MENTAL STRUGGLES.
The rector of Saint David's fell upon his knees, and, turning his face
towards the casement through which the sun glanced so cheerfully into
the chamber, poured forth his soul to the Being of whose universal
dominion that radiance seemed an emblem.
Reginald could now pray. He had sinned deeply, and he implored pardon;
for he conceived that heaven had deigned to convey a special warning to
his mind through the medium of the clouds and the storm of the preceding
night.
"Oh! I am not yet totally lost!" he exclaimed, joining his hands
fervently together: "I am not yet an outcast from divine mercy! Heaven
itself manifests an interest in my welfare: dare I neglect the warning?
No--no! I have sinned--but there is repentance. Upon my otherwise
spotless life there is one stain; but tears of regret shall be shed
unceasingly until the mark be washed away! And thou, temptress--never
more must we meet as we have lately met; I must shun thee as my evil
genius! Yet I do not blame thee--for I myself was fond, and being fond,
was weak. If I fell, and can yet aspire to pardon and forgiveness,--I
who was strong,--what extenuation may not exist for thee--a poor, weak
woman! Oh! let the light of divine grace shine in upon my soul, even as
these bright beams of the orb of day penetrate with cheering influence
to my very heart! Let me rise up from the depths of sin, stronger than
when I fell,--so that sad experience may tend to confirm my resolves to
pursue the paths of chastity and virtue!"
Thus spoke aloud Reginald Tracy, as he knelt in his chamber the day
after his fall: thus did he breathe vows of future self-denial and
purity.
He rose resigned, and penitent,--though at intervals a species of
struggle took place in his breast--a conflict between his
recently-experienced sensations of amorous delight and his present
resolutions of abstinence from carnal pleasures.
In a moment when his better feelings were predominant, he wrote a brief
letter to Lady Cecilia, imploring her to forget all that had taken place
between them, and enjoining her, if she entertained the slightest
interest in his earthly and immortal welfare, never to seek to see him
again.
Then Reginald gathered all his most valued books around him, and plunged
into his studies with an earnestness which augured well for the strength
and permanency of his good resolutions.
This occupation was for a few minutes disturbed by a note from Lady
Cecilia, imploring a last interview ere they parted for ever:--but the
rector was immoveable in his present precautionary conduct; and he
answered her, not angrily, but firmly, to beseech her not to "lead him
into temptation."
Yes, this man of fiery passions wrestled gallantly with his
inclinations: the combat was at times a fearful one; but he exerted all
his strength, and all his power, and all his energy, to subdue those
desires which were smouldering, and were not quenched, at the bottom of
his soul.
It was in the evening of the fourth day after the rector's fall from the
pedestal of his purity, that his studies were interrupted by the
entrance of his housekeeper, who informed him that a gentleman desired
to speak to him.
The rector ordered the visitor to be admitted; and Mr. Richard Markham
was announced.
The object of our hero's call was speedily explained.
Mr. Monroe was lying in a dangerous state, and his life was despaired
of. Mr. Wentworth, the surgeon, who attended upon him, had recommended
him to settle all his earthly affairs, and prepare his soul to meet his
Creator; and the old man, who was fully sensible of the importance of
this advice, had expressed a wish to receive spiritual consolation from
a minister whose sanctity had become proverbial.
"The desire of my dying friend," added Markham, "must serve as an
apology for my intrusion upon you; but, I implore you, reverend sir, not
to hesitate to soothe by your much-coveted presence the passage of a
fellow-creature from this world to a better."
But for a moment the rector _did_ hesitate:--was he fit to administer
divine consolation to another,--he who was still deeply dyed with sin
himself?
Such was the thought which floated rapidly through his imagination.
Richard urged his request with eloquence.
Reginald Tracy felt that he could offer no sufficient excuse, short of
the revelation of his own guilt, for refusing to attend the death-bed of
one who craved his presence; and he agreed to accompany the young man to
Markham Place.
Richard had a vehicle at the door; and in a short time they reached our
hero's abode.
Reginald was conducted to the room where Monroe lay.
Hanging over the pillow, on which the invalid reclined, was a charming
female form, from whose bosom deep sobs emanated, and rendered almost
inaudible the words of strangely commingled hope and despair which she
addressed to her father.
She did not hear the door open; and it was only when Richard approached
the bed, and whispered that the Reverend Mr. Tracy was present, that she
raised her tearful countenance.
Then did the eyes of the rector glance upon one of the most lovely
beings whom Nature ever invested with all her choicest gifts; and--even
in that solemn moment when he stood by the bed of one who was pronounced
to be dying--his soul was stirred by the presence of that transcendent
beauty.
"Oh! sir," exclaimed Ellen, in that musical voice which was now rendered
tremulous by deep emotions, "how grateful am I for this prompt attention
to the wish of my dear--dear father!"
"I deserve no gratitude for the performance of a Christian duty,"
answered the rector, as he approached the bed.
Markham took Ellen's hand and led her from the chamber, in order to
allow unrestrained converse between the clergyman and the invalid.
An hour elapsed, and the bell of the sick-room rang.
Ellen hurried thither, and found her father composed and resigned to
meet his fate. The rector sate by his bed-side.
"This holy man," said Monroe, "has taught me how to die like a true
Christian. Weep not, dearest Ellen; we shall meet again hereafter."
"Oh, my dearest father," exclaimed the young lady, bursting into an
agony of tears; "it is I--I who have murdered you! My conduct----"
"Silence, Ellen--accuse not yourself in that dreadful manner,"
interrupted her father.
Reginald was astonished at the words which had just fallen from the
daughter's lips; and he surveyed her with increased interest and
curiosity.
At that moment Mr. Wentworth entered the room. He found the invalid
better, and his countenance was animated with a ray of hope.
This expression of his inward feelings was not lost upon Ellen; and she
interrogated him with a rapid and imploring glance.
"Mr. Monroe must be kept very--very quiet," said the surgeon in a
whisper, which was addressed to both Ellen and Reginald Tracy.
"And then--there is hope?" murmured Ellen in breathless suspense.
"Yes--there is hope," repeated the surgeon solemnly.
"May heaven be thanked for that assurance on your part," said Ellen,
fervently.
The rector contemplated her with an admiration which he could not
restrain; and, in spite of himself, the thought flashed across his mind,
how far more lovely was Miss Ellen Monroe than Lady Cecilia Harborough!
Then, indignant with himself for having allowed the comparison to force
itself upon his attention, he rose to take his departure.
The invalid had just sunk into a deep slumber; and Mr. Wentworth
intimated his intention of passing the night by his side.
"I will call again to-morrow morning," said Reginald, addressing Miss
Monroe; "for I perceive that this gentleman is not without hopes."
"Thank you--thank you, sir, for your kindness," answered Ellen with
grateful enthusiasm. "Your presence seems to have brought a blessing
into this sick-room."
She extended her hand towards him, and he pressed it for a moment in
his.
His whole frame seemed electrified with a sudden glow; and he hurried
somewhat abruptly from the room.
When he reached his own abode once more, he felt a profound melancholy
steal into his soul; for he seemed more lonely, and more solitary than
he ever yet had been.
He retired to rest, and his dreams were filled with the images of
Cecilia and Ellen.
When he awoke in the morning, he was discontented with himself--with the
whole world: he experienced vague longings after excitement or change of
scene;--he could not settle himself, as on the four previous days, to
his studies--his books were hateful to him. He wandered about his
house--from room to room--as if in search of something which he could
not define, and which he did not discover: he was pursued by ideas
only dimly comprehensible, but which were at variance with his
recently formed resolutions of purity and virtue. He was
restless--discontented--uneasy.
At length he remembered his promise to return to Markham Place. The idea
seemed to give him pleasure: he longed to see Ellen Monroe once
more;--and yet he did not choose to make this admission to himself.
With a beating heart did he cross the threshold of the house in which
that delightful vision had burst, as it were, upon his sight on the
previous evening. He was immediately conducted to the sick-room, where
Ellen was sitting alone by her father's bed-side.
[Illustration]
The old man slept.
Ellen rose and tripped lightly to meet him, a smile upon her charming,
though pale and somewhat careworn countenance.
Laying her hand gently upon his, she whispered, "He will recover! Mr.
Wentworth assures me that he will recover!"
"Most sincerely do I congratulate you upon this happy change," said
Reginald. "I can well comprehend the feelings of an affectionate
daughter who is allowed to hope that her parent may be restored to her."
"Yes, sir--and so good a father as mine!" added Ellen. "But it was all
my fault----"
Then, suddenly checking herself, she cast down her eyes, and blushed
deeply.
"Your fault, Miss Monroe?" repeated the rector, inspired with the most
lively curiosity to penetrate the mystery of that self-accusation which
he had now heard for the second time: "I cannot believe that any fault
of yours--you whom I found hanging over your beloved father----"
"Let us speak no more upon that subject," interrupted Ellen, vexed with
herself for having so unguardedly said what she had relative to the
primal cause of her father's dangerous illness. "He will
recover--something tells me that he will recover; and then--oh! how I
will cherish him--how I will exert myself to make the remainder of his
days happy!"
Her countenance became flushed as she spoke; and Reginald's glances were
fixed, by a species of invincible fascination, upon the beautiful being
in whose presence he stood.
He felt at that moment that he could sacrifice every thing for her love.
The surgeon and Richard Markham now entered the apartment; and Reginald
received the thanks of our young hero for the attention which he had
shown to the old man whose life had ceased to be despaired of.
After a somewhat protracted visit, the rector took his leave.
But throughout that day Ellen alone occupied all his thoughts. What
fault of hers could have thrown her father upon a bed of sickness,
whose only termination was at one time anticipated to be in death? what
could have been the conduct of so fond a daughter to have produced such
terrible results? Had she strayed from the path of virtue? This was the
only feasible solution of such a mystery. Then a terrible pang of
jealousy shot through his breast.
And why should he be jealous? What was that young girl to him?
He was jealous, because his ardent passions instinctively attracted him
towards that beautiful creature;--and she was every thing to him,
because she _was_ so beautiful, and because he desired her!
Yes--a new flame now burnt in his heart--a flame as violent, as
relentless, as fierce, as that which had already made him the slave of
Lady Cecilia Harborough. But was he this time to become a slave or a
victim?
He sat down and reasoned with himself. He endeavoured to crush the
feelings of licentiousness which had been re-awakened in his heart.
But as vainly might he have endeavoured to lull the Maelstroom with a
breath, or to subdue the rage of Vesuvius with a drop of water!
Such was his frame of mind, when an old woman sought his presence in the
evening.
He had made it a rule, throughout his career, never to be difficult of
access to those who wished to see him; and now that he felt the fabric
of his fair fame to be tottering upon the verge of a precipice, he was
not inclined to deviate from any of those outward forms which had aided
in the consecration of his renown. He accordingly ordered his house
keeper to admit the old woman to his presence.
The instant a hag, with a horribly wrinkled countenance, entered his
study, he started--for that repulsive face was not altogether unknown to
him.
Then, in another moment, he remembered that he had once seen her
standing at the door of Lady Cecilia Harborough's abode in Tavistock
Square; and that the glance which she had thrown upon him, on that
occasion had for an instant struck him with sinister foreboding.
The old woman seated herself, and, without any preamble, said: "A man of
great learning like you, reverend sir, cannot be otherwise than a man of
great taste. This conviction has emboldened me to call upon you in
preference to any other, relative to a most perfect work of art which
fortune has thrown in my way."
Reginald gazed upon the old woman in speechless astonishment: her
mysterious--indeed, incomprehensible language, induced him to believe
that she was some unfortunate creature bereaved of her right senses.
"Listen to me for a few minutes, reverend sir," continued the hag, "and
I will explain my meaning to you. Your charity, as well as your taste,
is about to be appealed to."
"Speak," said the clergyman, somewhat impatiently, for he longed to be
left alone again with his reflections, which had just assumed a most
voluptuous complexion when his privacy was thus intruded upon.
"I will not detain you long--I will not detain you long," cried the old
hag. "You must know, reverend sir, that a foreign sculptor--a poor
Italian--came some few months ago to lodge at my humble dwelling. He was
in the deepest distress, and had not the means to procure either marble
or tools. I am very poor--very poor, myself, sir; but I could not see a
fellow-creature starving. I bought him marble--and I bought him tools.
He went to work, toiling day and night almost unweariedly; and a week
ago he put the finishing stroke to the statue of a nymph. His art has
enabled him, by means of colour, to give a life-like appearance to that
admirable work of art; so that as you contemplate it, it seems to you as
if the eyes were animated, the lips breathed, and the bosom rose and
sank with respiration."
"And your artist is, no doubt, anxious to dispose of his statue?" said
the rector.
"Precisely so," answered the hag. "I do not profess to be a judge
myself; but I can speak of the effect which it produced upon me. When I
saw it finished--standing upon its pedestal--I was about to address it
as a living being."
"The effect must, then, be indeed striking," observed Reginald, with the
voluptuous train of whose ideas this picture was well adapted to
associate.
"Were you to judge for yourself, reverend sir," said the old hag, "you
would find that I have not overrated the perfection of this masterpiece.
The sculptor demands but a small price for his statue: it would be a
charity were you to purchase it yourself, or recommend one of your
friends to do so."
"When and where could I see this matchless work of art?" asked Reginald,
whose curiosity was now strangely excited.
"At my own humble dwelling in Golden Lane is this statue concealed,"
replied the horrible old hag; "and no mortal eyes, save the sculptor's
and mine own, have yet glanced upon it. If you will accompany me now,
you can inspect it without delay."
Reginald referred to his watch, and found that it was past nine o'clock.
The evening was pitch dark; and he did not, therefore, dread being seen
in the company of that hideous old woman. Besides, even if he were--was
he not often summoned at all hours to attend upon the last moments of
some dying sinner?
"I will proceed with you at once to your abode," said the rector, after
a few moments' hesitation.
"And you will do well," answered the hag; "for I can promise you a fine
treat in what you are about to see."
While the rector stepped aside to put on his cloak and hat, a strange
smile curled the lips of the wrinkled harridan; but as Reginald again
turned towards her, her countenance instantly resumed its wonted
composure.
They then went out together.