"MICHING MALLECHO; IT MEANS MISCHIEF."
Reader, I have no heart to proceed; I am sorry that I began at all--that I
have got thus far. I love Margaret, the beautiful and gentle--Margaret,
the heart-broken penitent. I love her as a brother; and what brother but
yearns to conceal his erring sister's frailty? The faithful historian,
however, is denied the privileges of fiction. He may not, if he would,
divert the natural course of things; he cannot, though he pines to do it,
expunge the written acts of Providence Let us go or in charity.
Michael Allcraft, in obedience to his father's wish, came home. He was in
his twenty-fourth year, stood six feet high, was handsome and
well-proportioned. He was a youth of ardent temperament, liberal and
high-spirited. How he became the son of such a sire is to me a mystery. It
was not in the affections that the defects of Michael's character were
found. These were warm, full of the flowing milk of human kindness.
Weakness, however, was apparent in the more solid portions of the edifice.
His morals, it must be confessed, were very lax--his principles unsteady
and insecure--and how could it be otherwise? Deprived of his mother at his
birth, and from that hour brought up under the eye and tutelage of a man
who had spent a life in the education of one idea--who regarded
money-making as the business, the duty, the pleasure, the very soul and
end of our existence--who judged of the worth of mankind--of men, women,
and children--according to their incomes, and accounted all men virtuous
who were rich--all guilty who were poor--whose spirit was so intent upon
accumulation, that it did not stop to choose the straight and open roads
that led to it, but often crept through many crooked and unclean--brought
up, I say, under such a father and a guide, was it a wonder that Michael
was imperfect in many qualities of mind--that reason with him was no tutor,
that his understanding failed to be, as South expresses it, "the soul's
upper region, lofty and serene, free from the vapours and disturbances of
the inferior affections?" In truth there was no upper region at all, and
very little serenity in Michael's composition. He had been a wayward and
passionate boy. He was a restless and excitable man--full of generous
impulses, as I have hinted, but sudden and hasty in action--swift in
anger--impatient of restraint and government. His religious views were
somewhat dim and undistinguishable even to himself. He believed--as who
does not--in the great First Cause, and in the usefulness of religion as
an instrument of good in the hands of government. I do not think he
troubled himself any further with the subject. He sometimes on the Sabbath
went to church, but oftener stayed at home, or sought excitement with a
chosen friend or two abroad. He hated professing people, as they are
called, and would rather shake hands with a housebreaker than a saint. It
has been necessary to state these particulars, in order to show how
thoroughly he lived uninfluenced by the high motives which are at once the
inspiration and the happiness of all good men--how madly he rested on the
conviction that religion is an abstract matter, and has nothing more to do
with life and conduct than any other abstruse branch of metaphysics. But
in spite of this unsound state of things, the gentleman possessed all the
showy surface-virtues that go so very far towards eliciting the favourable
verdict of mankind. He prided himself upon a delicate, a surprising sense
of honour. He professed himself ready to part with his life rather than
permit a falsehood to escape his lips; he would have blushed to think
dishonestly--to _act_ so was impossible. Pride stood him here in the stead
of holiness; for the command which he refused to regard at the bidding of
the Almighty, he implicitly obeyed at the solicitation of the most ignoble
of his passions. It is difficult to imagine a more dangerous companion for
a young widow than Michael Allcraft was likely to prove. Manliness of
demeanour, and a handsome face and figure, have always their intrinsic
value. If you add to these a cultivated mind, a most expressive and
intellectual countenance, rich hazel eyes, as full of love as fire, a warm
impulsive nature, shrinking from oppression, active in kindness and deeds
of real benevolence--you will not fail to tremble for my Margaret. Abraham
Allcraft was too shrewd a man to allude even most remotely to the actual
reason of his son's recall. He knew very well that to hint at it was in
the very outset to defeat his purpose. He acted far more cautiously.
Michael had received a first rate education--he had been to the
university--he had travelled through Italy and Germany; and when he
received his father's letter was acquiring business habits in a
banking-house in London. It was high time to settle seriously to work, so
thought Allcraft senior, and suddenly determined to constitute his son a
partner in his bank. "He himself was getting old," he said. "Who knew what
would happen? Delays were dangerous. He would delay no longer. Now he was
well, and Michael might learn and profit by his long experience." Michael
consented--why should he not?--to be the junior partner in the prosperous
house of Allcraft senior and Son. Three months passed speedily, and
Margaret still continued Abraham's tenant. She had lost the sting of her
sorrow in the scenes of natural beauty by which she was surrounded. She
had lived in strict retirement, and a gentle tide of peace was flowing
gradually and softly to her soul again. She thought of quitting the
tranquil cot with pain, and still fixed day after day for a departure that
she could not take. The large house, associated as it was with all her
grief, looked dismal at a distance. How would it be when she returned to
it, and revisited the well-known rooms? Every article of furniture was in
one way or another connected with the departed. She never--no never could
be happy there again. The seclusion to which she doomed herself had not
prevented Abraham Allcraft from being her daily visitor. His age and
character protected her from calumny. His sympathy and great attention had
merited and won her unaffected gratitude. She received his visits with
thankfulness, and courted them. The wealth which it was known he possessed
acquitted him of all sinister designs; and it was easy and natural to
attribute his regard and tenderness to the pity which a good man feels for
a bereavement such as she had undergone. The close of six months found her
still residing at the cottage, and Abraham still a constant and untiring
friend. He had been fortunate enough to give her able and important
counsel. In the disposition of a portion of her property, he had evinced
so great a respect for her interest, had regarded his own profit and
advantages so little, that had Margaret not been satisfied before of his
probity and good faith, she would have been the most ungrateful of women
not to acknowledge them now. But, in fact, poor Margaret did acknowledge
them, and in the simplicity of her nature had mingled in her daily prayers
tears of gratitude to Heaven for the blessing which had come to her in the
form of one so fatherly and good. In the meanwhile where was Michael? At
home--at work--under the _surveillance_ of a parent who had power to check
and keep in awe even his turbulent and outbreaking spirit. He had taken
kindly to the occupation which had been provided for him, and promised,
under good tuition, to become in time a proper man of business. He had
heard of the Widow Mildred--her unbounded wealth--her unrivalled beauty.
He knew of his father's daily visit to the favoured cottage, but he knew
no more; nor more would he have _cared_ to know had not his father, with a
devil's cunning, and with much mysteriousness, forbidden him to speak
about the lady, or to think of visiting her so long as she remained
amongst them. Such being the interdict, Michael was, of course, impatient
to seek out the hidden treasure, and determined to behold her. Delay
increased desire, and desire with him was equal to attainment. Whilst he
was busy in contriving a method for the production of the lovely widow,
his father, who had watched and waited for the moment that had come,
suddenly requested him to accompany him to Mrs Mildred's house--to dine
with that good lady, and to take leave of her before she departed from the
neighbourhood for ever. Michael did not need a second invitation. The
eagerness with which he listened to the first was a true joy for Abraham.
Margaret, be it understood, had not invited Michael. The first year of her
widowhood was drawing to a close, and she had resolved at length to remove
from the retreat in which she had been so long hidden from mankind. Her
youthful spirits had rebounded--were once more buoyant--solitude had done
its work--the physician was no longer needed. That she might gradually
approach the busy world again, she proposed to visit, for a time, a small
and pretty town, well known to her, on the eastern coast. The day was
fixed for her removal, and, just one week before, she invited Mr Allcraft
senior to a farewell dinner. She had not thought it necessary to include
in the invitation the younger gentleman, whom she had never seen, albeit
his father's constant and unlimited encomiums had made the _woman_ less
unwilling to receive than to invite the youth, in whom the graces and the
virtues of humanity were said to have their residence. And Allcraft was
aware of this too. For his head he would not have incurred the risk of
giving her offence. With half an eye he saw the danger was not worth the
speaking of. When I say that Michael never eat less food at a meal in his
life--never talked more volubly or better--never had been so thoroughly
entranced and happy--so lost to every thing but the consciousness of _her_
presence, of the hot blood tingling in his cheek--of the mad delight that
had leapt into his eyes and sparkled there, it will scarcely be requisite
to describe more particularly the effect of this precious dinner party
upon _him_. As for the lady, she would not have been woman had she failed
to admire the generous sentiments--the witty repartees--the brilliant
passages with which the young man's taste and memory enabled him to
entertain and charm his lovely hostess. As for his handsome face and manly
bearing--but, as we have said already, these have their price and value
always. Allcraft senior had the remarkable faculty of observing every
thing either with or without the assistance of his eyes. During the whole
of dinner he did not once withdraw his devil's vision from his plate, and
yet he knew more of what was going on above it than both the individuals
together, whose eyes it seemed had nothing better to do than just to take
full notes of what was passing in the countenance of either. Against this
happy talent we must set off a serious failing in the character of Abraham.
He always had a nap, he said, the moment after dinner. Accordingly, though
he retired with the young people to the drawing-room, he placed himself
immediately in an easy-chair, and quickly passed into a deep and
long-enduring sleep. Margaret then played sacred airs on the piano, which
Michael listened to with most unsacred feelings. Fathers and mothers! put
out your children's eyes--remove their toes--cut off their fingers. Whilst
with a lightning look, a hair-breadth touch, they can declare, make known
the love, that, having grown too big for the young heart, is panting for a
vent--you do but lose your pains whilst you stand by to seal their
tremulous lips. Speech! Fond lovers did never need it yet--and never shall.
What Margaret thought when the impassioned youth turned her pages over one
by one, (and sometimes two and three together,) and with a hand quivering
as if it had committed murder--what she felt when his full liquid eye
gazed on her, thanking her for her sweet voice, and imploring one strain
more, I cannot tell, though Abraham Allcraft guessed exactly, bobbing and
nodding, though he was, in slumber most profound.
Your talking and susceptible men are either at summer heat or zero.
Michael, who had been all animation and garrulity from the moment he
beheld the widow until he looked his last unutterable adieus, became
silent and morose as soon as he turned his back upon the cottage, and lost
sight, as he believed, of the divinity for ever. He screwed himself into a
corner of the coach, and there he sat until the short homeward journey was
completed, mentally chewing, with the best appetite he could, the cud of
that day's delicious feast. Judging from his frequent sighs, and the
uneasy shiftings in his seat, the repast was any thing but savoury.
Abraham said nothing. He had but a few words to utter, and these were
reserved for the quiet half hour which preceded the usual time of rest.
"Michael," said the sire as they sat together in the evening.
"Father," said the junior partner.
"Two hundred thousand clear. She'll be a duchess!"
A sigh, like a current of air, flowed through the room.
"She deserves it, Michael--a sweet creature--a coronet might be proud of
her. Why don't you answer, Mike?"
"Father, she is an angel!"
"Pooh, pooh!"
"A heavenly creature!"
"I tell you what, Mike, if I were a royal duke, and you a prince, I should
be proud to have her for a daughter. But it is useless talking so. I sadly
fear that some designing rascal, without a shilling in his pocket, will
get her in his clutches, and, who knows, perhaps ruin the poor creature.
What rosy lips she has! You cunning dog, I saw you ogle them."
"Father!"
"You did, sir--don't deny it; and do you think I wonder at you, Mike?
Ain't I your father, and don't I know the blood? Come, go to bed, sir,
and forget it all."
"Do you, father, really think it possible that--do you think she is in
danger? I do confess she is loveliest, the most accomplished woman in the
world. If she were to come to any harm--if--if"--
"Now look you, Mike. There are one or two trifling business matters to be
arranged between the widow and myself before she leaves us. You shall
transact them with her. I am too busy at the bank at present. You are my
junior partner, but you are a hot-headed fellow, and I can hardly trust
you with accounts. All I ask and bargain for is, _that you be cautious
and discreet_--mark me, cautious and discreet. Let me feel satisfied of
this, and you shall settle all the matters as you please. Business, sir,
is business. I must acknowledge, Mike, that such a pair of eyes would
have been too much for old Abraham forty years ago; and what a neck and
bust! Come, go to bed, sir, and get up early in the morning."
* * * * *