HOPES AND FEARS.
We must now go back to the preceding day, and introduce our readers to
Markham Place, immediately after the Buffer had called upon Richard in
the manner already described.
Richard had received him in the library, and had there heard the
exciting news of which the Buffer was the bearer.
Dismissing the man to the kitchen to partake of some refreshment,
Richard hastened to the parlour, where Mr. Monroe and Ellen were seated.
The past sorrows and anxieties which the young man had experienced were
now all forgotten: forgotten also was the dread exposure which he had so
recently received at the theatre,--an exposure which had deprived him of
the honourable renown earned by his own talent,--an exposure, too, which
had induced Ellen to abandon that career wherein she excelled so
pre-eminently.
The idea of meeting his well-beloved brother now alone occupied his
mind:--the hope of seeing and even succouring the wanderer banished
every other consideration.
His cheek, lately so pale, was flushed with a glow of animation, and his
eyes glistened with delight, as he rushed into the room where Ellen and
her father were seated.
"Eugene is returned--my brother has come back at last!" he exclaimed.
"Your brother!" repeated Ellen, deadly pallor overspreading her
countenance.
"Eugene!" cried Mr. Monroe, in a tone of deep interest.
"Yes--Eugene is in London--is returned," answered Richard, not noticing
the strange impression which his words had made, and still produced upon
Ellen, who now sat incapable of motion in her chair, as if she were
suddenly paralyzed: "Eugene is in London! A man has just been to tell me
this welcome news; and I am to see my brother to-morrow evening."
"To-morrow evening!" said Mr. Monroe. "And why not now--at once?"
"Alas! my brother is in some difficulty, and dares not appear at the
dwelling of his forefathers. I am not aware of the nature of that
dilemma, but I am assured that he has need of my help."
"Where are you to meet him?" inquired Monroe, somewhat surprised by the
singularity of this announcement.
"At the eastern extremity of London--on the banks of the canal, near
some place called Twig Folly."
"And at what hour?" demanded the old man.
"To-morrow night, at ten precisely," was the reply.
"Do you know the man who brought you this message? or have you received
a letter?" asked Ellen, who now began to breathe more freely.
"No, I never saw the man before; nor have I any letter. But, surely, you
cannot suppose that any one is deceiving me in so cruel a manner?"
"I feel convinced of it," said Ellen, with peculiar emphasis on her
words and warmth in her manner.
"No--no--impossible!" cried Markham, unwilling to allow the hope which
had a moment ago appeared so bright, to be obscured by the mists of
doubt: then, acting upon a sudden impulse, he rang the bell violently.
Whittingham speedily made his appearance.
"The man that I have just sent below," said Richard, hastily, "has come
to inform me that my brother is in London--"
"Mister Eugene in London!" ejaculated the old butler, forgetting his
gravity, and literally beginning to dance with joy.
"And he has appointed to meet me to-morrow evening in a very distant and
lonely part of London," continued Markham. "This circumstance seems
suspicious--strange;--at least so Miss Monroe thinks--"
"Nay--I do not _think_, Richard: I am _sure_," exclaimed Ellen, with the
same emphasis which had marked her previous declaration.
"At all events, Whittingham," said Markham, "do you return to the
kitchen, get into conversation with the man, and then give us your
opinion."
The old butler withdrew to execute these orders.
Markham then began to pace the room in an agitated manner.
"I cannot think who could be cruel enough to practise such a vile cheat
upon me," he said, "if a cheat it really be. No one would benefit
himself by so doing. Besides--the man spoke of the appointment which my
brother made when we parted on yonder hill; he spoke of that appointment
as a token of his sincerity--as a proof of the veracity of his
statement--as an evidence that he came direct from Eugene!"
"Many persons are acquainted with the fact of that appointment," said
Ellen. "There is not an individual in this neighbourhood who is ignorant
of the meeting that is named for the 10th of July, 1843, between the
ash-trees on that hill."
"True!" exclaimed Markham. "The mere mention of that appointment is
scarcely a sufficient evidence. And yet my brother might deem that it
would prove sufficient: Eugene may not know how suspicious the deceits
of this world are calculated to render the mind that has been their
victim."
"I have no doubt that Eugene is by this time as well acquainted with the
world as you can be, Richard," persisted Ellen; "and I am also convinced
that if he were to send such a message to you as this stranger has
brought--making an appointment at a strange place and at a very lonely
hour--he would have been careful to accompany it with some undeniable
token of its genuineness."
"You reason sensibly, Ellen," said Markham; "and yet I am by no means
inclined to surrender up the hope that was just now so consoling to my
heart--wounded as that heart is by many misfortunes!"
"I reason consistently with your interests," returned Ellen. "Nothing
could persuade me that your brother would fail to write a line to you in
such a case as this is represented to be."
"What say you, Mr. Monroe?" inquired Richard.
"I am hesitating between the two arguments," answered the old man: "I
know not whether to encourage the hope to which you cling--or to suffer
myself to be persuaded by the reasoning of Ellen."
At this moment Whittingham returned to the parlour.
"The enwoy-plentipotent-and-hairy is gone," said Whittingham; "and,
although he didn't show his credentials, my firm compression is that he
was raly the representation of the court he said he come from."
"You questioned him closely?" asked Markham.
"You know, Master Richard, I can put a poser or two now and then; and if
this man had been a compostor, I should have circumwented him pretty
soon, I can assure you."
"He answered your questions in a straightforward manner, then?"
persisted Richard.
"He couldn't have been more straightfor'ard," replied Whittingham. "I'm
sure he's a honest, simple-hearted, well-meaning man."
"Then it is decided!" ejaculated Richard: "I will go to this
appointment. Who knows in what peril my poor brother may be? who can say
from what dangers I may save him? who can explain what powerful motives
he may have for the nature of the appointment he has made, and the
caution he has adopted in making it? I should be wrong to allow a
suspicion to interfere with a duty. Were any thing serious to happen to
Eugene, through the want of a friend at this moment, how should I ever
after reproach myself? I will not incur such a chance: I will go
to-morrow evening to the spot named, and to the hour appointed!"
Whittingham withdrew; and Ellen once more endeavoured to deter Richard
from his resolution.
"In the name of God, reflect," she exclaimed, with an earnestness which,
had he not been otherwise preoccupied, would have struck him by its
peculiarity, for it seemed rather the impassioned expression of a
conviction based on indisputable grounds, than a doubt which might be
based on truth or error;--"in the name of God, reflect, Richard, ere you
endanger your life, perhaps, by going at a auspicious hour to a lonely
place. Remember, you have enemies: recollect how nearly you met your
death at the hands of _one villain_ in the neighbourhood of Bird-Cage
Walk--the narrative of which occurrence and your miraculous escape you
have so often related to us;--reflect that _that_ was not the only
occasion on which the same miscreant has sought to injure you--"
"I know to what you allude, Ellen," said Markham, significantly; "and I
thank you sincerely for your interest in my behalf. But, believe me,
there is no Resurrection Man in the present matter: all is
straightforward--I feel convinced of it."
Markham uttered these words in a tone which left no scope for further
argument or remonstrance; and Ellen threw herself back in her chair, a
prey to reflections of the most painful nature.
At length she retired to her chamber to meditate in secret upon the
incident of the morning.
"What can I do," she mused aloud, "to convince Richard Markham that he
is nursing a delusion? I tremble lest some enemy should meditate
treachery against him. Perhaps even his life may be threatened? Oh! the
plots--the perfidies--the villanies which are engendered in this London!
But how warn him? how prove to him that he is deceived? Alas! that is
impossible; unless, indeed--"
But she shook her head impatiently, as if to renounce as impracticable
the idea which had for a moment occupied her mind.
"No," she continued, "that were madness indeed! And yet what can be
done? He must not be allowed to rush headlong and blindly into
danger--for that danger awaits him, I feel convinced. Perhaps that
terrible man, from whose power he once escaped, and who denounced him at
the theatre, may be the instigator of all this? And, if such be the
fact, then who knows where the atrocity of that miscreant may stop?
Murder--cold-blooded, ruthless murder may be the result of this
mysterious appointment. And the murder of whom?" said Ellen, a shudder
passing, like a cold chill, over her entire frame: "the murder of my
benefactor--of the noble-minded, the generous hearted young man who gave
us an asylum when all the world forsook us! Oh! no--no--it must not be!
I dare not tell him all I know; but I can do somewhat to protect him!"
She smiled, in spite of the unpleasant nature of the emotions that
agitated her bosom,--she smiled, because a wild and romantic idea had
entered her imagination.
Without further hesitation,--and acting under the sudden impulse of that
idea,--she sate down and wrote a short note.
When she had sealed and addressed it, she rang the bell.
In a few moments Marian answered the summons.
"My faithful friend," said Ellen, "I am about to put your goodness to
another test. But before I explain what I require of you, I beseech that
you will not now endeavour to penetrate my motives. You shall know all
the day after to-morrow."
"Speak, Miss; I am always ready to do any thing I can for you," said
Marian.
"In the evening," continued Ellen, "you must find a pretence to go out
for two or three hours. In the first instance you must call at Mr.
Greenwood's house--"
"Mr. Greenwood's?" ejaculated Marian.
"Yes--but your business is not this time with him. On the contrary, he
must not know the real motive of your visit, which is to deliver this
note into the hands of his Italian valet Filippo. You have never seen
Filippo--for he entered the service of Mr. Greenwood since you called
there some months ago. You cannot, however, mistake him. He is a tall,
dark man, with long black curling hair. Moreover, he speaks English with
a strong foreign accent."
"The description is sufficient, Miss," said Marian; "I shall not be
mistaken."
"This note is to be delivered into his hand--and his only," continued
Ellen. "Should you meet Mr. Greenwood by accident, you may say, '_I come
from Miss Monroe to inform you that your child is well and thriving_.'
This will be an excuse; I must leave the rest to you; but I implore you
to do all you can to obtain an interview with Filippo."
"I will follow your wishes, Miss, to the utmost of my power," returned
Marian.
"And when you know the motives of my present proceeding," said Ellen,
"you will be satisfied with the part you have taken in it."
"I do not doubt you, Miss," observed Marian. "Have you seen the dear
little baby lately?"
"I saw him yesterday," answered Ellen. "I called at Mr. Wentworth's: the
excellent man's wife was nursing my little Richard. I took him in my
arms and fondled him; but, alas! he cried bitterly. Of course he does
not know me: he will learn to look up to a stranger as his mother! Oh!
Marian, that idea pierced like a dagger to my very heart!"
"Cheer up, Miss!" exclaimed Marian, in a kind tone; "better days will
come."
"But never the day, Marian," added Ellen, solemnly, "when I can proclaim
myself the mother of that child, nor blush to mention its father's
name!"