IN SHADOW LAND.
'I am truly glad for Hew's sake, and for Mary's sake, that he has
gone--gone ere it was too late!' thought Sir Piers, as he sat in his
easy-chair in the library that afternoon, when nothing remained of
Cecil Falconer at Eaglescraig but an aching pain in Mary's heart, and
in the avenue the ruts of the wheels that had borne him away.
His recent conversation with Hew about the dread of a _mésalliance_
made the old baronet's mind revert--as it too often did, bitterly and
unavailingly--to another _mésalliance_ in his family, which nearly
brought ruin--for such in the vanity of his soul he deemed
disgrace--upon the Montgomeries of Eaglescraig, who had for ages been
a power in the bailiwick of Cunninghame.
'It seems a pity that we should disturb the stagnant waters of that
Dead Lake which men call the Past,' says Miss Braddon; but Sir Piers
was rather prone to do so; and now, as he sat gazing into the red,
clear, burning embers, they seemed to take divers shapes and forms,
quaint and curious pictures, of which, in reality, he saw little, for
his thoughts were treading upon each other fast, and in his dreamy
yet steadfast gaze there was a fixed, a far-off look--a look in
Shadowland.
A childless old man, he was thinking of what was now, and all that
might have been, but for his own stubborn will and pride of heart.
Some five-and-twenty years before this time, he had a son who had
been the pride of that heart, and valued all the more as being the
only child of a young and beautiful wife, after whose death he had
never married again, but sought relief from thought amid the wars of
British India.
From his infancy young Piers had been petted in every way, and was in
some respects the spoiled child of the household. He grew up a
bright and handsome lad, full of intelligence and enthusiasm for
music and painting; but to dabble in these, even as an amateur, Sir
Piers deemed unworthy of his family, so in due time he had his son
gazetted to the Cameronians, then in garrison at Gibraltar.
During the unhealthy season, which lasts there from July to November,
when the east winds come surcharged with moisture, young Piers was
seized with fever, and obtaining leave of absence, went to travel in
Italy, and his letters that came from thence to Eaglescraig,
detailing his adventures and journeys up Calabrian mountains and
through defiles in the Abruzzi, all indicative of returning health
and strength, filled the heart of his father with joy, as his son,
the heir of his house and name, was the veritable apple of his eye.
His letters from Rome teemed with his enthusiasm about the objects of
history, the ruins of the past, and his ecstasies over the treasures
of the innumerable _studii_ of painting and sculpture; and then came
much about a painter whose acquaintance he had made at the Academy of
San Luca, and whose daughter was one of the most beautiful girls and
accomplished musicians in that city of pilgrimage to all lovers of
art.
After this Sir Piers grew painfully and suspiciously conscious of the
fact that his son's correspondence became irregular, his epistles
constrained and brief, while more than one incidental reference to
the artist's handsome daughter caused alarm in the parental heart,
all the more as young Piers had said that her father, 'though a man
of humble origin, was an emperor among artists.'
'Piers,' said the baronet to his confidential friend and local
factotum, John Balderstone, 'refers to this girl oftener than I quite
relish or like; and his letters are vague and odd as--if--as if--he
had something to conceal. I wish he were back to his regiment at
Gibraltar.'
'Young men _will_ be young men,' replied the other; 'the girl may
have picked up some pretty tricks of foreign manners, and thus
interested him.'
'There are four months of his leave to run; surely he will not spend
them all among these painter-fellows in Rome?' said the baronet,
grimly.
For one moment, however, an idea of what was really the case never
entered the haughty mind of Sir Piers Montgomerie. He only feared an
entanglement--as a subaltern, he had often been in such scrapes
himself--but nothing _more_!
And now a month elapsed without any letter from Rome, and genuine
anxiety filled the mind of Sir Piers, whom a temporary illness
confined at Eaglescraig, and prevented from coming swoop down upon
his son in the Eternal City, and seeing how 'matters were' for
himself.
At that very time there arrived at a country hotel, within a few
miles of Eaglescraig, a young married pair, with a valet and a little
French soubrette. Both were singularly handsome--the lady, indeed,
was a very beautiful girl with minute and delicate features, dark
eyes and rich brown hair; and in her husband, whose face and figure
were alike striking, but for the ample beard he now wore, the people
of the hotel would have had little trouble in recognising young Piers
Montgomerie, for he it was, with his bride, the penniless daughter of
'the emperor among artists!'
He was one who could scarcely fail to make himself agreeable to all
women, as he excelled in that half-flirting manner which some young
men can cultivate with skill; and borne away by a great love for the
girl on one hand, and dreading his father's opposition on the other,
he had married her clandestinely, and had now brought her with him to
Scotland, trusting that her beauty, sweetness, grace and virtue would
open the heart of his father to them both, and pardon the fact of his
having had, as he would have phrased it, a 'stolen march made upon
him.'
The homeward journey had been but a portion of their honeymoon tour,
and safe in her young husband's love, the girl seemed to see only a
brilliant and happy, if somewhat vague, future. Aware of his
father's temper, spirit, and infatuated pride of family, young Piers
was not without some genuine anxiety as to the result, when the issue
of his rashness seemed so close at hand.
'If your father is so proud as you say, Piers,' said the young
wife--still a bride--as she nestled her sweet face in his neck, and
his arm went caressingly round her, 'and if he will not forgive the
_mésalliance_ you have made with poor me----'
'Well, my darling, what then?'
'You may repent it,' said she, her dark eyes filling with tears, and
her voice trembling with anxiety.
'Never, my own little wife--never! and by this time to-morrow I hope
to see you taking your place at his table, as the future mistress of
Eaglescraig; though long may the time be ere you are so, for my
father is a dear old fellow--twice my age, at all events!'
The girl sighed softly, and hoped that all might be as they wished it.
'Welcome back, my boy!' exclaimed Sir Piers next day, when his son
appeared (but alone) at Eaglescraig; 'why have you been so long in
writing me? Why do you come thus suddenly? and where is your
baggage? But how well you are looking; and, by Jove, you have a
beard like a Brahmin!'
'I have a long story to tell you, sir, about all my adventures: one
in particular, that may take some time to tell----'
'Then keep it till after dinner: let us have it with the Chateau
Margaux,' said Sir Piers, laughing; and being timidly willing to
delay till the last moment the revelation that was _inevitable_, his
son--even with the sweet face of her who, at that moment, was alone
in his memory--was glad of the little reprieve.
Anxious to make a good impression, he made a more than usually
careful toilette in his own old and familiar room; but when he took
his seat at table, the presence of Tunley and the servants, and also
of John Balderstone, who had dropped in on business, and whom the
baronet had pressed to remain, precluded all reference to his secret
for a time, till the cloth was removed, the dessert laid, the
decanters ranged in rank-entire before the host, and Tunley was told
he might withdraw till rung for.
'And now for your story, Piers,' said the elder Montgomerie: 'the
claret stands with you.'
'I must first drink to you, and congratulate you on your promotion,'
replied his son.
'Yes, I am full colonel now, Piers, and may fairly hope to be a
lieutenant-general some of these days. But now for the story,' he
repeated uneasily; 'I suppose John Balderstone may hear it?'
'Of course, sir,' said Piers, coughing nervously, and twice draining
his large green claret-glass to gain time, while he felt that his
colour came and went, and his father's keen eyes were fixed upon him
with equal scrutiny and affection.
Young Piers glanced at the stately table, with its massive plate,
glittering crystal, rich wines and luxuriant fruit, and thinking with
joy of her who would be the presiding goddess there to-morrow, told
his narrative in a manly and honest manner, yet not without some
trepidation of tone, while his father sat bolt upright in his chair,
staring at him with a face expressive of rage, incredulity, and
absolute grief, as if he felt that his only son and heir had gone
mad. Worthy John Balderstone also looked scared and bewildered.
'And now, sir,' continued the son, despite the terrible frown that
deepened on his father's face, 'I have told you all, except my
darling's name.'
'Her name be----! what is her name to me? Zounds, sir! I don't want
to hear it--the daughter of a beggarly painter--an adventuress--to
become in time Lady Montgomerie of Eaglescraig! No, sir, no; damme,
I'll break the entail; I'll--I'll----'
Sir Piers for a few moments was literally choking with rage.
'That my wife is poor and nameless, according to your mode of
thinking, father, is no fault of hers; her beauty is great, her
goodness and accomplishments are rarely surpassed, and surely you
will forgive us, we love each other so?' urged young Piers; and as he
spoke his heart was in his voice, and his very soul seemed welling
out of his fine dark eyes.
'May the moment that I forgive you and her be my last on earth!'
thundered Sir Piers, smiting the table with his clenched hand;
'forgive you--not if I lived for a thousand years! Away--away! quit
my sight and never let me see your face again!'
And literally he began to tutor himself to hate his son as much as he
had idolised him before.
The latter rose from his chair; his handsome face seemed as if
petrified--turned to stone, and with the colour of stone, his nether
lip began to quiver painfully, for he too had a heart of fiery pride.
Sir Piers rang the bell so furiously that he nearly rent the wires.
'What are you about to do, sir?' asked his son.
'I am about to expel you from this house for ever!' replied Sir
Piers. 'Order the waggonette which brought Mr. Montgomerie from his
hotel round from the stables instantly,' he added to the astonished
Tunley, whom the fierce summons--the bell was vibrating still--had
brought up like a genius of the lamp; 'never again is he to set foot
in the house which he has disgraced!'
In vain did worthy John Balderstone attempt to act the peace-maker;
he was silenced by an imperious wave of the hand.
'This vile adventuress, for I am sure she is such, shall not quite
gain her ends. I shall break the entail, if I can!' exclaimed Sir
Piers, with growing exasperation; 'by the God that hears me, I will!'
'Father, see her once--only once--ere you judge of her so cruelly!
And, oh! let us not part thus! One day you may repent it,' urged his
son piteously, and yet not without some anger in his heart.
'Repent it? never!' replied his father, with a wild and bitter laugh.
'Now then, Tunley, is that waggonette at the door?'
'Yes, sir,' replied the butler, again appearing, and very much scared.
'Go!' said Sir Piers to his son; 'as God is our judge, here for ever
ends all between us!'
He turned and left the room by one door, while his son quitted it by
another, and from that moment the father and son met no more. The
latter's allowance was cut off; he got into debt, sold his
commission, and with his young wife eventually disappeared. Mr.
Balderstone was supposed to be cognisant of his movements for a time
under a false name; however, the general never inquired, and after a
year or so all traces of him were lost.
Proud of his ancient race, incapable personally of a dishonourable
thought or guilty plan, his son's rash marriage, without his consent,
and with an obscure girl, filled his heart with a species of black
fury, and gave his face a look of repellent pride that was long its
settled expression.
The fate of Piers became a kind of mystery--hidden; though it is the
fate of things in this world that, as a general rule, nothing is hid
for ever.
There came a night which the general never forgot! It was the night
of an event which he related only to John Balderstone and one or two
others, confidential friends, who were now no longer in the land of
the living.
On the night referred to, the lonely general, then creeping up the
vale of years, was seated in the library, lingering over his last
glass of grog, and gazing, as we last left him, into the glowing
embers; his thoughts wandered away from present things to the past in
spite of himself. He reviewed the things of old--forgotten sayings
and doings in camp and quarters, in the field and the Indian jungle;
the faces and the voices of the distant and the dead came back to
him, and among them, more powerfully than usual, the face and voice
of his lost son, Piers.
There was no sound in the room but the steady and monotonous ticking
of a great antique clock on the black marble mantel-piece, and the
snoring of a Highland stag-hound stretched upon a deerskin before the
fire, unless we add that the night wind moaned shudderingly through a
coppice of red-stemmed Scottish firs, and the beech-trees swayed
drearily in the passing blast.
A sudden sense of some one being near him--something intangible,
too--came over him; he seemed to hear a sigh, and brave though he
was, his heart felt as if dying within him, and the hair of his head
stood up, or a prickly sensation pervaded all his scalp.
Beside his chair a kind of shadow seemed to form itself, and become,
with each pulsation of his pulses, more distinct in outline, till the
face and form of his son were before him--the former wasted and
pallid, his eyes full of sorrow and reproach. His hands seemed
unusually white, wan, and the articulations of the fingers were
painfully distinct, as those of one who had been wasted by fever,
toil, and want.
A thousand maddening and terrifying thoughts seemed to whirl through
the general's brain. He strove to start from his chair, but remained
in it as if spellbound; he strove to cry aloud, but his voice failed
him, or the faint sound he did utter seemed unnatural, and filled him
with greater fear.
For a moment or two the upbraiding spirit, if spirit it was, or a
creation of his own fevered fancy, stood before him, and then slowly
melted away.
Sir Piers started to his feet.
'I have been dreaming,' he said, with a kind of gasping sigh. 'A
plague on such dreams and fancies!'
But something seemed to tell him it was _not_ a dream, and not a
fancy, and he remembered that in the pale and wasted hands of the
figure were a sheaf of small brushes such as artists use, and a
mahl-stick. Had Piers in his dire necessity betaken himself to art
to gain a livelihood?
He sat for some time waiting and watching, in a state of awe, terror,
and intense anxiety, for the appearance to return, but it came no
more; but from that moment an assurance stole into his heart that his
son must be dead--that he perhaps died at that particular moment: and
then he began to think, and think, and think again, how hard and
pitiless he had been; and his handsome face grew older and more
lined, and wrinkles seemed to come where none were formed as yet. He
might have said with Balder:
'I have lived in the past,
As by a deathbed, with unwonted love,
And much forgiveness as we bring to those
Who can offend no more.'
So time passed on, and old age came upon him--a childless old age.
His son was gone--he had no doubt of that! He had no nephew, no
cousin, or cousin's son, to succeed him in the lands that had been in
his family since the wars of Bruce and Wallace--yea, since Norwegian
Haco's banner fell on the field of Largs; and he began to fear that
his title would become extinct, when, in the 'Landed Gentry of Grat
Britain and Ireland,' he found that Sir Bernard Burke had assigned a
place to a certain Mr. Hew Montgomerie, then broiling in the Indian
Civil Service, proving that he was the nearest living relative of the
line of Eaglescraig.
His lawyers speedily communicated with that amiable personage, whom
we have already introduced to the reader, and thus it is that he came
to be resident at Eaglescraig as heir of entail, and to the baronetcy.
The poor old general strove his hardest to like Hew, who also strove
sedulously, and pretty skilfully, to keep his many bad qualities
secret from him; but often when Sir Piers was in his thoughtful or
sad moods, he would ask Mary to sing to him certain old songs that
were associated in some way with the long-lost Piers, and as her soft
voice went to the old man's heart, and her pretty hands strayed over
the piano-keys, she 'soothed him to peace,' as Mrs. Garth was wont to
say, 'as the harp of David had soothed King Saul with the holy spell
of sweet music;' but it was a spell that always sent the thoughts of
Sir Piers to wander in Shadow-land.