"Whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on the event--
A thought, which, quartered, hath but one part wisdom,
And ever three parts coward--I do not know
Why yet I live to say, _This thing 's to do_."
Shakspeare.
Randolph had not renewed, on returning to the castle, the instructions
he formerly gave to Jeffrey respecting the non-admission of strangers.
But as yet there had been no visitors. The family had been so long
isolated, that it was a matter of discussion among the neighbouring
gentry to call or not to call; and no sheep had as yet chosen to head
the flock. But the very morning of the sports described in the last
chapter, word was brought that a gentleman wished to see Mr. Trevethlan.
Randolph desired he might be shown into a parlour, and went to meet him.
"Have the honour to address Mr. Trevethlan, I presume," the stranger
said. "My name, Stiles; in the employment of Messrs. Truby and Company,
solicitors, Chancery-lane, London. Have the honour to deliver this
declaration in ejectment. Will take the liberty to read the notice--'Mr.
Randolph Trevethlan'"----
"It is unnecessary, sir," said Randolph, with an external calmness at
which he afterwards marvelled. "I have been a student of the law, and
understand the proceeding."
"Beg pardon, sir," said Mr. Stiles; "more regular to read it. Very
short. 'Mr. Randolph Trevethlan'"----
And the clerk read the notice without further interruption. Randolph
took the paper, rang the bell, desired the servant to provide Mr. Stiles
with some refreshment, wished him good-morning, and withdrew.
He was, as he said, perfectly familiar with the nature of the law-suit
which this visit commenced. And as the reader is doubtless acquainted
with it through the medium of a very clever and popular story, it will
be unnecessary to pursue its details here. As soon as Randolph was
alone, he glanced down the document, and, with a kind of wild glee,
perceived that his real opponent in the action was Philip Trevethlan
Pendarrel. He rubbed his hands together, rumpling the paper between
them, and almost exulting in the strife which was at hand.
"So," said he aloud, "there are two games begun to-day. One will be
played out before night; the other will last sometime longer. But we'll
make it as short as we can. And now to action. Our stake is a little
higher than that of the villagers yonder. They play for broken heads,
and we for broken hearts. Faites vos devoirs, preux chevaliers."
With these hasty words Randolph immediately sought the chaplain and
steward, and begged them to come and assist at a council of war. Nor was
Helen omitted, for after one moment's hesitation, her brother thought
she had better know the worst at once. As soon as the little circle was
completed, Randolph produced the hostile missive, requested that he
might not be interrupted, and read it from end to end with a fierce
gravity of accent. Helen was entirely bewildered, Polydore was rather
perplexed, the steward was thunderstruck.
"What does it mean?" said Helen. "Roe, and Doe, and Mr. Pendarrel! What
does it all mean?"
"It is some kind of law proceeding, is it not?" said the chaplain.
"It is the beginning of an action of ejectment," said Mr. Griffith.
"That is, Mr. Pendarrel claims some portion of our estates. Methinks he
has had enough already."
Randolph was silent.
"I imagined that all litigation had been closed long ago," Polydore
remarked.
"Will it be a source of trouble?" Helen asked, looking anxiously at her
brother.
"I cannot for the life of me understand what it means," said Griffith,
who had been reflecting. "Is it possible that in all those numerous
deeds, some bit of land has been included which has never been
surrendered? But it cannot be--they're too sharp."
"Trouble yourself with no vain questions, Mr. Griffith," Randolph
exclaimed abruptly. "This is brought for the castle, and hamlet, and
_all_ our property."
"To deprive us----," Helen began.
"Ay, Helen, to deprive us of everything," her brother continued. "Some
personal trinkets, a few bits of old furniture, perhaps our wardrobes,
may be spared--that is, if we can pay the expenses of the proceeding.
But our home, and our lands, and our friends, from all those we are to
be parted for ever."
Helen wept; more at her brother's manner than the fate announced in his
words.
"Randolph," said the chaplain, with a sternness, which in him was
extremely rare, "be calm. You are unkind to your sister, and unjust to
us. You know that nothing but your own conduct can deprive you of your
friends, and I apprehend that even the rest does not necessarily
follow."
"Sister, dearest," Randolph whispered, "I did not mean it. Mr. Riches, I
beg pardon. I am, perhaps, scarcely myself. But I feel convinced that
nothing less is intended than an attack on the castle. It is well to
provide against the worst."
"I think Mr. Trevethlan must be right," said the steward very seriously.
"On turning the matter over, I can see no other explanation than an
attempt to upset our title in general. But what can be the alleged flaw
I am wholly at a loss to conceive."
"One cannot learn that till the trial, Mr. Griffith," Randolph observed.
"And is it possible," asked Helen, who had dried her eyes, "that the
attempt can be successful? Can we be obliged to abandon Trevethlan?"
"Not for ever, my sister," answered Randolph. "The word slipped from my
tongue. But they may obtain a temporary victory. We may be surprised at
the first trial. It is for that I wished to prepare you. It is also a
reason why I am resolved the affair shall, on our side, be hurried
forward as fast as possible. We will try at the very next assizes, if it
is feasible, and so, within a month, we shall know our true position. I
shall write to Mr. Winter, and send him this notice immediately; and Mr.
Griffith will have the goodness to communicate with him also. Say
everything you can imagine, my good sir. Suggest the wildest
difficulties. Perhaps Mr. Riches can think of something. We will be
forearmed if we can. But despatch--despatch above everything."
Randolph had recovered both his composure and his energy. Riches and
Griffith were again surprised at the decision with which he spoke. They
now quitted the room, and the brother and sister were left alone.
"Helen," the former said, "this may be a very painful business. From the
nature of the proceeding, we are kept in ignorance of the grounds of the
attack, and when they are disclosed we may be taken by surprise, and
unable to show their weakness. And in that case there would be a verdict
against us, and for a time--note me, my dear sister, only for a time--we
should be deprived of everything that is ours, to our very name. So,
Helen, we must be prepared for a season of calamity."
"They cannot deprive me of you, Randolph," she said, "and the rest they
may take."
"Nay," said the brother, "I hope they may not. There is some deep plot
laid against us, which may prove successful at first. Dark hints,
foreboding threats, have been whispered to me. I seem to see some
shapeless danger. It is now like the smoke which rose from the
fisherman's casket. It may take the form of the Afrite. But trust me, my
sister, we shall find a spell to charm it again into its prison."
"Would, Randolph," Helen exclaimed, "I could find some spell to charm
you into old ways! Why are you not as before we went to London? Whence
has come all the change? Little else should I heed, if you were as you
used to be."
"And all the glories of our race! Fie, Helen! Go to Mrs. Griffith, and
take a lesson in the picture-gallery."
He had smiled as he began; but his last word suggested a host of recent
associations, and his tone was gloomy again, as he said he would go and
write his letters.
Of these, the first was to Mr. Winter. Randolph referred him to the
document which he enclosed, requested him to communicate with Messrs.
Truby, and to take upon himself the whole conduct of the action. And, in
the most urgent terms, he desired the lawyer to bring it to an issue
with the utmost despatch. Some surprise, he said, was evidently
intended. It was just within the sphere of possibility, that by delay
they might find a clue to the plot. Never mind that. It was at least as
possible they might not, and they might as well learn it from their
adversaries. Beaten at first, they would triumph in the end. At the same
time, they would of course go into court prepared, as far as they could
be, to meet every possible objection that could be imagined. He would be
obliged by Mr. Winter retaining Mr. Seymour Rereworth as his junior
counsel.
Randolph had signed his letter, and laid down his pen. He read carefully
over what he had written, caught up the quill again, and added--
"P.S.--It is my father's marriage that is attacked."
With quick and trembling fingers he folded the missive, sealed and
directed it. So much was done.
Then he wrote to Rereworth, who had been called to the bar the preceding
term, and intended to join the western circuit at the coming assizes.
The letter was as follows:--
"MY DEAR REREWORTH,
"An action has just been commenced against me, in which I have
requested Winter to offer you a brief. If you will not object
to hold it, I shall rejoice; but if, under the circumstances,
you feel the slightest reluctance, pray decline without
hesitation. Do not think that a refusal would vex me.
"It is ejectment, brought by Mr. Pendarrel, and, I have no
doubt, for all the property which is left me here. There can be
only three grounds for the claim. First, they may set up some
will or deed, which would be forged. Secondly, they may impeach
the marriage of my grandfather (Mr. Pendarrel's half brother),
which is very unlikely. Thirdly, they may attack my father's;
which, I write it with shame and sorrow, is what I believe they
mean to do.
"Winter is acquainted with all the circumstances of that
unhappy union. I have written to him; but I could not dwell
upon the subject. To you I would hint, that it is among my
maternal relations that a clue to the plot will probably be
found. They have, perhaps, had reason to complain, and they
have passion enough to seek revenge.
"I levy a tax upon your friendship in asking you to engage in a
cause which, you will at once see, involves many personal
considerations, and must produce great pain. Do not, I again
say, consider yourself in any way bound to pay it; and believe
me, whatever be your decision, to be, my dear Rereworth,
"Still faithfully yours,
"RANDOLPH TREVETHLAN."
These letters, together with one from Mr. Griffith, were despatched to
their destination that afternoon. Griffith wrote at much greater length
than his master, refreshing Mr. Winter's memory as to many points in the
family history. In particular, he detailed all the facts relating to the
marriage of Margaret Basset. For it was impossible not to be struck by
the idea that this action might be an attempt to give effect to the
vulgar rumours. And Griffith remembered, with some anxiety, that the
only witness to the ceremony, at present available, was old Maud Basset,
and that it was not quite certain which way her testimony might incline.
On the other hand, the steward found pleasure in thinking that they
could raise so strong a presumption in favour of the marriage, from Mr.
Trevethlan's own conduct, and from the conviction of all his household,
as could only be shaken by evidence of the most peremptory description.
The temporary excitement which had strung Randolph's nerves and restored
his composure while he wrote his letters, died away when they were
finished. The sport with which all the country was alive, precluded him
from his usual excursion. He ascended with Helen to the roof of the
watch-tower, which commanded a very extensive view of the scene of
action, and looked listlessly upon the animated landscape. The shouts of
the contending parties came up to the brother and sister, now near and
now distant, now from the hollow of a dell, now from the ridge of an
upland. Sometimes the holder of the ball led the conflict full in their
sight; sometimes it disappeared in the intricacy of a thicket; sometimes
it approached, and Trevethlan seemed to be winning; then it receded, and
victory appeared to favour Pendarrel. Immediately below them, at the
foot of the base-court was the village-green, gay with the bright
ribands and merry laughter of the country girls. Helen partly forgot the
cares of the new law-suit, in gazing on the jocund landscape.
"I wonder, Randolph," she said, "whether Mercy Page's sweetheart is in
the game to-day. The poor little girl's been quite fretting about him,
ever since he went away to London; and she owned to me, the other day,
she had been to drop a pebble in Madron Well, and that wretched dame
Gudhan frightened her half out of her wits."
"Who is Mercy's sweetheart?" her brother asked.
"Oh, it is Michael Sinson. He is in the service of Mrs. Pendarrel."
Helen had answered before she recollected the morning's communication.
"Ha! indeed!" Randolph exclaimed.
"And Polydore tells me that Edward Owen is just as peevish for her
sake," the sister continued, "as she for her absent swain's. And he goes
much among the discontented, and attends the night meetings, all out of
love. So you see there's quite a little romance in the hamlet; Romeo and
Juliet _en paysan_."
"Of old," Randolph said, mechanically, for his thoughts were otherwise
engaged, "he would have gone on the high road."
Helen, perplexed, looked in her brother's face, and saw the abstraction
in which he was absorbed. She turned her attention on the game, which
was now approaching its close. A dense throng appeared in the lane which
debouched at the further end of the green, shouting, struggling, and
fighting, till at last the victor of the day bounded to the goal, and
threw up the ball in triumph. The acclamations which hailed his success
roused Randolph from his reverie.
"See, brother," said Helen, "we have won. Let it be an omen for us."
"Ah!" he replied, smiling fondly upon her, and reverting to an idea she
had suggested, "I wish we believed such things. I would consult St.
Madron myself. As it is, I have written to consult our friend Rereworth.
But the game is over: let us go down."
Helen was pleased to hear that Randolph was in correspondence with one
whom she had liked in his visits to Hampstead, and also at the
expression of his face, and the cheerful accent with which he spoke. But
it was only one of the fluctuations of the barometer in a storm.
He had exulted at first receiving the notice of action, because it gave
him what he had wished for,--a personal quarrel with the Pendarrels.
Before it he never felt quite satisfied with himself. He had his
misgivings concerning his reception of that first letter of condolence.
He desired a right to make reprisals on his own account. Anything that
would render his union with Esther's daughter a greater triumph over
herself, was acceptable to his perverse temper.
But this froward feeling was short-lived. Randolph remembered Mildred's
position, and reflected that if she loved him, as he believed,
everything that widened the breach between him and her family would be a
source of misery to herself. In the pursuit of his selfish revenge, he
had entirely forgotten the suffering it would inflict upon his mistress.
He was precluded from seeking her as the friend of those who should be
dear to her; and it was not, surely, for him to exult in any
exasperation of their hostility.
And then he thought of the law-suit almost in despair. It seemed that
Esther Pendarrel, not content with breaking his father's heart, and
driving him to ruin, was proceeding after his death to defame his
memory: pretending that, he had imposed upon his family by a fictitious
marriage: seeking to have his children stripped of their name, and made
infamous in the eyes of the world. The mother of her whom Randolph
loved, was trying to degrade him to a position in which his alliance
would be a disgrace.
And his own mother, whom he only knew by that strange dream, yet
regarded with the fondest affection, whose fame he had but recently
declared he would defend with his life,--her good name was also to be
sacrificed to satisfy the vengeance of this haughty woman. What! were
these the things in which he had exulted? That the breach which his
father had provided one means--dubious and remote indeed, but still a
means of healing--should be rendered irremediable for ever! For who
could pardon an attack like this?
Of the action itself, and its consequences, Randolph took little heed.
To think of it would only be to perplex himself concerning the precise
artifice which was to be used at the trial: he was content to wait till
it came. Nevertheless, he noted Helen's chance information respecting
Michael Sinson's employment, but Griffith had already mentioned it to
Mr. Winter.
Late in the evening the steward brought an account of the fray which
terminated the village sports, to the little turret-room where Polydore
was sitting with his old pupils. Jeffrey had been down on the green,
participating in the evening revels; but the careful warder returned to
his post as soon as anger took the place of amusement. And so fitful was
Randolph's mood that he now heard even of this disturbance with regret,
as he fancied it might introduce some fresh element of discord into the
family feud.