violence, and take two or three rapid strides in the direction in which
I was moving. I was now much frightened, and ran the whole way until I
reached my room; and having locked the door, I listened breathlessly,
but heard no sound. This relieved me for the present; but so much had
I been overcome by the agitation and annoyance attendant upon the scene
which I had just gone through, that when Emily knocked at my door, I was
weeping in strong hysterics.
[Illustration: LEAVING HIM IN A PAROXYSM OF RAGE AND MORTIFICATION.]
You will readily conceive my distress, when you reflect upon my strong
dislike to my cousin Edward, combined with my youth and extreme
inexperience. Any proposal of such a nature must have agitated me; but
that it should have come from the man whom of all others I most loathed
and abhorred, and to whom I had, as clearly as manner could do it,
expressed the state of my feelings, was almost too overwhelming to be
borne. It was a calamity, too, in which I could not claim the sympathy
of my cousin Emily, which had always been extended to me in my minor
grievances. Still I hoped that it might not be unattended with good; for
I thought that one inevitable and most welcome consequence would result
from this painful _eclaircissement_, in the discontinuance of my
cousin's odious persecution.
When I arose next morning, it was with the fervent hope that I might
never again behold the face, or even hear the name, of my cousin Edward;
but such a consummation, though devoutly to be wished, was hardly likely
to occur. The painful impressions of yesterday were too vivid to be at
once erased; and I could not help feeling some dim foreboding of coming
annoyance and evil.
To expect on my suitor's part anything like delicacy or consideration
for me was out of the question. I saw that he had set his heart upon
my property, and that he was not likely easily to forego such an
acquisition--possessing what might have been considered opportunities
and facilities almost to compel my compliance.
I now keenly felt the unreasonableness of my father's conduct in placing
me to reside with a family of all whose members, with one exception,
he was wholly ignorant, and I bitterly felt the helplessness of my
situation. I determined, however, in case of my cousin's persevering in
his addresses, to lay all the particulars before my uncle (although
he had never in kindness or intimacy gone a step beyond our first
interview), and to throw myself upon his hospitality and his sense of
honour for protection against a repetition of such scenes.
My cousin's conduct may appear to have been an inadequate cause for
such serious uneasiness; but my alarm was caused neither by his acts
nor words, but entirely by his manner, which was strange and even
intimidating to excess. At the beginning of yesterday's interview there
was a sort of bullying swagger in his air, which towards the close gave
place to the brutal vehemence of an undisguised ruffian--a transition
which had tempted me into a belief that he might seek even forcibly
to extort from me a consent to his wishes, or by means still more
horrible, of which I scarcely dared to trust myself to think, to possess
himself of my property.
I was early next day summoned to attend my uncle in his private room,
which lay in a corner turret of the old building; and thither I
accordingly went, wondering all the way what this unusual measure might
prelude. When I entered the room, he did not rise in his usual courteous
way to greet me, but simply pointed to a chair opposite to his own. This
boded nothing agreeable. I sat down, however, silently waiting until he
should open the conversation.
"Lady Margaret," at length he said, in a tone of greater sternness than
I had thought him capable of using, "I have hitherto spoken to you as a
friend, but I have not forgotten that I am also your guardian, and that
my authority as such gives me a right to control your conduct. I shall
put a question to you, and I expect and will demand a plain, direct
answer. Have I rightly been informed that you have contemptuously
rejected the suit and hand of my son Edward?"
I stammered forth with a good deal of trepidation:
"I believe--that is, I have, sir, rejected my cousin's proposals; and my
coldness and discouragement might have convinced him that I had
determined to do so."
"Madam," replied he, with suppressed, but, as it appeared to me,
intense anger, "I have lived long enough to know that coldness and
discouragement, and such terms, form the common cant of a worthless
coquette. You know to the full, as well as I, that _coldness and
discouragement_ may be so exhibited as to convince their object that he
is neither distasteful nor indifferent to the person who wears this
manner. You know, too, none better, that an affected neglect, when
skilfully managed, is amongst the most formidable of the engines which
artful beauty can employ. I tell you, madam, that having, without one
word spoken in discouragement, permitted my son's most marked attentions
for a twelvemonth or more, you have no right to dismiss him with no
further explanation than demurely telling him that you had always looked
coldly upon him; and neither your wealth nor your _ladyship_" (there was
an emphasis of scorn on the word, which would have become Sir Giles
Overreach himself) "can warrant you in treating with contempt the
affectionate regard of an honest heart."
I was too much shocked at this undisguised attempt to bully me into an
acquiescence in the interested and unprincipled plan for their own
aggrandizement, which I now perceived my uncle and his son to have
deliberately entered into, at once to find strength or collectedness to
frame an answer to what he had said. At length I replied, with some
firmness:
"In all that you have just now said, sir, you have grossly misstated my
conduct and motives. Your information must have been most incorrect as
far as it regards my conduct towards my cousin; my manner towards him
could have conveyed nothing but dislike; and if anything could have
added to the strong aversion which I have long felt towards him, it
would be his attempting thus to trick and frighten me into a marriage
which he knows to be revolting to me, and which is sought by him only as
a means for securing to himself whatever property is mine."
As I said this, I fixed my eyes upon those of my uncle, but he was too
old in the world's ways to falter beneath the gaze of more searching
eyes than mine; he simply said:
"Are you acquainted with the provisions of your father's will?"
I answered in the affirmative; and he continued:
"Then you must be aware that if my son Edward were--which God
forbid--the unprincipled, reckless man you pretend to think him"--(here
he spoke very slowly, as if he intended that every word which escaped
him should be registered in my memory, while at the same time the
expression of his countenance underwent a gradual but horrible change,
and the eyes which he fixed upon me became so darkly vivid, that I
almost lost sight of everything else)--"if he were what you have
described him, think you, girl, he could find no briefer means than
wedding contracts to gain his ends? 'twas but to gripe your slender neck
until the breath had stopped, and lands, and lakes, and all were his."
[Illustration: "TWAS BUT TO GRIPE YOUR SLENDER NECK UNTIL THE BREATH HAD
STOPPED."]
I stood staring at him for many minutes after he had ceased to speak,
fascinated by the terrible serpent-like gaze, until he continued with a
welcome change of countenance:
"I will not speak again to you upon this topic until one month has
passed. You shall have time to consider the relative advantages of the
two courses which are open to you. I should be sorry to hurry you to
a decision. I am satisfied with having stated my feelings upon the
subject, and pointed out to you the path of duty. Remember this day
month--not one word sooner."
He then rose, and I left the room, much agitated and exhausted.
This interview, all the circumstances attending it, but most
particularly the formidable expression of my uncle's countenance while
he talked, though hypothetically, of murder, combined to arouse all my
worst suspicions of him. I dreaded to look upon the face that had so
recently worn the appalling livery of guilt and malignity. I regarded it
with the mingled fear and loathing with which one looks upon an object
which has tortured them in a nightmare.
In a few days after the interview, the particulars of which I have just
related, I found a note upon my toilet-table, and on opening it I read
as follows:
"MY DEAR LADY MARGARET,
"You will be perhaps surprised to see a strange face in your room
to-day. I have dismissed your Irish maid, and secured a French one to
wait upon you--a step rendered necessary by my proposing shortly to
visit the Continent, with all my family.
"Your faithful guardian,
"ARTHUR T----N."
On inquiry, I found that my faithful attendant was actually gone, and
far on her way to the town of Galway; and in her stead there appeared
a tall, raw-boned, ill-looking, elderly Frenchwoman, whose sullen and
presuming manners seemed to imply that her vocation had never before
been that of a lady's maid. I could not help regarding her as a creature
of my uncle's, and therefore to be dreaded, even had she been in no
other way suspicious.
Days and weeks passed away without any, even a momentary doubt upon my
part, as to the course to be pursued by me. The allotted period had at
length elapsed; the day arrived on which I was to communicate my
decision to my uncle. Although my resolution had never for a moment
wavered, I could not shake off the dread of the approaching colloquy;
and my heart sank within me as I heard the expected summons.
I had not seen my cousin Edward since the occurrence of the grand
_eclaircissement_; he must have studiously avoided me--I suppose from
policy, it could not have been from delicacy. I was prepared for a
terrific burst of fury from my uncle, as soon as I should make known my
determination; and I not unreasonably feared that some act of violence
or of intimidation would next be resorted to.
Filled with these dreary forebodings, I fearfully opened the study door,
and the next minute I stood in my uncle's presence. He received me with
a politeness which I dreaded, as arguing a favourable anticipation
respecting the answer which I was to give; and after some slight delay,
he began by saying:
"It will be a relief to both of us, I believe, to bring this
conversation as soon as possible to an issue. You will excuse me, then,
my dear niece, for speaking with an abruptness which, under other
circumstances, would be unpardonable. You have, I am certain, given the
subject of our last interview fair and serious consideration; and I
trust that you are now prepared with candour to lay your answer before
me. A few words will suffice--we perfectly understand one another."
He paused, and I, though feeling that I stood upon a mine which might in
an instant explode, nevertheless answered with perfect composure:
"I must now, sir, make the same reply which I did upon the last
occasion, and I reiterate the declaration which I then made, that I
never can nor will, while life and reason remain, consent to a union
with my cousin Edward."
This announcement wrought no apparent change in Sir Arthur, except that
he became deadly, almost lividly pale. He seemed lost in dark thought
for a minute, and then with a slight effort said:
"You have answered me honestly and directly; and you say your
resolution is unchangeable. Well, would it had been otherwise--would it
had been otherwise; but be it as it is, I am satisfied."
He gave me his hand--it was cold and damp as death; under an assumed
calmness, it was evident that he was fearfully agitated. He continued
to hold my hand with an almost painful pressure, while, as if
unconsciously, seeming to forget my presence, he muttered:
"Strange, strange, strange, indeed! fatuity, helpless fatuity!" there
was here a long pause. "Madness indeed to strain a cable that is rotten
to the very heart--it must break--and then--all goes."
There was again a pause of some minutes, after which, suddenly changing
his voice and manner to one of wakeful alacrity, he exclaimed:
"Margaret, my son Edward shall plague you no more. He leaves this
country on to-morrow for France--he shall speak no more upon this
subject--never, never more--whatever events depended upon your answer
must now take their own course; but, as for this fruitless proposal, it
has been tried enough; it can be repeated no more."
At these words he coldly suffered my hand to drop, as if to express
his total abandonment of all his projected schemes of alliance; and
certainly the action, with the accompanying words, produced upon my mind
a more solemn and depressing effect than I believed possible to have
been caused by the course which I had determined to pursue; it struck
upon my heart with an awe and heaviness which _will_ accompany the
accomplishment of an important and irrevocable act, even though no doubt
or scruple remains to make it possible that the agent should wish it
undone.
"Well," said my uncle, after a little time, "we now cease to speak upon
this topic, never to resume it again. Remember you shall have no further
uneasiness from Edward; he leaves Ireland for France on to-morrow; this
will be a relief to you. May I depend upon your honour that no word
touching the subject of this interview shall ever escape you?"
I gave him the desired assurance; he said:
"It is well--I am satisfied; we have nothing more, I believe, to say
upon either side, and my presence must be a restraint upon you, I shall
therefore bid you farewell."
I then left the apartment, scarcely knowing what to think of the strange
interview which had just taken place.
On the next day my uncle took occasion to tell me that Edward had
actually sailed, if his intention had not been interfered with by
adverse circumstances; and two days subsequently he actually produced a
letter from his son, written, as it said, on board, and despatched while
the ship was getting under weigh. This was a great satisfaction to me
and as being likely to prove so, it was no doubt communicated to me by
Sir Arthur.
During all this trying period, I had found infinite consolation in the
society and sympathy of my dear cousin Emily. I never in after-life
formed a friendship so close, so fervent, and upon which, in all its
progress, I could look back with feelings of such unalloyed pleasure,
upon whose termination I must ever dwell with so deep, yet so
unembittered regret. In cheerful converse with her I soon recovered my
spirits considerably, and passed my time agreeably enough, although
still in the strictest seclusion.
Matters went on sufficiently smooth, although I could not help sometimes
feeling a momentary, but horrible uncertainty respecting my uncle's
character; which was not altogether unwarranted by the circumstances of
the two trying interviews whose particulars I have just detailed. The
unpleasant impression which these conferences were calculated to leave
upon my mind was fast wearing away, when there occurred a circumstance,
slight indeed in itself, but calculated irresistibly to awaken all my
worst suspicions, and to overwhelm me again with anxiety and terror.
I had one day left the house with my cousin Emily, in order to take a
ramble of considerable length, for the purpose of sketching some
favourite views, and she had walked about half a mile, when I perceived
that we had forgotten our drawing materials, the absence of which
would have defeated the object of our walk. Laughing at our own
thoughtlessness, we returned to the house, and leaving Emily without, I
ran upstairs to procure the drawing-books and pencils, which lay in my
bedroom.
As I ran up the stairs I was met by the tall, ill-looking Frenchwoman,
evidently a good deal flurried.
"Que veut, madame?" said she, with a more decided effort to be polite
than I had ever known her make before.
"No, no--no matter," said I, hastily running by her in the direction of
my room.
"Madame," cried she, in a high key, "restez ici, s'il vous plait; votre
chambre n'est pas faite--your room is not ready for your reception yet."
I continued to move on without heeding her. She was some way behind me,
and feeling that she could not otherwise prevent my entrance, for I was
now upon the very lobby, she made a desperate attempt to seize hold of
my person: she succeeded in grasping the end of my shawl, which she drew
from my shoulders; but slipping at the same time upon the polished oak
floor, she fell at full length upon the boards.
A little frightened as well as angry at the rudeness of this strange
woman, I hastily pushed open the door of my room, at which I now stood,
in order to escape from her; but great was my amazement on entering to
find the apartment occupied.
The window was open, and beside it stood two male figures; they appeared
to be examining the fastenings of the casement, and their backs were
turned towards the door. One of them was my uncle; they both turned on
my entrance, as if startled. The stranger was booted and cloaked, and
wore a heavy broad-leafed hat over his brows. He turned but for a
moment, and averted his face; but I had seen enough to convince me that
he was no other than my cousin Edward. My uncle had some iron instrument
in his hand, which he hastily concealed behind his back; and, coming
towards me, said something as if in an explanatory tone; but I was too
much shocked and confounded to understand what it might be. He said
something about "repairs--window-frames--cold, and safety."
I did not wait, however, to ask or to receive explanations, but hastily
left the room. As I went down the stairs I thought I heard the voice of
the French woman in all the shrill volubility of excuse, which was met,
however, by suppressed but vehement imprecations, or what seemed to me
to be such, in which the voice of my cousin Edward distinctly mingled.
I joined my cousin Emily quite out of breath. I need not say that my
head was too full of other things to think much of drawing for that day.
I imparted to her frankly the cause of my alarms, but at the same time
as gently as I could; and with tears she promised vigilance, and
devotion, and love. I never had reason for a moment to repent the
unreserved confidence which I then reposed in her. She was no less
surprised than I at the unexpected appearance of her brother, whose
departure for France neither of us had for a moment doubted, but which
was now proved by his actual presence to be nothing more than an
imposture, practised, I feared, for no good end.
The situation in which I had found my uncle had removed completely all
my doubts as to his designs. I magnified suspicions into certainties,
and dreaded night after night that I should be murdered in my bed. The
nervousness produced by sleepless nights and days of anxious fears
increased the horrors of my situation to such a degree, that I at length
wrote a letter to a Mr. Jefferies, an old and faithful friend of my
father's, and perfectly acquainted with all his affairs, praying him,
for God's sake, to relieve me from my present terrible situation, and
communicating without reserve the nature and grounds of my suspicions.
This letter I kept sealed and directed for two or three days always
about my person--for discovery would have been ruinous--in expectation
of an opportunity which might be safely trusted, whereby to have it
placed in the post-office. As neither Emily nor I was permitted to pass
beyond the precincts of the demesne itself, which was surrounded by high
walls formed of dry stone, the difficulty of procuring such an
opportunity was greatly enhanced.
At this time Emily had a short conversation with her father, which she
reported to me instantly.
After some indifferent matter, he had asked her whether she and I were
upon good terms, and whether I was unreserved in my disposition. She
answered in the affirmative; and he then inquired whether I had been
much surprised to find him in my chamber on the other day. She answered
that I had been both surprised and amused.
"And what did she think of George Wilson's appearance?"
"Who?" inquired she.
"Oh, the architect," he answered, "who is to contract for the repairs of
the house; he is accounted a handsome fellow."
"She could not see his face," said Emily, "and she was in such a hurry
to escape that she scarcely noticed him."
Sir Arthur appeared satisfied, and the conversation ended.
This slight conversation, repeated accurately to me by Emily, had the
effect of confirming, if indeed anything was required to do so, all
that I had before believed as to Edward's actual presence; and I
naturally became, if possible, more anxious than ever to despatch the
letter to Mr. Jefferies. An opportunity at length occurred.
As Emily and I were walking one day near the gate of the demesne, a man
from the village happened to be passing down the avenue from the house;
the spot was secluded, and as this person was not connected by service
with those whose observation I dreaded, I committed the letter to his
keeping, with strict injunctions that he should put it without delay
into the receiver of the town post-office; at the same time I added a
suitable gratuity, and the man, having made many protestations of
punctuality, was soon out of sight.
He was hardly gone when I began to doubt my discretion in having trusted
this person; but I had no better or safer means of despatching the
letter, and I was not warranted in suspecting him of such wanton
dishonesty as an inclination to tamper with it; but I could not be quite
satisfied of its safety until I had received an answer, which could not
arrive for a few days. Before I did, however, an event occurred which a
little surprised me.
I was sitting in my bedroom early in the day, reading by myself, when I
heard a knock at the door.
"Come in," said I; and my uncle entered the room.
"Will you excuse me?" said he. "I sought you in the parlour, and thence
I have come here. I desire to say a word with you. I trust that you have
hitherto found my conduct to you such as that of a guardian towards his
ward should be."
I dared not withhold my assent.
"And," he continued, "I trust that you have not found me harsh or
unjust, and that you have perceived, my dear niece, that I have sought
to make this poor place as agreeable to you as may be."
I assented again; and he put his hand in his pocket, whence he drew a
folded paper, and dashing it upon the table with startling emphasis, he
said,--
"Did you write that letter?"
The sudden and fearful alteration of his voice, manner, and face, but,
more than all, the unexpected production of my letter to Mr. Jefferies,
which I at once recognized, so confounded and terrified me that I felt
almost choking.
I could not utter a word.
"Did you write that letter?" he repeated, with slow and intense
emphasis. "You did, liar and hypocrite! You dared to write this foul and
infamous libel; but it shall be your last. Men will universally believe
you mad, if I choose to call for an inquiry. I can make you appear so.
The suspicions expressed in this letter are the hallucinations and
alarms of moping lunacy. I have defeated your first attempt, madam; and
by the holy God, if ever you make another, chains, straw, darkness, and
the keeper's whip shall be your lasting portion!"
With these astounding words he left the room, leaving me almost
fainting.
I was now almost reduced to despair; my last cast had failed; I had no
course left but that of eloping secretly from the castle and placing
myself under the protection of the nearest magistrate. I felt if this
were not done, and speedily, that I should be _murdered_.
No one, from mere description, can have an idea of the unmitigated
horror of my situation--a helpless, weak, inexperienced girl, placed
under the power and wholly at the mercy of evil men, and feeling that
she had it not in her power to escape for a moment from the malignant
influences under which she was probably fated to fall; and with a
consciousness that if violence, if murder were designed, her dying
shriek would be lost in void space; no human being would be near to aid
her, no human interposition could deliver her.
I had seen Edward but once during his visit, and, as I did not meet with
him again, I began to think that he must have taken his departure--a
conviction which was to a certain degree satisfactory, as I regarded
his absence as indicating the removal of immediate danger.