great world, in which she acts no unimportant part, has not spoiled
her affections. She is indulgent and fond almost to a fault."
"I shall love her for your sake, Rupert," answered the lovely wife.
"How like she is!" she exclaimed, looking at a miniature which she
wore around her neck, and then comparing it with the living
countenance that beamed upon her. "Yet," she continued with a sigh,
"she owes me no return of love."
"And wherefore?"
"Have I not stolen her most cherished treasure?"
"Have you not added to her treasures? She will rejoice in her
new-found daughter. I know her well. She will not even suffer my
father to frown upon us. When he would be most stern, she will lead
you to him, and melt him into tenderness and pardon."
"I hope, dear Rupert, that it may be so. I would my father were with
us!"
"Lord Railton will be a father to you till his return. Trust me for
it. You shall find a happy home with him, until arrangements are made
for our settlement here or elsewhere."
"Oh, elsewhere, dear Rupert, if it be possible! Let us go abroad; I
was never happy in London, and strange to say, never felt at home in
England. Yet London was my birth-place."
"You love blue sky, dearest!"
"Yes, and happy people. Men and women who are not mere slaves to form
and fashion: who breathe free air and imbibe a sense of freedom. Oh
Venice! dear Venice!--we shall go to Venice, shall we not? It is the
land of enchantment, dearest Rupert, there is nothing like it in the
world--the land of love and of romance."
"You shall visit it, sweetest, and abide there if you wish it. To me
all spots are alike that find you happy and at my side. When you are
tired of Venice, you shall lead me whithersoever you will."
"Will you always say so?"
"Always. But that our departure may not be delayed, let us attend to
the pressing business of the hour. All our movements depend upon my
father's sanction. Once reconciled to him, and the world is before us,
to minister, sweet Elinor, to your every wish."
"What if he should punish you for my offence?"
"For your offence, dear girl! and what is that? Think not of it. I go
to remove your fears and seal our happiness!"
With these and similar words of confidence and hope, the youth
departed on his errand. Not without some misgiving and apprehension,
however, did he present himself at that door which heretofore had
flown open at his approach, always offering to his view the forms of
obsequious lackeys, only too willing to anticipate his pleasure. The
establishment of Lord Railton in a striking manner represented the
sentiments and feelings of the noble proprietor. There was not a
servant in the house who did not know, and that most accurately, the
opinions, public and private, of "my lord," and the relative regard he
had for all who approached his noble person, and who, moreover, did
not give evidence of this knowledge in his conduct towards mankind. A
stranger might have formed a just opinion of the influence of a
visitor by simply remarking the bearing of Mister Brown the butler, as
he ushered that visitor into the sublime presence. Smiles of
welcome--a sweet relaxation of the features--greeted "the favoured
guest;" cold rigidity, withering politeness, if not the stern
expression of rebuke itself, were the undisguised acknowledgments of
one who was "a bore" in his lordship's study, and consequently "a
rejected" in the steward's room. During the boyhood of Rupert
Sinclair, and whilst his mamma was known to be affectionately disposed
to spoil her offspring by every kind of cruel indulgence, the regard
entertained for the young scion, from Mister Brown downwards, was
beautiful to contemplate. If he appeared in the hall, one sickening
and hollow smile pervaded the cheeks of every individual; the tongue
that was still wet with slander and abuse, became, as if by magic,
sugary with choice phrases; and not a soul of all the lying crew, but
sought to surpass the rest by the profuseness of its palpable and
unmeaning flattery. Rupert Sinclair, worldly wise though he was not,
would have been stolid indeed had he not gathered from the porter's
air something of the reception that awaited him from his offended
sire, when the wide portal opened to receive the unforgiven prodigal.
"His lordship?"----began Rupert inquiringly.
"Not at home, sir," said the flunkey, with all imaginable coolness
interrupting him.
"Lady Railton?"
"Not at home, sir."
"She is in town?"
"In town, sir?--yes, sir."
"I will wait," said Sinclair, moving towards the inner hall.
He had not spoken before the porter pulled with all his might at a
bell-wire that communicated with the steward's room. As though the
signals were preconcerted, Mister Brown was in the hall in no time,
and confronting the intruder upon the thresh-hold of the sanctuary. "I
beg your pardon, Mr Sinclair," said Mister Brown, half respectfully,
half confidentially. "Lord Railton is par_tic_ularly engaged this
morning, and has given orders to that effect. It is the painfulest
thing to communicate, but I am but an agent."
Rupert coloured up, and hesitated for a moment.
"I must see Lady Railton, then?" he continued hastily.
"Her ladyship is ill, sir--really very ill. She is not suffered to see
any body. My lord has forbidden any one to approach her but her maid.
I hope no offence, but I heard Doctor Bennett tell her ladyship that
it was of the highest consequence to keep Mr Sinclair away for the
present."
"Is she really so ill, sir?" asked Rupert, turning pale, and with a
quivering lip.
Mister Brown drew his handkerchief from his pocket, and applied it to
his eyes.
"She is indeed, sir," said that hoary hypocrite; "we have had a
dreadful time of it. I thought his lordship would have blown his
brains out. My lady was given over for a week. For my own part, I may
say that duty and feeling have struggled in my bosom till I am quite
worn out, and it's quite impossible for me to say who will be laid up
next."
"I _must_ see my father, Mr Brown," said Sinclair, advancing a step or
two, to the great discomfort of the butler, who was evidently sadly
perplexed by the conflicting emotions of his mind; for whilst he
acknowledged Lord Railton for his master, he respected Mr Sinclair as
his heir, and felt how important it was to obey his present lord
without declining to serve the youth whom he hoped to make his future
lord. "I _must_ see him. Go to him, I beg of you, and tell him I am
here."
So saying, Mr Sinclair advanced a few steps further, and found himself
unhindered in the dining-room--moreover, to his surprise and
agitation, in the presence of his father. Mister Brown vanished. To
behold his parent, to fall on his knees before him, and to grasp his
hand, was the work of a moment. Lord Railton recoiled as though a
serpent, and not his child, had wound about him. He was livid with
rage, and an unnatural hate was settled in his cold, yet piercing eye.
"Your pardon, father!" cried the youth.
"Never, so help me"----
"Oh, do not say it, father!" exclaimed the son, interrupting him
before the awful word was spoken; "for heaven's sake, do not call that
name to witness such a fearful sentence--do not drive me to
distraction!"
"You have driven me mad; you have blasted every hope of mine. You have
been a traitor and a shame to the name you bear, and of which I would
it were in my power to deprive you as easily as it is to attach to it
the curse with which you shall receive from me your title and your
inheritance. Begone! I never knew what it was to hate till now."
Rupert arose and burst into tears. His father looked at him unmoved
except by scorn.
"You have not seen her," exclaimed Rupert, when the first burst of
grief had passed away; "you do not know the value of the child whom
you reject."
"No, but I have heard. The _world_ has heard of our disgrace. Mark me,
you are no longer child of mine. I disown and discard you. I will
enter into no particulars. From this moment I will hold no further
intercourse with you. At my death you will obtain my name, and all
that the law allows you. Until my death, you will receive from my man
of business more than a sufficient sum for your support. Let me not
hear from you again. I shall struggle to forget you and your
ingratitude. Neither in health nor sickness, neither by letter nor in
person, let me know any thing of you or yours. You have forsaken your
natural ties for new associations. They have made you a traitor to
your blood--let them make the most of the adoption."
"Father, you cannot mean it!" cried Rupert in an agony of sorrow.
"Father!" said the old lord, repeating the word; "in virtue of what
filial act do you claim such a kindred with me? Call that man father
whose bankrupt fortune and reputation have had such marvellous power
to wean you from your duty. Mark me, Sinclair--you were the first to
violate the tie between us, I will be the last to restore or reunite
it. Leave me. I cannot bear to look upon you."
"My mother!" inquired Sinclair, in a voice that dared not rise above a
whisper.
"Name not that poor broken-hearted woman," replied Lord Railton:
"spare me and her the pang of that inquiry. You have killed her."
"Oh, no, no, impossible!" ejaculated Sinclair. "Let me see her, and
obtain her forgiveness, if I am driven afterwards from your door."
"She lies upon a bed of sickness, placed there by yourself. She will
never rise again. Your wife must be fair indeed, if her beauty can
atone for such a murder."
"Oh, you are unjust, most cruel and unjust!"
"You have taught us such injustice and cruelty as we practise. Begone,
sir! As long as we live, we must not meet again. If you remain in
England, I shall go abroad. If you travel, I remain in England. The
sea shall be between us. I reproach myself with nothing. I denied you
nothing. I knew my duty towards you, and performed it. Your mother
lived only for your happiness. We have been cursed and disappointed. I
forget you from this hour. Had I received intelligence this morning of
your death, it would have given me no pain, evoked no sorrow. You are
dead to me. Come not again across this threshold and I will endeavour
to forget that I was not always childless."
And so saying, Lord Railton put an end to the interview by quitting
the apartment. Grief, in the bosom of Rupert, had already given place
to offended pride and resentment--such resentment, at least, as his
mild nature understood. Whatever might have been his offence, he felt
that it did not, could not deserve the vindictive hatred which burned
no less in his father's countenance than in his terrible
denunciations. What! was it a crime to link one's fate with virtuous
innocence and beauty, such as hers who called him husband? If it was a
fault to carve one's own way to happiness, did it deserve a harsher
condemnation than that apportioned to the felon? The image of Elinor
rose for the protection of the youth, and armed him with courage for
the trial of that hour. He came a suppliant; but he returned in
triumph: he came acknowledging his offence and suing for forgiveness;
he returned justified and self-acquitted. Deprived of love and
friendship at the hearth and home of his youth, he appreciated at even
more than their value the joys that had been created for him in the
palace of his own bright home, where a divinity presided as queen. The
punishment he received for her dear sake, rendered her, if that were
possible, the object still more of his passionate regard. He would
have made any sacrifice to appease the anger of his father and the
offended pride of his mother--he did not believe in the dangerous
illness of the latter--but repulsed like a dog from their side, he
deemed himself absolved from further trials of their tenderness,
additional exercise of his own forbearance and filial duty.
It was during the day of his visit to Grosvenor Square that Sinclair
was honoured with a return visit from the attorney of Lord Railton.
That gentleman had received instructions that very morning to pay to
the order of Mr Rupert Sinclair the sum of one thousand pounds per
annum, in quarterly payments of two hundred and fifty pounds each:
"But really," as the legal gentleman said to Rupert, upon breaking the
matter to him, "he could not reconcile it to his sense of duty, and to
the esteem which it was natural for him to entertain towards every
member of Lord Railton's family--to perform his very unthankful
office without using all his humble efforts to bring about a
reconciliation, which in every respect was so very desirable. God
forbid that business should ever prevent him from doing his duty as a
Christian."
It need hardly be said that Mr Crawly, the attorney in question, was
too keen a judge of things in general to throw dirt in the face of the
rising sun, simply because he had worshipped the setting luminary a
few hours before. Like all who depended more or less upon the estates
of the Railton family for their support, it was of the highest
consequence to maintain a good understanding with either party. If
Lord Railton fed Mr Crawly now, Rupert Sinclair was expected to feed
by and by Crawly's son and heir, who was preparing himself for the
paternal stool by a short round of folly and extravagance at the
university. Who could tell? Lord Railton might die to-morrow--he had
had a squeak or two--and Crawly had been called to make his will: or
he might forgive his son--or twenty things might happen to remove
present differences, and restore the divided interest to its first
integrity. Crawly had boasted to his relations and friends for the
first twenty years of his official career, that he had never made one
enemy; and when he set up his carriage in the prime of life, he
invented his own arms and crest, and assumed for his motto the words,
"always agreeable."
"It really is, my dear Sinclair," said Crawly, "a thousand pities that
we cannot bring about a more satisfactory state of things; but I do
hope that time will do wonders. Some excuses must be made for Lord
Railton. Remember his age."
[He had said the same thing to Lord Railton in the morning: "Some
excuses must be made for Mr Sinclair, my lord. Remember his _youth_!"]
"I cannot but think, Mr Crawly," answered Rupert, "that I have been
treated with unmerited harshness."
"I cannot say, Mr Sinclair--I do not think it would become me to
reply--that you have been treated handsomely."
[Crawly, Crawly! you spoke those words in Grosvenor Square!]
"I accept the allowance, sir, and will make the most of it. You may
assure my father that I shall not prefer any further claims upon his
bounty, or force myself again into his presence."
"As for bounty, my dear Mr Sinclair, you must permit me to state that
the expression is hardly a correct one. The property of his lordship
descends to you, and you are perfectly justified in spending freely
what is your own."
["Mr Crawly," said Lord Railton, in Grosvenor Square that morning,
foaming with rage, "I will deprive him of every shilling that is not
his own. I have been economical for his sake; I will be extravagant to
spite him."
"_My lord_," replied Crawly, "_you are perfectly justified in spending
freely what is your own_."]
"May I take the liberty, Mr Sinclair," said the lawyer after a pause,
"to inquire what your present views may be?"
"I am undecided, sir. I know not whether I shall remain here or go
abroad. My father's reception of me has staggered and confounded me. I
would have consulted his wishes had he received me as his son. I have
now to satisfy only my own convenience."
"I shall pay your annuity, Mr Sinclair, into your banker's regularly
every quarter-day. The first payment will be made in advance. I need
not assure you, I trust, that I act in this most painful business
rather as a mediator and a friend than a hired agent. There may be a
time when an additional advance may be both convenient and acceptable.
I have known you long, Mr Rupert. I know you to be a man of honour. I
have only to add, that at such times you will confer a favour upon me
by making me your banker, and commanding my purse."
I wonder if this was the reason why Mr Crawly suggested to Lord
Railton the propriety of grinding Mr Sinclair down to as small a sum
as possible. If so, if it were merely to give himself the opportunity
of acting like a second father to the castaway, the recommendation
cannot be too highly applauded.
"Thank you, sir; I shall not trouble you. I know my income, and I
shall take care to keep my ambition within its bounds. I have had but
few desires, I have now fewer than ever. A humble cottage and
contentment are to be prized far beyond a palace and its harassing
cares. I do not want the world to administer to my happiness. I am the
happiest of men at home. To have that home invaded by the vulgar
pleasures of life, would be to rob me of its charm!"
Now nothing could have been more satisfactory than this sentiment, had
it but been responded to by her upon whom not only the annual expenses
of Mr Rupert Sinclair's household depended, but his every movement,
wish, and thought. Unfortunately for the domestic husband, the wife
understood the bliss of love in a cottage no more than a nightingale
may be supposed to appreciate the advantages of imprisonment in a cage
of gold. She was born, and had been educated, in the world. It was the
scene of her triumphs, the home of her affections. She had played no
unimportant part in it; her sway had been acknowledged, her beauty had
gained its victory _there_. _Home!_ she had never known any other, and
what right had Sinclair to suppose that she was adapted for a
narrower? He had met her in dissipation, but had he won her from it?
Hardly; since a few days only had intervened between the hour of their
meeting, and the still more luckless hour of their union. Was it to be
imagined, could it in fairness be expected, that this young creature,
all life all fascination and vanity, with her heart attuned to the
joys of fashion, with the object of her life attained--with power and
position now, and wealth and rank to come, would forego all the
advantages within her reach, all the influence that she felt, and all
the pleasure that it was simply to ask for, in order to obtain "Love
in a cottage?" Rupert Sinclair! pull down the thatch, and build some
marble hall for the fairy you have caught--not chained!
Within six months of his marriage, the Honourable Rupert Sinclair was
living at the rate of--not one--but five thousand a-year. Persuaded by
his wife, (who learnt any thing but quiet submission from the tyranny
of Lord Railton, and whose determination to go abroad was relinquished
the moment she discovered her absence from England would be agreeable
to her husband's family,) Rupert had taken a mansion in town, and Mrs
Rupert Sinclair was the admired of all admirers, a leader of fashion,
and the proclaimed beauty of her day. Rupert had been dragged into the
vortex, with no power to hold back, even had he been willing to
interfere with those delights which gained him a smile of approbation,
and expressions of gratitude, cheaply purchased at any cost or
sacrifice of his. True he was fearfully in debt; true Mr Crawly had
been summoned oftener than once to the rescue; true that wily
gentleman had advanced heavy sums of money, taking particular care,
however, to be amply secured by legal documents, and more than amply
repaid by the exaction of illegal interest. It was perhaps natural for
Sinclair to believe, as debts accumulated upon debts, that the hour of
his estrangement from his parents was drawing rapidly to a close, and
that, although his way of living could not but aggrieve and offend his
stern and angry father, yet it was impossible nature could suffer him
much longer to withhold his paternal and forgiving hand. Mental
reasoning of this character is the last resource of the culpable and
the self-deluded. Lord Railton, faithful to his threat, went abroad;
Lady Railton was sufficiently recovered to accompany him; and both
quitted England without deigning to notice the spend-thrifts, whose
extravagance and need were soon the common talk of scandalmongers,
dissatisfied tradesmen, and spiteful serving-men. Yet there was no
flinching on the part of Rupert. A cloud of anxiety might sit
temporarily on his brow, a sigh now and then escape him; but he
uttered no remonstrance, and took no pains to stem the tide of folly
and prodigality that flowed unceasingly within his walls. His love for
Elinor had increased rather than diminished since their marriage. He
was proud of the homage of mankind, and knew her worthy of the
highest. Why should he seek to restrain the innocent pleasures of a
woman for whose gratification and happiness he lived? Why curtail the
joys in which she had participated almost from infancy? why prevent
her from crowning a scene, for the adornment of which she was created
and eminently fitted?
And where was General Travis during this brief season of intoxication
and wanton waste? At Calais, whither his liabilities had banished him,
and were likely to detain him for some time to come. There was no
doubt of his ruin. He lived with his melancholy-looking wife and
younger daughter, upon a pittance secured upon the life of the former,
but hardly sufficient to support them in decency. Yet they maintained,
even in their reverses, a style that to a degree reflected on the
scene of their exile the brilliancy of their brighter years. Could it
be that the substance of poor Rupert Sinclair was ministering here
also to the vices of this unhappy family? I fear there is no doubt of
it. The general was as huge a braggart as ever. He insisted upon
drawing a line midway between the highest and the lowest of the
swindling fraternity to which he belonged, and by whom he was
surrounded, and suffered intercourse to exist only with the favoured
members of the upper class. He was prating for ever of his son-in-law,
his connexions, his influence with the ministry through the potent
Lord Railton, and was most lavish of his promises of preferment to any
credulous individual whom he could persuade to favour him with the
eternal loan of a five-pound note. General Travis had, not
unaccountably perhaps, acquired much power over the mind of Sinclair.
Expelled from his natural counsellors, who, in their best days, had
been any thing but faithful advisers,--harassed and tormented by
growing cares, it is not to be wondered at, that he should seek
counsel and aid from one whom he believed to be a thorough man of the
world--who was bound to him by the closest ties, and of whose
integrity and honour he had not the remotest suspicion. It was General
Travis who instructed Sinclair in the recondite science of raising
money--and of staving off the attacks of tradesmen with the weapons of
generous usurers: who taught him that still more marvellous art of
civilized life, of living upon one thousand a-year more sumptuously
than your neighbour with ten; and who day after day persuaded him, by
arguments which I cannot attempt to recite, that by forestalling his
inheritance in his youth, he would not materially affect the property
which must accrue to him in his age. It may be that the arguments
would have been more severely tested had they come from any other than
Elinor's father--had they not been employed to increase the comforts
and desires of Elinor herself. But whether this be so or not, it is
certain that Rupert Sinclair, for a long time, was a helpless victim
in the hands of a bold and ruthless destroyer.