of mind, we adjourned to his room for the purpose of
enjoying a cigar; and there, sure enough, upon the table lay the
expected missive. Strachan dashed at it like a pike pouncing upon a
parr; I lay down upon the sofa, lit my weed, and amused myself by
watching his physiognomy.
"Dear suffering angel!" said Tom at last, with a sort of whimper,
"Destiny has done its worst! We have parted, and the first fond dream of
our love has vanished before the cold and dreary dawn of reality! O my
friend--we were like the two birds in the Oriental fable, each doomed to
traverse the world before we could encounter our mate--we met, and
almost in the same hour the thunderbolt burst above us!"
"Yes--two very nice birds," said I. "But what does she say in the
letter?"
"You may read it," replied Tom, and he handed me the epistle. It was
rather a superior specimen of penmanship, and I don't choose to
criticise the style. Its tenor was as follows:--
"I am hardly yet, my dear friend, capable of estimating the true
extent of my emotions. Like the buoyant seaweed torn from its native
bed among the submarine forest of the corals, I have been tossed
from wave to wave, hurried onwards by a stream more resistless than
that which sweeps through the Gulf of Labrador, and far--far away as
yet is the wished-for haven of my rest. Hitherto my life has been a
tissue of calamity and wo. Over my head since childhood, has
stretched a dull and dreary canopy of clouds, shutting me out for
ever from a glimpse of the blessed sun. Once, and but once only have
I seen a chasm in that envious veil--only once and for a few, a
_very_ few moments, have I gazed upon the blue empyrean, and felt my
heart expand and thrill to the glories of its liquid lustre. That
once--oh, Mr Strachan, can I ever forget it?--that once comprises
the era of the few hours which were the silent witnesses of our
meeting!
"Am I weak in writing to you thus? Perhaps I am; but then, Thomas, I
have never been taught to dissemble. Did I, however, think it
probable that we should ever meet again--that I should hear from
your lips a repetition of that language which now is chronicled in
my soul--it may be that I would not have dared to risk an avowal so
candid and so dear! As it is, it matters not. You have been my
benefactor, my kind consoler--my friend. You have told me that you
love; and in the fullness and native simplicity of my heart, I
believe you. And if it be any satisfaction to you to know that your
sentiments have been at least appreciated, believe that of all the
pangs which the poor Dorothea has suffered, this last agony of
parting has been incomparably the most severe.
"You asked me if there was no hope. Oh, my Thomas! what would I not
give could I venture to answer, yes? But it cannot be! You are young
and happy, and will yet be fortunate and beloved: why, then, should
I permit so fair an existence to be blighted by the upas-tree of
destiny under which I am doomed to languish? You shall not say that
I am selfish--you shall not hereafter reproach me for having
permitted you to share a burden too great for both of us to carry.
You must learn the one great lesson of existence, to submit and to
forget!
"I am going far away, to the margin of that inhospitable shore which
receives upon its rocks the billows of the unbroken Atlantic,--or
haply, amongst the remoter isles, I shall listen to the seamew's
cry. Do not weep for me. Amidst the myriad of bright and glowing
things which flutter over the surface of this green creation, let
one feeble, choking, over-burdened heart be forgotten! Follow me
not--seek me not--for, like the mermaid on the approach of the
mariner, I should shrink from the face of man into the glassy
caverns of the deep.
"Adieu, Thomas, adieu! Say what you will for me to the noble and
generous Beerie. Would to heaven that I could send him some token in
return for all his kindness, but a good and gallant heart is its own
most adequate reward.
"They are putting to the horses--I can hear the rumble of the
chariot! Oh, once more, dear friend--alas, too inexpressibly
dear!--take my last farewell. Adieu--my heart is breaking as I write
the bitter word!--forget me.
DOROTHEA."
"Do you wonder at my sorrow now?" said Strachan, as I laid down the
passionate epistle.
"Why, no. It is well got up upon the whole, and does credit to the
lady's erudition. But I don't see why she should insist so strongly upon
eternal separation. Have you no idea whereabouts that aunt of hers may
happen to reside?"
"Not the slightest."
"Because, judging from her letter, it must be somewhere about Benbecula
or Tiree. I shouldn't even wonder if she had a summer box on St Kilda."
"Right! I did not think of that--you observe she speaks of the remoter
isles."
"To be sure, and for half a century there has not been a mermaid seen to
the east of the Lewis. Now, take my advice, Tom--don't make a fool of
yourself in the meantime, but wait until the Court of Session rises in
July. That will allow plenty of time for matters to settle; and if the
old Viscount and that abominable Abiram don't find her out before then,
you may depend upon it they will abandon the search. In the interim, the
lady will have cooled. Walks upon the sea-shore are uncommonly dull
without something like reciprocal sentimentality. The odds are, that the
old aunt is addicted to snuff, tracts, and the distribution of flannel,
and before August, the fair Dorothea will be yearning for a sight of her
adorer. You can easily gammon Anthony Whaup into a loan of that yacht of
his which he makes such a boast of; and if you go prudently about it,
and flatter him on the score of his steering, I haven't the least doubt
that he will victual his hooker and give you a cruise in it for
nothing."
"Admirable, my dear Fred! We shall touch at all the isles from Iona to
Uist; and if Miss Percy be indeed there--"
"You can carry her off on five minutes' notice, and our long friend will
be abundantly delighted. Only, mind this! If you want my candid opinion
on the wisdom of such an alliance, I should strongly recommend you to
meddle no farther in the matter, for I have my doubts about the
Honourable Dorothea, and--"
"Bah, Fred! Doubts after such a letter as that? Impossible! No, my dear
friend--your scheme is admirable--unexceptionable, and I shall certainly
act upon it. But oh--it is a weary time till July!"
"Merely a short interval of green pease and strawberries. I advise you,
however, to fix down Whaup as early as you can for the cruise."
The hint was rapidly taken. We sent for our facetious friend, ordered
supper, and in the course of a couple of tumblers, persuaded him that
his knowledge of nautical affairs was not exceeded by that of T. P.
Cooke, and that he was much deeper versed in the mysteries of
sky-scraping than Fenimore Cooper. Whaup gave in. By dint of a little
extra persuasion, I believe we might have coaxed him into a voyage for
Otaheite; and before we parted for the evening it was agreed that
Strachan should hold himself in readiness to start for the Western
Islands about the latter end of July--Whaup being responsible for the
provisions and champagne, whilst Tom pledged himself to cigars.