Short as had been Sybella's absence from the Hermitage, a vast number of
letters had arrived for her in the mean while. The prospect of a peace,
so confidently entertained at one moment, was now rudely destroyed by
the abrupt termination of the Vienna conferences, and the result was a
panic in the money-market.
The panic of an army rushing madly on to victory; the panic on shipboard
when the great vessel has struck, and after three or four convulsive
throes the mighty masts have snapped, and the blue water, surging and
bounding, has riven the hatchways and flooded the deck; the panic of
a mob as the charge of cavalry is sounded, and the flash of a thousand
sabres is seen through the long vista of a street; the panic of a city
stricken by plague or cholera,--are all dreadful and appalling things,
and have their scenes of horror full of the most picturesque terror;
still are there incidents of an almost equal power when that dread
moment has arrived which is called a “Panic on 'Change.”
It was but yesterday, and the world went well and flourishingly, mills
were at work, foundries thundered with their thousand hammers, vessels
sailed forth from every port, and white-sailed argosies were freighted
with wealth from distant colonies. None had to ask twice for means to
carry out his speculations, for every enterprise there was capital;
and now scarcely twenty-four hours have passed, and all is changed.
A despatch has been received in the night; a messenger has arrived at
Downing Street; the Minister has been aroused from his sleep to hear
that we have met some great reverse; a terrible disaster has befallen
us; two line-of-battle ships, whose draught of water was too great,
have grounded under an enemy's fire; in despite of the most heroic
resistance, they have been captured; the union-jacks are on their way to
Moscow. Mayhap the discomfiture, less afflicting to national pride, is
the blunder of a cavalry officer or the obstinacy of an envoy. Little
matter for the cause, we have met a check. Down goes credit, and up
go the discounts; the mighty men of millions have drawn their
purse-strings, and not a guinea is to be had; the city is full of
sad-visaged men in black, presaging every manner of misfortune. More
troops are wanted; more ships; we are going to have an increase of the
income-tax,--a loan,--a renewal of war burdens in fifty shapes! Each
fancies some luxury of which he must deprive himself, some expense to be
curtailed; and all are taking the dreariest view of a future whose chief
feature is to be privation.
So was it now. Amidst a mass of letters was one from Davenport Dunn,
written with brevity and in haste. By a mistake, easily made In the
hurry and confusion of such correspondence, it was, though intended for
Mr. Hankes, addressed to Miss Kellett; the words “Strictly private and
confidential” occupying a conspicuous place across the envelope, while
lower down was written “Immediate.”
It was a very rare event, latterly, for Mr. Dunn to write to Miss
Kellett, nor had she, in all their intercourse, once received from him a
letter announced thus “confidential.”
It was, then, in some surprise, and not without a certain anxiety, that
she broke the seal. It was dated “Wednesday, Irish Office,” and began
thus: “Dear S.”--she started,--he had never called her Sybella in his
life; he had been most punctiliously careful ever to address her as Miss
Kellett. She turned at once to the envelope, and read the address, “Miss
Kellett, the Hermitage, Glengariff.” And yet there could be no mistake.
It opened, “Dear S.” “He has forgotten a word,” thought she; “he meant
in his mood of confidence to call me Miss Sybella, and has omitted
the title.” The letter ran thus: “We have failed at Vienna, as we do
everywhere and in everything. The war is to continue; consequently, we
are in a terrible mess. Glumthal telegraphs this morning that he will
not go on; the Frankfort people will, of course, follow his lead,
so that Mount Cenis will be 'nowhere' by the end of the week. I am,
however, more anxious about Glengariff, which must be upheld, _for the
moment_, at any cost To-day I can manage to keep up the shares; perhaps,
also, to-morrow.. The old Earl is more infatuated about the scheme than
ever, though the accounts he receives from that girl”--“That girl,”
muttered she; “who can he mean?”--“from that girl occasionally alarm
him. She evidently has her own suspicions, though I don't clearly see
by what they have been suggested. The sooner, therefore, you can possess
yourself of the correspondence, the better. I have written to her by
this post with a proposition she will most probably accept; advise it,
by all means.”--“This is scarcely intelligible,” said she, once more
reverting to the direction of the letter.--“Should the Ministry be
beaten on Monday, they mean to dissolve Parliament. Now, they cannot
go to the country, in Ireland, without me, and my terms I have already
fixed. They _must_ give us aid,--material, substantial aid; I will not
be put off with office or honors,--it is no time for either. Meanwhile,
I want all the dividend warrants, and a brief sketch of our next
statement; for we meet on Saturday. Come what will, the Allotment must
be sustained till the new election be announced. I hope Lackington's
check was duly presented, for I find that his death was known here on
the 4th. Where the new Viscount is, no one seems even to guess. Get rid
of the girl, and believe me, yours ever,--D. D.”
“Surely, there is some strange mystification here,” said she, as she
sat pondering over this letter. “There are allusions which, had they
not been addressed to me, I might have fancied were intended for myself.
This girl, whose accounts have terrified Lord Glengariff, and who
herself suspects that all is not right, may mean _me_; but yet it is to
me he writes, confidentially and secretly. I cannot complain that the
letter lacks candor; it is frank enough; every word forebodes coming
disaster, the great scheme is threatened with ruin, nothing can save it
but Government assistance,--an infamous compact, if I read it aright.
And if all this be so, in what a game have I played a part! This
great venture is a swindling enterprise! All these poor people whose
hard-earned gains have been invested in it will be ruined; my own small
pittance, too, is gone. Good heavens! to what a terrible network of
intrigue and deception have I lent myself! How have I come to betray
those whose confidence I strove so hard to gain! This girl,--this
girl,--who is she, and of whom does he speak?” exclaimed she, as, in an
outburst of emotion, she walked the room, her whole frame trembling, and
her eyes glaring in all the wildness of high excitement.
“May I come in?” whispered a soft voice, as a low tap was heard at the
door; and without waiting for leave, Mr. Hankes entered. Nothing could
be silkier nor softer than his courteous approach; his smile was the
blandest, his step the smoothest, his bow the nicest blending of homage
and regard; and, as he took Miss Kellett's hand, it was with the air
of a courtier dashed with the devotion of an admirer. Cruel is the
confession that she noticed none--not one--of these traits. Her mind
was so engrossed by the letter, that, had Mr. Hankes made his entry in
a suit of chain armor, and with a mace in his hand, she would not have
minded it.
“I am come to entreat forgiveness,--to sue your pardon, Miss Kellett,
for a very great offence, of which, however, I am the guiltless
offender. The letter which I hold here, and which, as you see, is
addressed S. Hankes, Esq.,' was certainty intended for you, and not me.”
“What--how--misdirected--a mistake in the address?” cried she, eagerly.
“Just so; placed in a wrong enclosure,” resumed he, in a tone of
well-graduated calm. “A blunder which occurs over and over in life, but
I am fain to hope has never happened with less serious results.”
“In short,” said she, hastily, “my letter, or the letter meant for me,
came directed to _you?_”
“Precisely. I have only to plead, as regards myself, that immediately
on discovery--and I very soon discovered that it could not have been
destined for my perusal--I refolded the epistle and hastened to deliver
it to your own hands.”
“More discreet and more fortunate than I,” said she, with a very
peculiar smile, “since this letter which I hold here, and which bore
my address, I now perceive was for you, and this I have not read merely
once or twice, but fully a dozen times; in truth, I believe I could
repeat it, word for word, if the task were required of me.”
What has become of Mr. Hankes's soft and gentle manner? Where are his
bland looks, his air of courtesy and kindness, his voice so full of
sweetness and deference? Why, the man seems transfixed, his eyeballs are
staring wildly, and he actually clutches, not takes, the letter from her
hands.
“Why, the first words might have undeceived you,” cried he, rudely.
“Your name is not Simpson Hankes.”
“No, sir; but it is Sybella, and the writer begins 'Dear S.,'--a
liberty, I own, I felt it, but one which I fancied my position was
supposed to permit. Pray read on, sir, and you will see that there was
matter enough to puzzle finer faculties than mine.”
Perhaps the tone in which she spoke these words was intentionally
triumphant; perhaps Mr. Hankes attributed this significance to them
causelessly; at all events, he started and stared at her for above a
minute steadfastly, he then addressed himself suddenly to the letter.
“Gracious heavens! what a terrible blunder!” exclaimed he, when he had
finished the reading.
“A great mistake, certainly, sir,” said she, calmly.
“But still one of which you are incapable to take advantage, Miss
Kellett,” said he, with eagerness.
“Is it to the girl who is to be got rid of, sir, you address this
speech? Is it to her whose trustfulness has been made the instrument
to deceive others and lure them to their ruin? Nay, Mr. Hankes, your
estimate of my forbearance is, indeed, too high.”
“But what would you do, young lady?”
“Do, sir! I scarcely know what I would not do,” burst she in,
passionately. “This letter was addressed to _me_. I know nothing of the
mistake of its direction; here is the envelope with my name upon it. It
is, consequently, mine,--mine, therefore, to publish, to declare to the
world, through its words, that the whole of this grand enterprise is
a cheat; that its great designer is a man of nothing, living the
precarious life of a gambling speculator, trading on the rich man's
horde and the poor man's pittance, making market of all, even to his
patriotism. I would print this worthy document with no other comment
than the words, 'Received by me, Sybella Kellett, this day of September,
and sworn to as the handwriting of him whose initials it bears,
Davenport Dunn.' I would publish it in such type that men might read
it as they went, that all should take warning and put no faith in these
unprincipled tricksters. Ay, sir, and I would cling, as my hope of
safety from the world's scorn, to that insulting mention of myself,
and claim as my vindication that I am the girl to be 'got rid of.' None
shall dare to call me complice, since the little I once called my own
is lost. But I would do more, sir. The world I have unwittingly aided
to deceive has a full right to an expiation at my hands. I would make
public the entire correspondence I have for months back been engaged in.
You seem to say 'No' to this. Is it my right you dispute, or my courage
to assert the right?”
“You must be aware, Miss Kellett,” said he, deprecatingly, “that you
became possessed of this letter by a mistake; that you had no right
to the intelligence it contains, and, consequently, have none to avail
yourself of that knowledge. It may be perfectly true that you can employ
it to our detriment. It would, I have little doubt, serve to shake our
credit for a day or two; but do you know what misery, what utter ruin,
your rashness will have caused meanwhile? By the fall of our securities
you will beggar hundreds. All whose necessities may require them to sell
out on the day of your disclosures will be irretrievably ruined. You
meditate a vengeance upon Mr. Dunn, and your blow falls on some poor
struggling creatures that you never so much as heard of. I do not
speak,” continued he, more boldly, as he saw the deep effect his words
produced,--“I do not speak of the destitution and misery you will spread
here,--all works stopped, all enterprise suspended, thousands thrown out
of employment. These are the certain, the inevitable evils of what you
propose to do. And now, let me ask, What are to be the benefits? You
would depose from his station of power and influence the only man in
the kingdom who has a brain to conceive, or a courage to carry out these
gigantic enterprises,--the only man of influence sufficient to treat
with the Government, and make his own terms. You would dethrone him, to
install in his place some inferior intelligence,--some mere creature of
profit and loss, without genius or patriotism; and all for what?--for
a mere phrase, and that, too, in a letter which was never intended for
your eyes.”
Mr. Hankes saw that he was listened to, and he continued. Artfully
contriving to take the case out of its real issue, he made it appear to
Miss Kellett that she was solely impelled by personal motives, and had
no other object in view than a vengeance on the man who had insulted
her. “And now just throw your eyes over the letter intended for
yourself. I only glanced at it, but it seemed to me written in a tone of
sincerest well-wishing.”
It was so. It contained the offer of a most advantageous position. A
new Governor-General of India desired a suitable companion for his
daughters, who had lost their mother. He was a nobleman of highest rank
and influence. The station was one which secured great advantages,
and Dunn had obtained the promise of it in her behalf by considerable
exertion on his part Nay, more. Knowing that her fortune was engaged in
the “Allotment scheme,” he volunteered to take her shares at the highest
rate they had ever borne, as she would, probably, require immediate
means to procure an Indian outfit. The whole wound up with a deeply
expressed regret at the loss Glengariff would sustain by her departure;
“but all my selfishness,” added he, “could not blind me to the injustice
of detaining in obscurity one whose destiny so certainly points her out
for a station lofty and distinguished.”
She smiled at the words, and, showing them to Hankes, said, “It is most
unfortunate, sir, that I should have seen the other letter. I could so
readily have yielded myself up to all this flattery, which, even in its
hollowness, has a certain charm.”
“I am certain Miss Kellett has too much good sense--too much knowledge
of life--too much generosity, besides--”
“Pray, sir, let me stop you, or the catalogue of my perfections may
become puzzling, not to say that I need all the good gifts with which
you would endow me to aid me to a right judgment here. I wish I knew
what to do.”
“Can you doubt it?”
“If the road be so clear, will you not point it out?”
“Write to Mr. Dunn. Well, let _me_ write to him. I will inform him how
this mischance occurred. I will tell him that you had read and re-read
his letter before discovering the mistake of the address; that,
consequently, you are now--so far as this great enterprise is
concerned--one of ourselves; that, although you scorn to take advantage
of a circumstance thus accidentally revealed, yet that, as chance has
put you in possession of certain facts, that---that, in short--”
“That, in short, I ought to profit by my good fortune,” said she,
calmly, finishing the phrase for him.
“Unquestionably,” chimed in Hankes, quickly; “and, what's more, demand
very high terms too. Dunn is a practical man,” added he, in a lower and
more confidential tone; “nobody knows better when liberality is the best
policy.”
“So that this is a case for a high price?” asked she, in the same calm
tone.
“I 'd make it so if I were in your place. I 'd certainly say a 'high
figure,' Miss Keliett.”
“Shall I confess, sir, that, in so far as knowing how to profit by it,
I am really unworthy of this piece of fortune? Is Mr. Hankes enough my
friend to enlighten me?”
There was a smile that accompanied this speech which went far--very
far--to influence Mr. Hankes. Once again did his personal fortunes rise
before him; once again did he bethink him that this was an alliance that
might lead to much.
“I can give you a case in point, Miss Keliett,--I mean as to the value
of a secret. It was when Sir Robert Peel meditated his change in
the Corn-laws. One of the council--it does not matter to say his
name--accidentally divulged the secret intention, and a great journal
gave no less than ten thousand pounds for the intelligence,--ten
thousand pounds sterling!”
She seemed to pause over this story, and reflect upon it.
“Now,” resumed Hankes, “it is just as likely he 'd say, 'Money is scarce
just now; your demand comes at an inconvenient moment' This would be
true,--there's no gainsaying it; and I'd reply, 'Let me have it in
shares,--some of the new preference scrip just issued.'”
“How it does allay difficulties to deal with persons of great practical
intelligence,--men of purpose-like mind!” said Sybella, gravely.
“Ah, Miss Kellett, if I could only believe that this was a favorable
moment to appeal to you in their behalf,--at least, in so far as regards
one of their number,--one who has long admired your great qualities in
silence, and said to himself, 'What might she not be if allied to one
well versed in life, trained to all its chances and changes--'”
“It never occurred to me to fancy I had inspired all this interest,
sir,” said she, calmly.
“Probably because your thoughts never dwelt on _me_,” said Hankes,
with a most entreating look; “but I assure you,” added he, warmly, “the
indifference was not reciprocal. I have been long--very long attracted
by those shining abilities you display. Another might dwell upon your
personal attractions, and say the impression your beauty had made upon
him; but beauty is a flower,--a perishable hot-house flower. Not,” added
he, hastily, “that I pretend to be insensible to its fascinations; no,
Miss Kellett, I have my weaknesses like the rest.”
Sybella scarcely heard his words. It was but a day before, and a poor
unlettered peasant, an humble creature unread in life and human nature,
told her that he deemed her one fit for high and devoted enterprise,
and that her rightful place was amidst the wounded and the dying in
the Crimea. Had he construed her, then, more truly? At all events, the
career was a noble one. She did not dare to contrast it any longer with
her late life, so odious now did it seem to her, with all its schemes
for wealth, its wily plot-tings and intrigues.
“I am afraid, sir, I have been inattentive,--I fear that my thoughts
were away from what you have been saying,” said she, hastily.
“Shall I just throw my ideas on paper, Miss Kellett, and wait your
answer--say to-morrow?”
“My answer to what, sir?”
“I have been presumptuous enough to make you an offer of my hand, Miss
Kellett,” said he, with a half-offended dignity. “There are, of course,
a number of minor considerations--I call them minor, as they relate to
money matters--to be discussed after; for instance, with regard to these
shares--”
“It will save us both a world of trouble, sir, when I thank you deeply
for the honor you would destine me, and decline to accept it.”
“I know there is a discrepancy in point of years--”
“Pray, sir, let us not continue the theme. I have given my answer, and
my only one.”
“Or if it be that any meddling individual should have mentioned the
late Mrs. H.,” said he, bristling up,-- “for she is the late, that I
can satisfy you upon,--I have abundant evidence to show how that woman
behaved--”
“You are confiding to me more than I have the right or wish to hear,
sir.”
“Only in vindication,--only in vindication. I am aware how her atrocious
book has libelled me. It made me a perfect martyr for the season after
it came out; but it is out of print,--not a copy to be had for fifty
pounds, if it were offered.”
“But really, sir--”
“And then, Miss Kellett,” added he, in a sort of thrilling whisper,
“she drank; at first sherry,--brown sherry--but afterwards brandy,--ay,
ma'am, brandy neat and a matter of a bottle daily. If you only knew what
I went through with her,--the scenes in the streets, in the playhouses,
in coffee-rooms,--ay, and police-offices,--I give you my sacred word of
honor Simpson Hankes was rapidly becoming as great a public scandal as
the Rev. Paul Classon himself!”
“Cannot you perceive, sir, that these details are less than
uninteresting to me?”
“Don't say that, Miss Kellett,--don't, I beg you, or else you 'll make
me fear that you 'll not read the little pamphlet I published, entitled
'A Brief Statement by Simpson Hankes,'--a brochure that I am proud to
believe decided the world in my favor.”
“Once for all, Mr. Hankes, I decline to hear more of these matters. If I
have not more plainly told you how little they claim to interest me, it
is because my own selfish cares fill up my thoughts. I will try to
hand you the correspondence Mr. Dunn desires to see in your keeping by
to-morrow morning. There are many circumstances will require special
explanation in it. However I will do my best to be ready.”
“And my offer, Miss Kellett?”
“I have declined it, sir.”
“But really, young lady, are you well aware of what it is you refuse?”
asked he, angrily.
“I will not discuss the question, sir,” said she, haughtily. “Give me
that letter I showed you.”
“The letter, I opine, is mine, Miss Kellett. The address alone pertains
to you.”
“Do you mean, then, to retain possession of the letter?” asked she,
hurriedly.
“I protest, I think it is better--better for all of us--that I should do
so. You will pardon me if I observe that you are now under the influence
of excited feelings,--you are irritated. Any line of action, under
such circumstances, will necessarily be deficient in that calm, matured
judgment which is mainly your characteristic.”
“It needed but this, sir, to fill up the measure!” ex-claimed she,
passionately.
“I don't perfectly apprehend you, Miss Kellett.”
“I mean, sir, that this last trait of yours was alone wanting to
complete the utter contempt I now feel for my late life and
its associates. Mr. Dunn's letter, with all its disgraceful
disclosures,--your own crafty counsels how best to profit by the
accidental knowledge,--and now this refusal to restore the letter,--this
mean distrust based on a breach of confidence--”
“By no means, madam. In withholding this letter, I maintain it to be my
own. I have already explained to you that the address is all you can
lay claim to; a recent legal decision is in my favor. It was tried last
Hilary term before Justice Whitecroff. The case was Barnes _versus_
Barnes.”
“If my anger prompt me to rasher acts than my calmer reason might have
counselled,” broke in Sybella, “remember, sir, it is to yourself you
owe it. At least upon one point you may rely. Whatever I decide to do
in this affair, it will not be swayed by any--the slightest--regard for
your friends or their interests. I will think of others alone,--never
once of _them_. Your smile seems to pay, 'The war between us is an
unequal one.' I know it. I am a woman, poor, friendless, unprotected;
you and yours are rich, and well thought of; and yet, with all this
odds, if I accept the conflict I do not despair of victory.”
As she left the room and the door closed after her, Mr. Hankes wiped
the perspiration from his forehead, and sat down, the perfect picture of
dismay.
“What _is_ she up to?” cried he, three or four times to himself. “If
she resolves to make a public scandal of it, there's an end of us! The
shares would be down--down to nothing--in four-and-twenty hours! I'll
telegraph to Dunn at once!” said he, rising, and taking his hat. “The
mischance was his own doing; let him find the remedy himself.”
With all that perfection of laconic style which practice confers, Mr.
Hankes communicated to Davenport Dunn the unhappy mistake which had
just befallen. Under the safeguard of a cipher used between them, he
expressed his deepest fears for the result, and asked for immediate
counsel and guidance.
This despatch, forwarded by telegraph, he followed by a long letter,
entering fully into all the details of the mischance, and reporting
with--it must be acknowledged--a most scrupulous accuracy an account of
the stormy scene between Miss Kellett and himself. He impressed upon his
chief that no terms which should secure her silence would be too high,
and gently insinuated that a prompt and generous offer on Dunn's part
might not impossibly decide the writer to seal his devotion to the
cause, by making the lady Mrs. Hankes. “Only remember,” added he, “it
must be in cash or approved bills.”
Partly to illustrate the difficulty of the negotiation he was engaged
in, partly to magnify the amount of the sacrifice he proposed to make,
he depicted Sybella in colors somewhat less flattering than ardent
love usually employs. “It is clear to me now,” wrote he, “from what
I witnessed to-day, that neither you nor I ever understood this
girl aright. She has a temper of her own, and an obstinacy perfectly
invincible. Acting on the dictate of what she fancies to be her
conscience, she is quite capable of going to any extreme, and I have the
strongest doubt that she is one to be moved by affection or deterred
by fear.” After a little more of this eulogistic strain, he wound up by
repeating his former generous proposal He adroitly pointed out that
it was in the interest of only such a patron he could ever dream of so
great a sacrifice; and then in that half-jocular way in which he often
attained to all the real and businesslike elements of a project,
he added, “Say ten thousand, and the 'match' will come off,--a very
moderate stake, if you only remember the 'forfeit.'”
In a brief postscript he mentioned the discovery of the ancient document
found at the cottage, with, as he said, “some curious papers about the
Conway family. These I have duly sealed up in the box, and retain in my
possession, although Miss K. has evidently an eye upon them.
“Write fully and explicitly whatever you mean to do; should you,
however, fully agree to what I propose, telegraph back to
“Yours, ever faithfully,
“Simpson Hankes.
“They have come to tell me she is packing up her things and has sent a
twenty-pound note to be changed.”