Colonel Hargrave had been the spoiled child of a weak mother, and he
continued to retain one characteristic of spoiled children; some
powerful stimulant was with him a necessary of life. He despised all
pleasures of regular recurrence and moderate degree; and even looked
down upon those who could be satisfied with such enjoyments, as on
beings confined to a meaner mode of existence. For more than a year
Laura had furnished the animating principle which kept life from
stagnation. When she was present, her beauty, her reserve, her
ill-concealed affection, kept his passions in constant play. In her
absence, the interpretations of looks and gestures, of which she had
been unconscious, and the anticipation of concessions which she thought
not of making, furnished occupation for the many hours which, for want
of literary habit, Colonel Hargrave was obliged to pass in solitude and
leisure, when deprived of fashionable company, public amusements, and
tolerable romances. In a little country town, these latter resources
were soon exhausted, and Hargrave had no associates to supply the blank
among his brother officers; some of whom were low both in birth and
education, and others, from various reasons, rather repelling, than
courting his intimacy. One had a pretty wife, another an unmarried
daughter; and the phlegmatic temperament and reserved manners of a third
tallied not with Hargrave's constitutional warmth. The departure of
Laura, therefore, deprived him at once of the only society that amused,
and the only object that interested him. He was prevented by the caution
of Mrs Douglas from attempting a correspondence with his mistress; and
his muse was exhausted with composing amatory sonnets, and straining
half-imaginary torments into reluctant rhimes.
He soon tired of making sentimental visits to the now deserted
Glenalbert, and grew weary of inspecting his treasures of pilfered
gloves and stray shoe-bows. His new system of reform, too, sat rather
heavily upon him. He was not exactly satisfied with its extent, though
he did not see in what respect he was susceptible of improvement. He had
some suspicion that it was not entitled to the full approbation of the
'wise, the pious, the sober-minded' observers, whom he imagined that
Laura had charged with the inspection of his conduct; and he reflected,
with a mixture of fear and impatience, that by them every action would
be reported to Laura, with all the aggravation of illiberal comment. For
though he did not distinctly define the idea to himself, he cherished a
latent opinion, that the 'wise' would be narrow-minded, the 'pious'
bigotted, and the 'sober-minded' cynical. The feeling of being watched
is completely destructive of comfort, even to those who have least to
conceal; and Colonel Hargrave sought relief at once from restraint and
ennui, in exhibiting, at the Edinburgh races, four horses which were the
envy of all the gentleman, and a person which was the admiration of all
the ladies. His thoughts dissipated, and his vanity gratified, his
passion had never, since its first existence, been so little troublesome
as during his stay in Edinburgh; and once or twice, as he caught a
languishing glance from a gay young heiress, he thought he had been a
little precipitate in changing his first designs in regard to Laura. But
alas! the races endure only for one short week; Edinburgh was deserted
by its glittering birds of passage; and Hargrave returned to his
quarters, to solitude, and to the conviction that, however obtained, the
possession of Laura was necessary to his peace.
Finding that her return was as uncertain as ever, he resolved to follow
her to London; and the caution of Mrs Douglas baffling his attempts to
procure her address from any other quarter, he contrived to obtain it by
bribing one of the under attendants of the Post Office to transcribe for
him the superscription of a letter to Miss Montreville. Delighted with
his success, he could not refuse himself the triumph of making it known
to Mrs Douglas; and, by calling to ask her commands for her young
friend, occasioned the letter of caution from her to Laura, which has
been formerly mentioned.
The moment he reached London, he hastened to make inquiries after the
abode of Captain Montreville; but his search was disappointed by the
accidents which he afterwards related to Laura. Day after day, he hoped
that Laura, by sending to Mr Baynard's chambers, would afford him the
means of discovering her residence. But every day ended in
disappointment; and Hargrave, who, intending to devote all his time to
her, had given no intimation to his friends of his arrival in town,
found himself as solitary, listless, and uncomfortable as before he
quitted Scotland.
One evening, when, to kill the time, he had sauntered into the Theatre,
he renewed his acquaintance with the beautiful Lady Bellamer. Two years
before, Hargrave had been the chief favourite of Lady Bellamer, then
Miss Walpole. Of all the danglers whom beauty, coquetry, and fifty
thousands pounds attracted to her train, none was admitted to such easy
freedom as Hargrave. She laughed more heartily at his wit, whispered
more familiarly in his ear, and slapped him more frequently on the cheek
than any of his rivals. With no other man was she so unreasonable,
troublesome, and ridiculous. In short, she ran through the whole routine
of flirtation, till her heart was entangled, so far at least as the
heart of a coquette is susceptible of that misfortune. But whatever
flames were kindled in the lady's breast, the gentleman, as is usual on
such occasions, escaped with a very slight tinge. While Miss Walpole was
present, his vanity was soothed by her blandishments, and his senses
touched by her charms; but, in her absence, he consoled himself with
half a dozen other affairs of the same kind.
Meanwhile Lord Bellamer entered the lists, and soon distinguished
himself from his competitors, by a question, which, with all her
admirers, Miss Walpole had not often answered. The lady hesitated; for
she could not help contrasting the insignificant starvling figure of her
suitor with the manly beauty of Hargrave's person. But Lord Bellamer had
a title in possession; Hargrave's was only reversionary. His Lordship's
estate, too, was larger than the Colonel's expectations. Besides, she
began to have doubts whether her favourite ever intended to propose the
important question; for though, to awaken his jealousy, she had herself
informed him of Lord Bellamer's pretensions, and though she had played
off the whole artillery of coquetry to quicken his operations, the young
man maintained a resolute and successful resistance. So, after some
fifty sighs given to the well turned leg and sparkling eyes of Hargrave,
Miss Walpole became Lady Bellamer; and this was the only change which
marriage effected in her; for no familiarity could increase her
indifference to Lord Bellamer, and no sacredness of connection can warm
the heart of a coquette. She continued equally assiduous in courting
admiration, equally daring in defying censure; and was content to
purchase the adulation of fools, at the expence of being obliged to the
charity of those who were good-natured enough to say, 'to be sure Lady
Bellamer is a little giddy, but I dare say she means no harm.'
Her husband's departure with his regiment for the continent, made no
change in her way of life, except to save her the trouble of defending
conduct which she would not reform. She continued in London, or at her
villa at Richmond Hill, to enter into every folly which others proposed,
or herself to project new ones.
Meanwhile Hargrave's duty called him to Scotland, where Lady Bellamer
and all her rivals in his attention were entirely forgotten amidst the
superior attractions of Laura; attractions which acted with all the
force of novelty upon a heart accustomed to parry only premeditated
attacks, and to resist charms that were merely corporeal. From an early
date in his acquaintance with Miss Montreville, he had scarcely
recollected the existence of Lady Bellamer, till he found himself in the
next box to her at the theatre. The pleasure that sparkled in the
brightest blue eyes in the world, the flush that tinged her face,
wherever the rouge permitted its natural tints to appear, convinced
Hargrave in a moment that her Ladyship's memory had been more tenacious;
and he readily answered to her familiar nod of invitation, by taking his
place at her side.
They entered into conversation with all the frankness of their former
intimacy. Lady Bellamer inquired how the Colonel had contrived to exist
during eighteen months of rustication; and gave him in return memoirs of
some of their mutual acquaintances. She had some wit, and an exuberance
of animal spirits; and she seasoned her nonsense with such lively
sallies, sly scandal, and adroit flattery, that Hargrave had scarcely
ever passed an evening so gaily. Once or twice, the composed grace, the
artless majesty of Laura, rose to his recollections, and he looked
absent and thoughtful. But his companion rallied him with so much
spirit, that he quickly recovered himself, and fully repaid the
amusement which he received. He accepted Lady Bellamer's invitation to
sup with her after the play, and left her at a late hour, with a promise
to visit her again the next day. From that time, the freedom of their
former intercourse was renewed; with this difference only, that Hargrave
was released from some restraint, by his escape from the danger of
entanglement which necessarily attends particular assiduities towards an
unmarried woman.
Let the fair enchantress tremble who approaches even in thought the
utmost verge of discretion. If she advance but one jot beyond that magic
circle, the evil spirit is ready to seize her, which before, feared even
to rise in her presence. Lady Bellamer became the victim of unpardonable
imprudence on her own part, and mere constitutional tendency on that of
her paramour. To a most blameable levity she sacrificed whatever
remained to be sacrificed, of her reputation, her virtue, and her
marriage vow; while the crime of Hargrave was not palliated by one
sentiment of genuine affection; for she by whom he fell was no more like
the object of his real tenderness, than those wandering lights that
arise from corruption and glimmer only to betray, are to the steady
sunbeam which enlightens, and guides, and purifies where it shines.
Their intercourse continued, with growing passion on the side of the
lady, and expiring inclination on that of the gentleman, till Lady
Bellamer informed him that the consequences of their guilt could not
long be concealed. Her Lord was about to return to his disgraced home;
and she called upon Hargrave to concert with her the means of exchanging
shackles which she would no longer endure for bonds which she could bear
with pleasure, and himself to stand forth the legal protector of his
unborn child. Hargrave heard her with a disgust which he scarcely strove
to conceal; for at that moment Laura stood before him, bewitching in
chastened love--respectable in saintly purity. He remembered that the
bare proposal of a degradation which Lady Bellamer had almost courted,
had once nearly banished the spotless soul from a tenement only less
pure than itself. In fancy he again saw through her casement the
wringing of those snowy hands, those eyes raised in agony, and the
convulsive heavings of that bosom which mourned his unlooked-for
baseness; and he turned from Lady Bellamer, inwardly cursing the hour
when his vows to Laura were sacrificed to a wanton.
The very day after this interview was that in which he accidentally
encountered Laura; and from that moment his whole desire was to make her
his own, before public report should acquaint her with his guilt. He
durst not trust to the strength of her affection for the pardon of so
foul an offence. He could not hope that she would again place confidence
in vows of reformation which had been so grossly violated. When the
proper self-distrust of Laura refused him the opportunity of making a
personal appeal to her sensibilities, he hoped that her father might
successfully plead his cause; and that before his guilt was known to
her, he might have made it at once her interest and her duty to forget
it. But the storm was about to burst even more speedily than he
apprehended. Lady Bellamer little suspected that her conduct was watched
with all the malice of jealousy, and all the eagerness of interest. She
little suspected that her confidential servant was the spy of her
injured husband, bound to fidelity in this task by ties as disgraceful
as they were strong, and that this woman waited only for legal proof of
her mistress's guilt, to lay the particulars before her lord. That proof
was now obtained; and Lord Bellamer hastened to avail himself of it. He
arrived in London on the morning of the last day of Montreville's life;
and, charging his guilty wife with her perfidy, expelled her from his
house.
She flew to Hargrave's lodgings, and found him preparing for his daily
visit to Laura. Though provoked at being delayed, he was obliged to stay
and listen to her, while she hastily related the events of the morning.
She was about to speak of her conviction, that, by making her his wife,
he would shield her from the world's scorn, and that he would not, by
any legal defence, retard her emancipation. But Hargrave suffered her
not to proceed. He perceived that his adventure must now be public. It
must immediately find its way into the public prints; and in a few hours
it might be in the hands of Laura. He bitterly upbraided Lady Bellamer
with her want of caution in the concealment of their amour; cursed her
folly as the ruin of all his dearest hopes; and, in the frenzy of his
rage, scrupled not to reveal the cutting secret, that while another was
the true object of his affections, Lady Bellamer had sacrificed her all
to an inclination as transient as it was vile. The wretched creature,
terrified at his rage, weakened by her situation, overcome by the events
of the morning, and stung by a reception so opposite to her
expectations, sunk at his feet in violent hysterics. But Hargrave could
at that moment feel for no miseries but his own; and consigning her to
the care of the woman of the house, he was again about to hasten to
Montreville's, when he was told that a gentleman wished to speak with
him upon particular business.
This person was the bearer of a note from Lord Bellamer, importing that
he desired to meet Colonel Hargrave on that or the following day, at any
hour and place which the Colonel might appoint. After the injuries given
and received, their meeting, he said, could have but one object.
Hargrave, in no humour to delay, instantly replied that in three hours
he should be found in a solitary field, which he named, at a few miles
distant from town, and that he should bring with him a friend and a
brace of pistols. He then went in search of this friend, and finding him
at home, the business was speedily settled.
Nothing, in the slight consideration of death which Hargrave suffered to
enter his mind, gave him so much disturbance as the thought that he
might, if he fell, leave Laura to the possession of another. He
willingly persuaded himself that she had an attachment to him too
romantic to be transferable. But she was poor; she might in time make a
marriage of esteem and convenience; and Laura, the virtuous Laura, would
certainly love her husband, and the father of her children. The bare
idea stung like a scorpion, and Hargrave hastened to his man of
business, where he spent the time which yet remained before the hour of
his appointment, in dictating a bequest of five thousand pounds to Laura
Montreville; but true to his purpose, he added a clause, by which, in
case of her marriage, she forfeited the whole.
He then repaired to meet Lord Bellamer; and, the ground being taken,
Hargrave's first ball penetrated Lord Bellamer's left shoulder, who then
fired without effect, and instantly fell. Hargrave, whose humanity had
returned with his temper, accompanied his wounded antagonist to a
neighbouring cottage to which he was conveyed, anxiously procured for
him every possible comfort, and heard with real joy, that if he could be
kept from fever, his wound was not likely to be mortal. The gentleman
who had been Hargrave's second, offered to remain near Lord Bellamer, in
order to give warning to his friend should any danger occur; and it was
late in the evening before Hargrave, alone and comfortless, returned to
town.
Never had his own thoughts been such vexatious companions. To his own
scared conscience his crimes might have seemed trivial; but when he
placed them before him in the light in which he knew that they would be
viewed by Laura, their nature seemed changed. He knew that she would
find no plea in the custom of the times, for endangering the life of a
fellow-creature, and that her moral vocabulary contained no qualifying
epithet to palliate the foulness of adultery. The next day would give
publicity to his duel and its cause; and should the report reach Laura's
ear, what could he hope from her favour? The bribes of love and ambition
he had found too poor to purchase her sanction to the bare intention of
a crime. Even the intention seemed forgiven only in the hope of luring
him to the paths of virtue: and when she should know the failure of that
hope, would not her forgiveness be withdrawn?
But Laura, thus on the point of being lost, was more dear to him than
ever; and often did he wish that he had fallen by Lord Bellamer's hand,
rather than that he should live to see himself the object of her
indifference, perhaps aversion. Time still remained, however, by one
desperate effort to hurry or terrify her into immediate compliance with
his wishes; and, half-distracted with the emotions of remorse, and love,
and hope, and fear, he ordered his carriage to Montreville's house. Here
passed the scene which has been already described. Hargrave was too much
agitated to attend to the best methods of persuasion, and he quitted
Laura in the full conviction that she would never be his wife. He threw
himself into his carriage, and was driven home, now frantickly bewailing
his loss, now vowing, that rather than endure it, he would incur the
penalties of every law, divine and human. All night he paced his
apartment, uttering imprecations on his own folly, and forming plans for
regaining by fraud, force, or persuasion, his lost rights over Laura. At
last his vehemence having somewhat spent itself, he threw himself on a
couch, and sunk into feverish and interrupted sleep.
It was not till next morning, that he thought of inquiring after the
unfortunate partner of his iniquity; and was told that, too ill to be
removed, she had been carried to bed in the house, where she still
remained.
Intending to renew the attempt of the preceding night, he again repaired
to Laura's house; but his intention was frustrated by the death of
Montreville. On receiving the information, he was at first a good deal
shocked at the sudden departure of a man, whom, a few hours before, he
had left in no apparent danger. But that feeling was effaced when once
he began to consider the event as favourable to his designs upon Laura.
Left to solitude, to poverty, perhaps to actual want, what resource had
she so eligible as the acceptance of offers splendid and disinterested
like his. And he would urge her acceptance of them with all the ardour
of passion. He would alarm her with the prospects of desolateness and
dependence, he would appeal to the wishes of her dead father. Such
pleadings must, he thought, have weight with her; and again the hopes of
victory revived in his mind. Should the principle, to which she so
firmly adhered, outweigh all these considerations, he thought she would
forfeit by her obstinacy all claim to his forbearance, and his heart
fluttered at the idea that she had now no protector from his power. He
resolved to haunt, to watch her, to lose no opportunity of pressing his
suit. Wherever she went he was determined to follow; 'and surely,'
thought he, 'she must have some moments of weakness, she cannot be
always on her guard.'
For some days he continued to make regular visits at her lodgings,
though he had no hope of seeing her till after Montreville was consigned
to the dust; and he rejoiced that the customary seclusion was likely to
retard her knowledge of his misconduct. To make inquiries after the
health and spirits of Laura, was the ostensible, but not the only motive
of his visits. He wished to discover all that was known to the people of
the house of her present situation and future plans. On the latter
subject they could not afford him even the slightest information, for
Laura had never dropped a hint of her intentions. But he received such
accounts of her pecuniary distresses, and of the manner in which she
supported them, as at once increased his reverence for her character,
and his hopes that she would take refuge from her wants in the affluence
which he offered her.
From Fanny, who officiated as porter, and who almost adored Laura, he
received most of his intelligence; and while he listened to instances of
the fortitude, the piety, the tenderness, the resignation of his
beloved, a love of virtue, sincere though transient, would cross his
soul; he would look back with abhorrence on a crime which had hazarded
the loss of such a treasure; and vow, that, were he once possessed of
Laura, his life should be a copy of her worth. But Hargrave's vows
deceived him; for he loved the virtues only that were associated with an
object of pleasure, he abhorred the vices only which threatened him with
pain.
On the day succeeding the funeral, he ventured on an attempt to see
Laura, and sent her a message, begging permission to wait upon her; but
was answered that she received no visitors. He then wrote to her a
letter full of the sentiments which she inspired. He expressed his
sympathy with her misfortunes, and fervently besought her to accept of a
protector who would outdo in tenderness the one she had lost. He
implored her to add the strongest incentive to the course of virtue, in
which, if she would listen to his request, he solemnly promised to
persevere. He again insinuated that she must speedily decide; that, if
her decision were unfavourable, he might be driven to seek forgetfulness
amidst ruinous dissipation; and he adjured her, by the wishes of her
dead father, a claim which he thought would with her be irresistible, to
consent to dispense with his further probation. He said he would visit
her late in the following forenoon, in the hope of receiving his answer
from her own lips; and concluded by telling her that, lest the late
unfortunate event had occasioned her any temporary difficulties, he
begged to be considered as her banker, and enclosed a bill for a hundred
pounds.
He gave this letter to Fanny, with injunctions to deliver it
immediately, and then went to inquire for Lord Bellamer, whom it gave
him real pleasure to find pronounced out of danger. Lady Bellamer, too,
had ceased to reproach and molest him. She had recovered from her
indisposition, and removed to the house of a relation, who humanely
offered to receive her. His hopes were strong of the effect of his
letter; and he passed the evening in greater comfort than had lately
fallen to his share. Often did he repeat to himself that Laura must
accede to his proposals. What other course could she pursue--Would her
spirit allow her to become a burden on the scanty income of her friend
Mrs Douglas--Would she venture to pursue, as a profession, the art in
which she so greatly excelled--Would she return to live alone at
Glenalbert? This last appeared the most probable to Hargrave, because
the most desirable. Alone, without any companion whose frozen counsel
could counteract the softness of her heart, in a romantic solitude,
watched, as he would watch, importuned as he would importune her,
strange if no advantage could be wrested from her affection or her
prudence, her interest or her fears! To possess Laura was the first wish
of his soul; and he was not very fastidious as to the means of its
gratification; for even the love of a libertine is selfish. He was
perfectly sincere in his honourable proposals to Laura. He might have
been less so had any others possessed a chance of success.
He rose early the next morning, and impatiently looked for the hour
which he had appointed for his visit. He wished that he had fixed on an
earlier one, took up a book to beguile the minutes, threw it down again,
looked a hundred times at his watch, ordered his carriage to the door
two hours before it was wanted, feared to go too soon, lest Laura should
refuse to see him, and yet was at her lodgings, long before his
appointment. He inquired for her, and was answered that she had
discharged her lodgings, and was gone. 'Gone! Whither?'--Fanny did not
know; Miss Montreville had been busy all the evening before in preparing
for her removal, and had left the house early that morning. 'And did she
leave no address where she might be found?' 'I heard her tell the
coachman,' said Fanny, 'to stop at the end of Grosvenor-street, and she
would direct him where she chose to be set down. But I believe she has
left a letter for you, Sir.' 'Fool!' cried Hargrave, 'why did you not
tell me so sooner--give it me instantly.'
He impatiently followed the girl to the parlour which had been
Montreville's. The letter lay on the table. He snatched it, and hastily
tore it open. It contained only his bill, returned with Miss
Montreville's compliments and thanks. He twisted the card into atoms,
and cursed with all his soul the ingratitude and cold prudence of the
writer. He swore that if she were on earth, he would find her; and vowed
that he would make her repent of the vexation which he said she had
always taken a savage delight in heaping upon him.
Restless, and yet unwilling to be gone, he next wandered into Laura's
painting-room, as if hoping in her once-favourite haunt to find traces
of her flight. He had never entered it since the day when the discovery
of De Courcy's portrait had roused his sudden frenzy. Association
brought back the same train of thought. He imagined that Laura, while
she concealed herself from him, had taken refuge with the De Courcys;
and all his jealousy returned. After, according to custom, acting the
madman for a while, he began as usual to recover his senses. He knew he
could easily discover whether Miss Montreville was at Norwood, by
writing to a friend who lived in the neighbourhood; and he was going
home to execute this design, when, passing through the lobby, he was met
by the landlady. He stopped to renew his inquiries whether any thing was
known, or guessed, of Laura's retreat. But Mrs Stubbs could give him no
more information on that subject than her maid, and she was infinitely
more surprised at his question than Fanny had been; for having made
certain observations which convinced her that Hargrave's visits were in
the character of a lover, she had charitably concluded, and actually
asserted, that Laura had accepted of his protection.
Hargrave next inquired whether Laura had any visitors but himself? 'No
living creature,' was the reply. 'Could Mrs Stubbs conjecture whither
she was gone?' 'None in the world,' answered Mrs Stubbs; 'only this I
know, it can't be very far off--for to my certain knowledge, she had
only seven shillings in her pocket, and that could not carry her far, as
I told the gentleman who was here this morning.' 'What gentleman?' cried
Hargrave. 'One Mr De Courcy, Sir, that used to call for her; but he has
not been here these six weeks before; and he seemed quite astounded as
well as yourself, Sir.' Hargrave then questioned her so closely
concerning De Courcy's words and looks, as to convince himself that his
rival was entirely ignorant of the motions of the fugitive. In this
belief he returned home, uncertain what measures he should pursue, but
determined not to rest till he had found Laura.
When De Courcy quitted Laura, he had no intention of seeing her again
till circumstances should enable him to offer her his hand. No sacrifice
could have cost him more pain; but justice and filial duty did not
permit him to hesitate. Neither did he think himself entitled to sadden
with a face of care his domestic circle, nor to make his mother and
sister pay dear for their comforts, by shewing that they were purchased
at the expence of his peace. Nor did he languidly resign to idle
love-dreams the hours which an immortal spirit claimed for its
improvement, and which the social tie bound him to enliven and cheer.
But to appear what he was not, to introduce constraint and dissimulation
into the sacred privacies of home, never occurred to De Courcy. He
therefore strove not to _seem_ cheerful but to _be_ so. He returned to
his former studies, and even prosecuted them with alacrity, for he knew
that Laura respected a cultivated mind. His faults, he was if possible
more than ever studious to correct, for Laura loved virtue. And when
occasion for a kind considerate or self-denying action presented itself,
he eagerly seized it, saying in his heart, 'this is like Laura.'
Sometimes the fear that he might be forgotten, forced from him the
bitterest sigh that he had ever breathed; but he endeavoured to comfort
himself with the belief that she would soon be screened from the gaze of
admiration, and that her regard for him, though yet in its infancy,
would be sufficient to secure her from other impressions. Of the reality
of this regard he did not allow himself to doubt, or if he hesitated for
a moment, he called to mind the picture, Laura's concealment of it, her
confusion at his attempt to examine it, and he no longer doubted.
The arrival of the picture itself might have explained all that related
to it, had De Courcy chosen to have it so explained. But he turned his
eye from the unpleasing sight, and sheltered his hopes by a hundred
treasured instances of love which had scarcely any existence but in his
fancy.
His efforts to be cheerful were however less successful, after Laura, in
a few melancholy lines, informed Miss De Courcy that Montreville's
increased illness made their return to Scotland more uncertain than
ever. He imagined his dear Laura the solitary attendant of a sickbed; no
kind voice to comfort, no friendly face to cheer her; perhaps in
poverty, that poverty increased too by the artifice which he had used to
lessen it. He grew anxious, comfortless, and at length really miserable.
Every day the arrival of the letters was looked for with extreme
solicitude in hope of more cheering news; but every day brought
disappointment, for Laura wrote no more. His mother shared in his
anxiety, and increased it by expressing her own. She feared that Miss
Montreville was ill, and unable to write; and the image of Laura among
strangers, sick and in poverty, obliterated Montague's prudent
resolutions of trusting himself no more in the presence of his beloved.
He set out for London, and arrived at the door of Laura's lodgings about
an hour after she had quitted them.
Mrs Stubbs, of whom he made personal inquiries, was abundantly
communicative. She gave him, as far as it was known to her, a full
history of Laura's adventures since he had seen her; and, where she was
deficient in facts, supplied the blank by conjecture. With emotion
indescribable, he listened to a coarse account of Miss Montreville's
wants and labours. 'How could you suffer all this?' cried he,
indignantly, when he was able to speak. 'Times are hard, Sir,' returned
Mrs Stubbs, the jolly purple deepening in her cheeks. 'Besides, Miss
Montreville had always such an air with her, that I could not for my
very heart have asked her to take pot-luck with us.'
The colour faded from De Courcy's face as Mrs Stubbs proceeded to relate
the constant visits of Hargrave. 'I'll warrant,' said she, growing
familiar as she perceived that she excited interest, 'I'll warrant he
did not come here so often for nothing. People must have ears, and use
them too; and I heard him myself swearing to her one day, that he loved
her better than his life, or something to that purpose; and that, if she
would live with him, he would make her dreams pleasant, or some such
stuff as that; and now, as sure as can be, she has taken him at his
word, and gone to him.'
'Peace, woman!' cried De Courcy, in a tone which he had never used to
any of the sex, 'how dare you--?'
Mrs Stubbs, who had all that want of nerve which characterizes vulgar
arrogance, instantly shrunk into her shell. 'No offence, Sir,' said she.
'It's all mere guess-work with me; only she does not know a creature in
London, and she had nothing to carry her out of it; for she had just
seven shillings in her pocket. I gave her seventeen and sixpence of
change this morning, and she gave half-a-guinea of that to the
kitchen-maid. Now it stands to reason, she would not have been so ready
parting with her money if she had not known where more was to be had.'
De Courcy, shocked and disgusted, turned from her in displeasure; and
finding that nothing was to be learnt from her of the place of Laura's
retreat, betook himself to the print-shop, where he remembered that he
had first procured Miss Montreville's address. Mr Wilkins declared his
ignorance on the subject of Montague's inquiries; but, seeing the look
of disappointment with which De Courcy was leaving the shop,
good-naturedly said, 'I dare say, Sir, if you wish to find out where
Miss Montreville lives, I could let you know by asking Colonel Hargrave.
He comes here sometimes to look at the caricatures. And,' added Mr
Wilkins, winking significantly, 'I am mistaken if they are not very well
acquainted.'
De Courcy's heart rose to his mouth. 'Perhaps so,' said he, scarcely
conscious of what he said. 'There was a famous scene between them here
about three weeks ago,' proceeded the print-seller, anxious to justify
his own sagacity. 'I suppose they had not met for a while, and there
such a kissing and embracing'--''Tis false!' cried De Courcy, lightning
flashing from his eyes, 'Miss Montreville would have brooked such
indignities from no man on earth.' 'Nay,' said Wilkins, shrugging up his
shoulders, 'the shop-lads saw it as well as I--she fainted away in his
arms, and he carried her into the back-room there, and would not suffer
one of us to come near her; and Mr Finch there saw him down on his knees
to her.' 'Cease your vile slanders,' cried De Courcy, half-distracted
with grief and indignation, 'I abhor--I despise them. But at your peril
dare to breathe them into any other ear.' So saying, he darted from the
shop, and returned to his hotel, infinitely more wretched than ever he
had been.
The happy dream was dispelled that painted him the master of Laura's
affections. Another possessed her love; and how visible, how
indelicately glaring, must be the preference that was apparent to every
vulgar eye! But, bitter as was his disappointment, and cruel the pangs
of jealousy, they were ease compared to the torture with which he
admitted a thought derogatory to Laura's worth. A thousand times he
reproached himself for suffering the hints and conjectures of a lowbred
woman to affect his mind;--a thousand times assured himself, that no
poverty, no difficulties, would overpower the integrity of Laura. 'Yet
Hargrave is a libertine,' said he, 'and if she can love a libertine,
how have I been deceived in her! No! it cannot be!--She is all
truth--all purity. It is she that is deceived. He has imposed upon her
by a false show of virtue, and misery awaits her detection of his
deceit. She gone to him! I will never believe it. Libertine as he is, he
dared not but to think of it. Extremity of want--lingering famine would
not degrade her to this,'--and tears filled De Courcy's manly eyes at
the thought that Laura was indeed in want.
He had no direct means of supplying her necessities; but he hoped that
she might inquire at her former abode for any letters that might chance
to be left for her, and that she might thus receive any packet which he
addressed to her. 'She shall never be humbled,' said he with a heavy
sigh, 'by knowing that she owes this trifle to an indifferent, forgotten
stranger;' and inclosing fifty pounds in a blank cover, he put both into
an envelope to Mrs Stubbs, in which he informed her, that if she could
find no means of conveying the packet to Miss Montreville, the anonymous
writer would claim it again at some future time, on describing its
contents.
Before dispatching the letter, however, he resolved on making an attempt
to discover whether Hargrave was acquainted with Laura's retreat. He
shrunk from meeting his rival. His blood ran cold as he pictured to his
fancy the exulting voice, the triumphant glance which would announce the
master of Laura's fate. But any thing was preferable to his present
suspense; and the hope that he might yet be useful to Laura, formed an
incitement still more powerful. 'Let me but find her,' said he, 'and I
will yet wrest her from destruction. If she is deceived I will warn; if
she is oppressed, I will protect her.'
He imagined that he should probably find Hargrave at the house of his
uncle Lord Lincourt, and hastened thither to seek him; but found the
house occupied only by servants, who were ignorant of the Colonel's
address. De Courcy knew none of Hargrave's places of resort. The habits
and acquaintance of each lay in a different line. No means therefore of
discovering him occurred to Montague, except that of inquiring at the
house of Mrs Stubbs, where he thought it probable that the place of
Hargrave's residence might be known. Thither, then, he next bent his
course.
The door was opened to him by Fanny; who replied to his questions, that
none of the family knew where Colonel Hargrave lived, and lamented that
De Courcy had not come a little earlier, saying that the Colonel had
been gone not above a quarter of an hour. De Courcy was turning
disappointed away; when Fanny, stopping him, said with a courtesy and a
half-whisper, 'Sir, an't please you, my mistress was all wrong about
Miss Montreville, for the Colonel knows no more about her than I do.'
'Indeed!' said De Courcy, all attention. 'Yes indeed Sir--when I told
him she was away, he was quite amazed, and in such a passion! So then I
thought I would give him the letter.--' 'What letter?' cried De Courcy,
the glow of animation fading in his face. 'A letter that Miss
Montreville left for him, Sir, but when he got it he was ten times
angrier than before, and swore at her for not letting him know where she
was going. So I thought, Sir, I would make bold to tell you, Sir, as
Mistress had been speaking her mind, Sir; for it's a sad thing to have
one's character taken away; and Miss Montreville, I am sure, wouldn't do
hurt to nobody.'
'You are a good girl, a very good girl,' said De Courcy, giving her,
with a guinea, a very hearty squeeze of the hand. He made her repeat the
particulars of Hargrave's violent behaviour; and satisfied from them
that his rival had no share in Laura's disappearance, he returned to his
hotel, his heart lightened of half the heaviest load that ever it had
borne.
Still, however, enough remained to exclude for a time all quiet from his
breast. He could not doubt that Laura's affections were Hargrave's. She
had given proof of it palpable to the most common observer; and
resentment mingled with his grief while he thought, that to his fervent
respectful love, she preferred the undistinguishing passion of a
libertine. 'All women are alike,' said he, 'the slaves of mere outward
show:'--An observation for which the world was probably first indebted
to circumstances somewhat like De Courcy's.
Restless and uncomfortable, without any hope of finding Laura, he would
now have left London without an hour's delay. But, though he forgot his
own fatigues, he was not unmindful of those of the grey-haired domestic
who attended him. He therefore deferred his journey to the following
morning; and then set out on his return to Norwood, more depressed and
wretched than he had quitted it.