Small progress is made in post-chaises across country at night. On the
public high road it may do very well. One may go from London to York
as fast as Turpin, even without a railroad; but from county town A to
county town B, you had better wait for daylight. So did Chandos
Winslow find it; and it was broad day when he reached the fine old
town of Salisbury. As he got out of the chaise, he inquired if there
were not a coach to the railroad. The answer was, that it had gone by
ten minutes. There was another three hours after; but the waiter
informed him, that the light coach, the Hero, direct to London, set
out for town in an hour, and beat the rail by an hour and a half; (the
landlord was a proprietor of the Hero;) and upon this assurance being
reiterated from various quarters, Chandos, though not very fond of
heros, determined to try this specimen of the class, as he thought it
very likely that the promised enterprise would be achieved. His
finances, also, were not in a nourishing condition. For the first time
in life he was obliged to calculate shillings: the Hero was a far
cheaper conveyance than the railroad and coach combined; and after
having ordered and obtained some breakfast, he got upon the top of the
stage, and was driven away on the road to London.
The number of passengers was very scanty; but some one had monopolized
the box; and Chandos was obliged to take up his position on the roof,
with a stout countryman on one side, a grazier by trade, who was full
of the famous cause which had just come off, as he termed it, at
S----. Chandos certainly gave him no encouragement; but when bottles
are filled too full they will run over; and his entertainment for the
next twenty miles was his own trial for felony. He had the
satisfaction, however, of finding a stout partisan in the good
grazier, who declared that he had been sure from the first the young
gentleman was innocent; for didn't he pay the fine two years before
for Matthew Green, the farmer's son, who was brought up for killing
some pheasants upon his father's farm? The reasoning did not seem
quite conclusive to Chandos, even in his own defence; but he knew that
he was not guilty of murder, and was glad to find that a good action
could live a day beyond its date.
It was dark when the coach rolled into London, for it was not heroic
as to time; and the crowded streets, the blaze of gas-lamps, the
illuminated shops with their wide crystal fronts, and the multitudes
pouring hither and thither, each busy with his particular selfishness,
had a strange effect upon one who, for so many days preceding, had
been engrossed with the weighing of his own life and death in the mere
chance-balance of a court of justice. If there were any in all the
masses of human mites he saw who had ever heard of him, it was but as
the prisoner in the felon's dock; and by this time they had forgotten,
and thought of him no more.
His own case had, in his eyes, seemed of immense importance not many
hours before. It had connected itself, in his imagination, with the
general administration of justice: it seemed to affect millions in its
chances and results. But now, in the midst of that wide ocean of life,
and feelings, and interests, all separate, all alone, yet all
connected with each other, it lost its magnitude, and seemed small
and insignificant in the diversified infinite around. "Birch,
pastry-cook;" "Gobble, mercer;" "Walker, fish-monger;" what was the
trial of Chandos Winslow to them? A tart, a yard of silk, a red
mullet, was of much more importance to each. And what more did care
any of the many who rushed past like ripples on a quick stream? Verily
there is truth in the saying, that the greatest solitude is in
multitudes; for there each man raises a thorny hedge of selfishness
around him, which excludes every other human being except the few for
whom he will be pleased to open the wicket.
On arriving at the dull-looking inn where the coach stopped, the young
wanderer paid his fare, sought a bed-room, removed the dusty garments
in which he had travelled, and set out for the other end of the town.
As he passed through some small, quiet squares of smoked brick houses,
and escaped from the pressure of the multitude, Chandos, for the first
time, began to ask himself, what was the object of his visit, and what
the excuse he was to make for so speedy an appearance at General
Tracy's house. He went to see Rose Tracy--to hear of her, if not to
see her. But what could he say when he did see her? How was he to act
towards her?--how towards her uncle and her father? Though Mr. Tracy
might be ruined, yet Emily and Rose were the co-heiresses of their
uncle, a man of ample fortune; and Chandos could not shut his ears to
the question, Was he--just tried for murder, and acquitted on evidence
which must soon be proved to have been given in error--he whose
pittance, originally so small, had been further diminished by an
expensive trial--was he in a position to ask the hand or seek the
promise of one of General Tracy's nieces? He found it difficult to
answer. Then he inquired what he should assign as his motive for
following the family at once to London; and he thought of many things,
but at length determined to trust to chance, as, perhaps, was the
wisest plan.
Ah! that chapter of accidents, with its manifold pages, how often do
its magic spells relieve poor mortals from their greatest
difficulties! What wonders has it not done for every man! Which man
amongst us, if he were to look back through life with sane and
scrutinizing eyes, would not find that far more than one-half of all
his successes--far more than one-half of all his reverses--far more
than one-half of all that has befallen him in life, is attributable to
that broad chapter of accidents, and not to his own efforts, his own
errors, or his own fore-thought.
Chandos Winslow walked up Green-street, at length; and then the
question became, which is General Tracy's house? He fixed upon one,
and rang the right-hand bell. An unknown and powdered servant
appeared, and informed him very civilly, (for Chandos Winslow's
appearance was not easily to be mistaken for anything but that of a
gentleman,) that the house was Lord ----'s; but he added the
information that was wanted. General Tracy's abode, he said, was about
ten doors further up, nearer to the Park: the gentleman would see a
small brass-plate upon the door. Chandos soon found the door and the
brass-plate, and as that house still possessed a knocker, he knocked.
The door was opened by the General's old servant, who had been with
him at Northferry; and the man almost started, certainly gazed with
wonder, when he saw the well-known face which presented itself. He was
an elderly man, whose wits when they once got into that state which I
must call "stirred-up," did not easily settle again; and in his ideas
regarding Chandos Winslow, there was some confusion. In his eyes
Chandos was, according to the happy figure of a celebrated lady,
"three gentlemen in one;" namely, Acton, the gardener, Sir William
Winslow's brother, and the prisoner upon trial for the murder of Mr.
Roberts; and there was in the man's air and manner a mixture of all
the expressions which those three personages were severally calculated
to call up--there was familiarity, there was respect, there was
consternation.
"Lord, Mr. Acton!" he exclaimed, "is that you? Well, I am very glad to
see you, Sir; Lord 'a mercy! only to think!"
"Is General Tracy, at home?" asked Chandos, in a somewhat agitated
tone.
"No, Sir," replied the man; "he has gone with Mr. Tracy to a meeting
of the lawyers; but the young ladies are upstairs, and I am sure they
will be glad to see you."
"Pray, tell them I am here," said Chandos: and the man went up to the
drawing-room accordingly. In a minute after, he came half-way down,
and, looking over, desired Chandos to walk up. With a quick step he
did so, and was ushered into the drawing-room, where he found those
two beautiful girls, both somewhat pale, and both somewhat agitated.
Emily remained upon the sofa; but Rose, with her lip quivering, and
tears in her eyes, advanced to meet him.
"Oh, I am so glad to see you," she said, holding out her hand. "This
is very kind of you, indeed, to come so soon."
Chandos could not refrain; he pressed his lips upon the hand she gave
him; and then turned his eyes for a moment to the face of Emily, to
see if the act surprised her. She only smiled kindly. Chandos saw at
once from her eyes, that the two sisters trusted each other; and a
restraint was at once removed.
"I am very happy, indeed, to see you, Mr. Winslow," said Emily; "for
till this morning we have been sadly anxious about you; and poor Rose
nearly ill with apprehension."
She too gave him her hand, as she spoke; but Chandos did not kiss it.
Yet Emily was quite satisfied.
It would be difficult to detail what followed; for it was but a
confused crowd of questions and answers, in all of which appeared the
deep interest which the parties took in each other.
Chandos found that they were already acquainted with all the details
of the trial; for the whole family had devoured rather than read the
report, which had appeared in the evening papers. They spoke not of
the particulars, indeed; and, with them, Chandos was not inclined, to
dwell upon the subject; but it was evident and gratifying to him, that
not one of all Mr. Tracy's family had felt a doubt of his innocence.
Yet whenever the matter was named, the conversation became strange and
vague; so much so, indeed, that had any person unacquainted with them
been a witness of what passed, he might have supposed, had it not been
for the warmth of manner displayed, that a suspicion had existed and
still lingered. There was a cloudy sort of doubt, indeed, which
overshadowed the minds of both those fair girls, but a doubt which
attached not in the least degree to Chandos Winslow. In the mind of
Rose, that doubt amounted almost to a certainty; and some words which
she had incautiously dropped in her agonizing suspense as to the
result of the trial, had communicated suspicions to her sister, less
defined, but more painful, than those which she herself entertained.
With Chandos, of course, there was no doubt; he knew the truth too
well; but all the horror of that truth seemed to present itself more
strongly to his imagination, when he sat in the presence of poor
Emily, and recollected the tie, imperfect as it was, which bound her
to his brother.
At length, after about a quarter of an hour had passed, Emily rose,
saying, with a smile, "I will leave you a little; for I know you must
have much to say to each other. My father and my uncle will soon be
back, and then I will join you again."
When she was gone, a few minutes were given to tenderness. Dark and
sad events are skilful pioneers for love and confidence. They hew down
in no time all the barriers of restraint and reserve, and leave the
way free for heart to approach heart, unresisted.
But Chandos Winslow felt that in deep enjoyment they were losing
moments precious for explanation: and at length he turned the
conversation, somewhat abruptly, perhaps, to his own situation, in
relation to herself.
"I see, dearest Rose," he said, "that you have made a confidant of
your sister, and I am delighted that it is so; but I must not let my
hopes carry me too far, and lead me to believe that the pain and
anxiety which you must have suffered, have driven you to communicate
all that is between us to your father and your uncle."
"I did not know that I might, Chandos," she answered: "in the dreadful
state of suspense and anguish in which your trial placed me, I could
not, indeed, refrain from sharing my thoughts with poor Emily. Thus
much, however, I thought myself bound to tell my father--that I had
known your real name from the moment you came to Northferry--that we
had met before, and passed one long, happy day together; but that you
had exacted from me a promise not to betray you, because you
particularly wished your brother not to know where you were. My father
asked but one question, which was, whether I believed I was myself in
any degree the cause of your coming to Northferry? I replied,
certainly not; for that I had every reason to believe you did not know
that I was there, or was his daughter. This seemed to satisfy him
perfectly; but indeed he has had so many painful things to think of,
that I do not wonder at his giving no further attention to the
subject. With my uncle, it is very different; for I am sure he
suspects, if he does not know the whole. You have heard, of course,
the sad change of fortune we have met with. My father is at liberty
now, on what they call bail, I believe; but I tremble every moment,
for what each ensuing day may produce. It is supposed, that the man
who has carried away all the shares, and bonds, and papers of that
kind, does not intend to sell them; as there would be difficulty and
danger in so doing, even in a foreign country; but is likely to
negociate with my father for the restitution, in consideration of a
sum of money, and indemnity for the past. Nothing has been heard of
him, however; and in the meantime it is ruin to my father."
"Has no part of his course been traced, dear Rose?" asked Chandos.
"It was at first supposed he had gone to the Continent," replied his
fair companion; "but every inquiry has been made at the passport
offices, and no trace of a person of his peculiar appearance can be
found at any of those places. They now fear that he may have escaped
to America."
"He is not a man to be mistaken," said Chandos: "I saw him once when I
was travelling up to London in January; and in the public carriage
itself he could not refrain from making use of your father's name to
entrap others. He tempted even me, Rose, poor as I am: and those words
bring me, dear girl, to matters which had better be spoken of at
once--spoken of even between you and me, although, perhaps, it is
strange to mention them to you at all--."
"Tempted you, Chandos!" exclaimed Rose Tracy. "Oh! I hope he did not
succeed."
"Oh, no!" answered her lover; "but yet I was in a degree tempted. I
was going to London, with my thoughts full of Rose Tracy, with my
heart full of passionate attachment. I felt that under the will of my
father, which had been proved, my means were far too small, without
some great exertion on my own part, to justify me in pretending to her
hand; and at the very moment when I was thinking of how I could mend
my broken fortunes--by what effort, by what scheme, however bold, I
could acquire a position which would give me even hope, this man
crossed me with visioned promises of speedy wealth. But a moment's
reflection on the means, a moment's examination of the man himself,
dispelled the illusion. Now, however, dear Rose, it behoves me to put
the same questions to myself which I then put. I am not richer, but
poorer; all I have on earth is but a pittance, barely enough to
maintain myself in the rank of a gentleman. What will your father,
what will your uncle say, if I presume to tell them of my love, and
ask for it their countenance and approbation?"
Rose leaned her head upon her hand, and her eyes filled with tears;
but she answered at length, "You must tell them, at all events,
Chandos. You cannot tell, you cannot imagine the pain--the agony of
mind which the concealment I have already practised has brought upon
me--innocent and justifiable as I thought it. Oh! Chandos, for my sake
you must abandon all further disguise."
"For your sake, dear Rose, I would do anything," replied Chandos
Winslow; "but of course you do not wish me to enter upon the subject
to-night. To-morrow I must go into the city to sell out a part of my
small portion, in order to pay the expenses of the late trial. I must
also see my friend, Sir ----, who so nobly and ably defended me. He
seems to entertain a belief--on which, however, I would not found the
slightest hope--that a subsequent will of my father's may either be
recovered, or the intention of it proved, or something of the kind--I
really do not exactly know what; and that I may be thereby enabled to
stop the sale of Winslow Abbey."
Rose started; but ere she could explain the effect which such a step,
if it were practicable, might have upon the fortunes of her father, a
carriage drew up to the house, and there was a footman's knock at the
door. Emily immediately joined them, and it was evident that she had
been weeping. Chandos knew not his strange position: but could he have
seen into the hearts of those two fair girls, what would he have
beheld?--That the one rejoiced at his acquittal of a crime she knew he
had not committed, yet saw therein the prospect of misery to herself
by the probable consequence of his brother's return to England; that
the other, while she could not but hope that he might establish his
rights, whatever they were, feared that her own father's utter ruin
would be thereby consummated.
The next moment General Tracy and his brother entered the room. Mr.
Tracy's face bore evident marks of the mental suffering he had
endured and was enduring. The tranquil, well-satisfied, somewhat
self-sufficient air was gone; and there was a look of sadness,
bordering on the morose, in its place. No man likes to find himself a
fool; and most men try to prevent others from discovering the same
fact, or at all events to hide their own mental assent thereunto, by
assuming a cold pride which will not bate a jot of its dignity. Thus,
though he was shaken and evidently enfeebled in frame, he walked into
the room with as stately a step as if he had never committed a folly
in his life.
General Tracy, on the contrary, was unchanged either in person or
demeanour. There was the stout, soldier-like, upright form; there was
the warm, rosy complexion; there was the frank, straightforward
bearing, and the warm, good-humoured smile, betokening the cheerful
disposition, so charming in an old man. He walked straight up to
Chandos Winslow and shook him heartily by the hand, saying, "Delighted
to see you, my young friend. None have taken a deeper interest in late
events than we have done in this small house; though it was impossible
for any of us to be down at S----. None have more rejoiced that you
have had fair play shown, and justice done you; for that was all we
feared--that some of the quirks and quibbles of the law, some of the
follies or obstinacies of jurymen, might make wrong seem right."
Mr. Tracy also held out his hand to his former gardener, but it was
more coldly; and he only said, "I can assure you, Mr. Winslow, I never
entertained the slightest doubt regarding you, and rejoice much that
you have been able so fully to justify the opinion every one
entertained of you; though why you thought fit to play gardener for so
many months, I have not yet been able to divine."
"That will be easily explained, Mr. Tracy," replied Chandos; "and to
explain it is one of the great objects of my coming here directly
after the trial. The facts are simply these: I had long entertained a
strong desire--a whim if you please to call it--to see the poorer
classes nearer than a rich man can usually see them. A good many years
ago, a very severe dispute occurred between my brother and myself,
into the particulars of which I need not enter. Whoever was in fault,
it left a coldness between us which never decreased. When my father's
will was read, I found that he had made me a dependent on my brother,
as far as it was in his power to do so. I was not disposed to be
dependent upon any man, nor to be under any obligation to one with
whom I was not on good terms. I expressed my determination--I trust,
in no ungentlemanly manner--to receive nothing from my brother; and a
sharp altercation ensued, which ended in my leaving a house that had
become his. A small property had been left me some time before by a
relation; my father had added by his will a very valuable library and
some fine pictures. With these I might either have limited my ambition
to what I had, or I might have opened for myself a new career; but I
accidentally heard, immediately after I quitted my brother's house,
that you were seeking a head-gardener. I had for four or five years
taken upon myself the entire superintendence of the fine gardens at
Elmsly, and my old whim of descending for a time from the station in
which I was born, and mingling with the poorer classes of the people,
as one of themselves, came back upon me. I had no knowledge that in
your daughter I should meet one who had known me in a different rank
of life; for the scenes where we had formerly met were so different
from the quiet seclusion of Northferry, that the identity of the name
of my fair acquaintance with that of the gentleman whose service I
sought, never struck me. I feel, however, Mr. Tracy, that I owe you an
apology for having deceived you as to who I was; but you will clearly
see that I had no hope of carrying out my scheme with any one, unless
my name and station were concealed."
"A curious whim, indeed," said General Tracy; "and one which has had
very serious results. Nevertheless, I can perfectly understand the
feelings in which it was conceived, my young friend; for it is a sort
of thing I have often entertained an idea of myself, without having
ever had the spirit to carry it out. I dreamed of it even as a boy,
when reading the adventures of the disguised Haroun al Raschid."
"I never had such visions," said Mr. Tracy; "nor do I think that the
enterprise would answer at all the object for which it was undertaken.
A man who descends, either voluntarily or involuntarily, from a higher
to a lower station in life, carries his own world of habits, thoughts,
feelings, and prejudices with him; and sees through the same
discoloured spectacles, though he may see a little nearer. But I
cannot afford to discuss such things to-night; for, to say the truth,
I am weary and harassed."
Chandos received the last words as a somewhat broad and not very civil
hint to go, and accordingly rose and took his hat; but General Tracy
stopped him, saying, "Stay a minute, stay a minute; I want to talk to
you about two or three things, Winslow: first, I must know where you
are to be found; next, when we shall see you again."
"I am, for to-night, the denizen of a very unfashionable part of the
world," replied Chandos, "and under the auspices of a somewhat
strange-looking monster, called the Swan with Two Necks, in Lad-lane;
but to-morrow I shall be at the ---- Hotel, in Cork-street. A man who
has been tried for murder will, of course, be an object of curiosity
and remark for a few days; and I wish to get it over as soon as
possible."
"You are right," said the General; "but come down into the
dining-room, and let me talk to you about one or two things connected
with that same trial. Arthur, I suppose you will be gone to bed before
I come up. Good night!" and, taking up a light, the old officer led
the way down.
Chandos bade adieu to the rest of the party, warmly in some cases,
somewhat coolly in another, and followed. When they were below the
General closed the door, and then shook his young companion by the
hand again, saying, "I congratulate you from the heart at the issue of
the trial, though that issue was brought about by means to me totally
unexpected."
"Not more so to you than to myself, General," replied Chandos Winslow,
frankly; "that is to say, if you mean the evidence of Mr. Fleming and
his servant. Nor will I conceal from you for a moment, that the whole
of that evidence was false--under an error, I am quite sure; but none
the less false. I was not at Northferry at all that night after I
returned to my own cottage. Mr. Fleming must have mistaken Lockwood,
my half-brother, a natural son of my father's, for me. Indeed, the
likeness, I believe, is very great."
"It is strange," said General Tracy, musing; and Chandos continued:
"Most strange! That the evidence which saved my life should be as
false as the accusation against me, is very curious indeed. Had I
known what Mr. Fleming was called for before he appeared, I would not
have suffered it; although I believe, had it not been for his
testimony, I should have been condemned for an act of which I am as
innocent as yourself; for, if you remark, there was but one
circumstance which could raise a reasonable doubt in my favour: that
of the servant lad, Michael Burwash, who saw some one return from the
grounds into the house after poor Roberts had crossed the lawn."
"Do you know who that was?" asked General Tracy, quickly.
Chandos was silent; and the old officer added: "It was your own
brother. You owe me that lad's evidence, Winslow; for, as soon as I
returned to Northferry, after seeing you in prison, I examined all the
servants myself, and sent word to your lawyer, that Burwash had
acknowledged the important fact you have mentioned. I then gave up
some time to an investigation of who the person could be who had come
in so late, and by such an unusual entrance. My brother was at home at
the time, I found. I was absent. None of the servants would think of
entering by the Green-house. On inquiring of Emily, whose room was
opposite to that where Sir William Winslow slept, I found that she
recollected having heard his door shut sharply just before she rang
for lights. Further, I found that he was very late down at dinner that
day; that he was agitated and strange in his manner; complained of
having over fatigued himself, and being unwell; and at length sent for
old Woodyard, and was bled. Since then, however, Rose has acknowledged
to me, that when speaking with you at the basin of gold-fish, she
heard your brother's voice, in the grounds, raised loud. After that I
had no doubt that Sir William was the person who returned in so
curious a manner--more I am not justified in saying."
Still Chandos was silent, and sat with his eyes bent down upon the
Turkey carpet; and after gazing at him for a moment, General Tracy
turned abruptly to another part of the subject.
"That brings me," he said, "to a point which I have hitherto
forgotten, Chandos, though it is one which should have been first
remembered. I have not yet thanked you, my dear young man, for the
delicacy and kindness you have shown in not calling Rose as a witness.
She was prepared to do her duty firmly; and when she spoke to me upon
the subject, I advised her to write to you and say so; but it is not
necessary to tell you what a painful task it would have been for her.
You must feel--indeed, you have shown you feel it; and I thank you
deeply for your consideration in this matter."
"I would not have had her called for the world," answered Chandos; "I
know what a frightful thing to a woman must be a cross-examination in
a court of justice. If the opposite party called her, I could not, of
course, help it; but then I could have ensured--at least, I trust
so--that she was subject to no pain by the cross-examination of my own
counsel; and that was something."
"Everything," answered the General; "and it seems strange to me that
they did not call her."
"All things concerned with the trial were strange," said Chandos. "I
suppose in this instance the lawyers were well aware that your niece's
evidence was not likely to suit their purpose; for, I am sorry to say,
it was but too evident that the object of the counsel for the
prosecution was to get a verdict against me."
"I remarked it, I remarked it," said General Tracy; "and, I am sorry
to say, I have seen the same very often in criminal cases. Man is a
beastly animal, my young friend, and the cause of half his brutality
is vanity, it was so here, and is so always. A counsel does not choose
to be beaten; and he moves heaven and earth, not so much to hang the
prisoner, as to triumph over his opponents. But it must all seem very
strange to you now, sitting here quietly in this dining-room, to think
that, only yesterday you were made the sport of circumstances which
held your life continually in the balance."
"Like a dream," answered Chandos Winslow; "and by no means a pleasant
one."
"Well, it is happy, at all events, that the dream has ended so well,"
rejoined the old officer; "you have come off with flying colours; and
although we are in sad tribulation here just now, from circumstances
which you have no doubt heard of, you must come and dine with me, and
we will have a long chat upon other affairs, which must be spoken of
before we have done. Can you come to-morrow?"
"I fear not," answered his young companion. "I shall be the greater
part of the day in the city; and have, besides, to consult lawyers
upon matters greatly affecting my interests, although I much fear that
no good will result from our consultations."
"Don't plunge into law! don't plunge into law!" said the General,
shaking his head ruefully. "I declare, I would rather lose all I
have, than to get into a law-suit about it. The roguery and folly of
the world, are the fields from which lawyers reap their harvests; and
a plentiful crop they get. In England, at least, there is as much
philosophy as charity in that passage of the Bible which says, 'If a
man take your cloak, give him your coat also;' for if you go to law
with him, hang me, if those human sharks, the lawyers, do not contrive
to get your breeches into the bargain. But can you come the day after
to-morrow then?"
Chandos assented, and, the hour being fixed at half-past seven, took
his leave, and returned to his inn in the city. The chamber assigned
to him was large and gloomy: the wainscoted walls were covered,
besides the paint, with the smoke and dust of half a century; the bed
in the far corner rose tall and ghastly, in curtains of brown moreen;
and the hangings at the windows had acquired a hue which can only be
given by long immersion in a London atmosphere. There was a feeling of
foul misery about the whole, which fell depressing upon the spirit of
Chandos Winslow. It was much more like poverty and wretchedness than
the gardener's cottage at Northferry. He thought of Rose Tracy; he
recalled her father's cold and repulsive manner; he inquired of his
own heart if it were possible to ask her to share poverty with him; to
expose her to all the ills of penury, the daily cares and grinding
inconveniences of narrow means, and to bind down her free spirit,
unaccustomed to a want unsatisfied, a wish unfulfilled, in the hard
chain of straitened circumstances. Chandos Winslow would not answer
the question; but his heart sunk as he propounded it to himself: and
he went to bed weary of the working-day world and the battle of
anxious thought.