Some days had passed at Danvers's New Church; and I must not dwell
upon their passing. "Time warns me to be brief," as worthy clergymen
say in long-composed sermons, where no reference to time existed in
the act of composition. But time, and the end of the volume apparent
to the view (which are to an author what time and the end of life
ought to be to every man), warn me that I _must_ be brief. Several
days had passed at Danvers's New Church since Hortensia Danvers and
Ralph Woodhall had entered that house arm in arm. Fill up the time as
you will, reader. I can not dwell upon it. Very little passed of any
consequence. We well know how bulky trifles will become when we are
trying to pack closely the portmanteau of the present. A child's toy
will take up more room than a volume of philosophy, and a blown India
rubber ball occupy ten times more space than all the essays of John
Locke. Those days had been filled with trifles. They formed a period
of little or no progress. Country gentlemen had come in--esquires, and
justices, and barons, and lords of high degree--to offer their
services and compliments to the young, graceful, beautiful Lady
Danvers, upon her return to her ancestral home. Country gossips had
flocked thither to see, and hear, and know all that was going on; for
certain reports had been carried about by the tongue of Rumor as to
the sojourn of a young and handsome cavalier within the walls of
Danvers's New Church.
At first Hortensia was somewhat puzzled what to do; for, with all her
readiness--which proceeded more from simple purity and rectitude of
purpose, enlightened by a bright, clear mind, than any worldly
wisdom--she could not help feeling that she was commencing a struggle
against a very muddy but turbulent torrent called the world, which
would require a stout heart to stem it.
If she refused to receive such visitors, she was certain to subject
herself to misconstruction. If she appeared with Ralph, there was
still a danger of misconstruction, and peril to him likewise. She
resolved to receive them all; and she did so, with quiet ease, and
calm, though somewhat cold demeanor, which rebuked curiosity, and put
calumny at fault. She would not suffer Ralph, however, to appear,
impressing upon him strongly the necessity of concealment for his own
safety, and taking such means as her knowledge of the country, and her
more general experience of the world and the world's ways, enabled her
to adopt of finding some means of conveying him secretly to the coast
of Holland. Every morning servants on horseback went out to different
ports on the western shores of England. Every evening servants
returned, bringing no satisfactory tidings. Nearly one half of life is
consumed in emptinesses, and three quarters, at least, in emptinesses
and disappointments taken together. So it was at Danvers's New Church.
But still a little progress was made--a very little. Nevertheless, it
is worth while recording. It may be asked if Hortensia, when the
consciousness came upon her that she had to swim, as it were, against
the stream of the world's opinion, did not sometimes say to herself,
"Ralph's arm may at any time save me, and bear me safe to shore."
I do not think she did so, for it was a subject upon which she did not
like her thoughts to rest. She was fain to believe, and did believe,
that she was actuated by no feeling but one, a sincere, unmingled
desire of freeing a man whom she esteemed, the son of her mother's
best friend, from perils and difficulties undeserved. And yet there
were various little incidents--very indefinite--very intangible--a
word dropped row and then--a deep fit of thought after the name of
Margaret Woodhall had been mentioned--a grave and solemn earnestness
of manner in protesting that nothing on earth could have induced him
to draw his sword against Henry Woodhall, which, like the light gusts
of the evening wind, bringing up misty clouds upon the western sky,
cast over Hortensia's contemplated future a vague, uncertain gloom,
from which she was pleased to turn her eyes, and rejoice in the
sunshine of the present, when she and Ralph spent the evening alone
together in her wide, tastefully-furnished withdrawing-room, sometimes
reading authors whom we venerate as the fathers of the poetry and
prose of England, but who were then hardly consecrated by the hand of
Time; or singing, and playing upon instruments then in vogue, music
which might strike us, perhaps, in the present day, as poor in the
harmony, but which had a freshness, a vigor in the melody that is
rarely to be found in this all-steaming age.
True, in the darkness of the night, Hortensia would often lay awake
for hours, not indulging in apprehensive or regretful thoughts--not
even, like the patriarch, struggling with the angel of Hope to win a
boon at last from the Giver of all happiness, but watching, like a
warder upon a tower, to prevent the entrance of any of the enemies
that flocked continually forward to obtain admittance into the
fortress of the mind.
Sometimes, wearied with this dark, silent strife, she would wake her
maid, who now slept in the same room, and bid her strike a light and
give her a book to while away the tedious hours till daylight came.
This done, the maid would creep again to bed, and fall in a moment
into dreamless, heavy slumber, the envy of the highborn lady lying
near.
It was thus one night--I call the period of darkness night--when
Hortensia, after reading for some time, placed the book beneath her
pillow, raised her fair, beautiful arm, as children will do, under her
head, and with the rich curls of her unfilleted hair falling over it,
and partly shrouding her face, was trying to obtain a brief,
refreshing draught of that sweet, calm, morning sleep, which often
visits us just in the sober-colored dawn of day, when she heard the
trotting of a horse; and the moment after, the great bell rang
sharply.
No one answered, and several minutes passed; but then the bell rang
again; and shortly after, slow and tardy steps were heard pacing the
marble hall toward the great door.
A gray light was by this time stealing into the room; and Hortensia,
partly roused again, exclaimed, between sleep and waking, "Alice!
Alice! some one is ringing the great bell. Throw on some clothes, and
go and ask what is the matter."
The girl was already awake, for she had slept long and well; and the
ringing of the bell had roused her. She was soon partly dressed and
gone, and Hortensia heard her talking with the old porter over the
balustrade of the stair-case. The interrogatory seemed to deviate into
a gossip; and when the maid returned, saying, "Nothing but some
letters, my lady, brought by a messenger for Mr. Ralph Woodhall,"
Hortensia was fast asleep, and unconscious of the words spoken.
When she again awoke, some two hours afterward, she made further
inquiries, and on being informed of what had occurred, hastened to
dress herself as rapidly as possible.
On descending to the breakfast-room (or little hall, as it was called
at that time, in her dwelling), she found three letters addressed to
Ralph Woodhall lying undelivered on the table. The porter had not
thought it worth while to wake the young gentleman, he said; and
Hortensia at once dispatched a messenger to her guest, who appeared
soon after with the letters open in his hand.
"Any news? any tidings?" asked Hortensia, eagerly. "The sight of those
letters frightens me; for it is clear some one has discovered the
place of your retreat, and our secret is no longer safe."
"It has been discovered, indeed," replied Ralph, "but how I know not.
However, two of these letters are to warn me that this place is no
longer safe for me. There is one of them."
As he spoke, he gave into the hands of Lady Danvers a sheet of
somewhat coarse paper, on which were written a few lines in a bold
hand. She read them attentively, and then, raising her eyes to his
face, inquired, "Who is this person who signs himself Moraber?"
"I can hardly tell you," replied Ralph; "he is a strange, solitary
being, of whose history I know nothing, except that he was a college
companion of the Duke of Norfolk--gave himself up, from a very early
period, to the study of judicial astrology, and seems, by that or some
other means, to have obtained a very strange degree of knowledge
regarding the fortunes and feelings of a great multitude of persons.
You will see in another letter, which I will show you in a moment,
that he takes no slight interest in my own affairs, and has done me
justice in matters where even those who loved me well were inclined to
doubt me."
"But from whom is that very long letter? if my curiosity be
pardonable," asked Hortensia, pointing to a sheet of foolscap closely
covered.
"This is from my good father," replied Ralph, with a smile; "and if
you will take the trouble of deciphering the first few sentences, you
will see, dear lady, that one brought up in such principles was not
likely to take his cousin's life in a duel."
Lady Danvers took the letter and read what follows:
"DEAR SON,--I have been in a state of anguish of mind not to be
described from Wednesday last, the twenty-second of the month, till
this present Tuesday, the twenty-eighth. I had heard, and that from
authority which appeared not to be doubted, that you had been mad
enough to engage in a duel, notwithstanding all the principles which I
have endeavored to instill into your mind; that you had killed your
adversary, and that the slain man was your cousin Henry. Now I have
ever held, and have endeavored to teach you to hold, that dueling is
not only murder, but murder of the most aggravated kind. The slaughter
of the man may take place by accident--by a hasty blow in a moment of
passion--in self-defense, when suddenly assailed--or in a general
tumult or commotion; and in these cases the law of man--and, let us
not doubt, the law of God also--deals leniently. But in the case of a
duel, there is no sound and legitimate excuse whatsoever for the man
who slays another. He has time for reflection, therefore the act is
deliberate and premeditated. He goes out to kill, and he kills. Nor is
it any mitigation whatsoever of his offense that his adversary came
there with the same purpose toward himself; for the crime of the one
can never excuse the crime of the other. Still less is it an excuse
that dueling is a custom of society; for every Christian and every
philosopher must perceive that this custom of society is in itself a
criminal one, a proof of its barbarism rather than its civilization;
and he who sanctions it by his example, commits, in addition to the
particular crime of murder, a general offense against society and
mankind by encouraging and perpetuating a criminal habit which all
good men should unite to put down. Thus, to the eyes of God, and to
the eyes of all reasoning men likewise, the act of killing another in
a duel is the most aggravated kind of murder; for the evil is not
confined to the offense, but spreads round as a diffusible poison,
affecting detrimentally the whole mass of society. There are but three
occasions in which any man is justified in taking the life of another:
in actual defense of his own life--in defense of his country--and in
obedience to the laws of his country. All other cases are murder. Now
you may easily conceive, my dear son, how much pain it gave me to
think for one whole week that my son was a murderer. I have this day,
however, received from a person calling himself Moraber, whom you must
have heard of in our neighborhood, the most strong and solemn
assurance that you are innocent of this terrible offense--that you did
not fight your cousin, and that he was slain by some other hand. I
believe the information to be correct, for my informant is above
suspicion; but yet I beseech you, if it be possible, write me the same
assurance, that my mind may be freed completely from anguish such as I
have never known--nay, not even when it pleased Heaven to take from me
your beloved mother."
The writing went on for several pages further; but Lady Danvers
stopped there, and returned the letter to Ralph, saying, "I agree with
him entirely, Ralph. But to return to this Moraber. What can he know
of any thing that is taking place here? He tells you that immediate
flight is necessary to your safety; that you have but two days to
execute it after the receipt of his letter; yet the letter is itself
nearly a fortnight old."
"I have still surer information than that," replied Ralph. "Here is
another letter, which I will show to no eyes but your own, dear Lady
Danvers. After all your kindness and generosity toward me, however, I
can keep back no secret of my heart from you."
Again Lady Danvers took the letter he offered, and read. It was brief,
hastily written in a woman's hand, and to the following effect:
"An opportunity has suddenly presented itself, dear Ralph, of sending
to you a few lines, and I seize it, first, to assure you that,
notwithstanding all that men accuse you of, I do not believe one word
of the tale. Your love for Margaret would never suffer you to slay her
brother. Secondly, I write to tell you that dangers of various kinds
menace you where you are. Your place of concealment has been
discovered. Orders will be dispatched this very night to the troops
marching against the Duke of Monmouth, to occupy Danvers's New Church
as a military post, and apprehend you if you are found there. Fly
immediately! and, if possible, till the storm is passed, take refuge
across the sea. The dear and beautiful lady with whom you are will
doubtless be able to provide you with the means of escape, and if so,
will merit more than, even at present, the eternal gratitude of your
own
"MARGARET."
Strange and beautiful were the changes of expression which came over
the face of Hortensia Danvers as she read those words. The very first
sentence called the warm blood rushing into her cheek, like the light
of the morning sun kindling the white clouds on the horizon. Then the
glow faded away again. Back, back to the heart every warm, thrilling
drop was withdrawn, and her beautiful face remained pale as that of a
marble statue, while her eyes fixed upon the lines as if every word
had been a fate to her who read. Even after she had done, she held up
the letter still in her hand, gazing at it in deep silence.
"I must tell you, dear Lady Danvers," said Ralph, in his inexperience
not reading her looks aright, "I must tell you that my cousin Margaret
and myself have loved each other warmly from childhood, and that it
was the hope--a hope almost insane--of winning her father's consent to
our union that led me forth to seek my fortune in the wide world--"
"Here--take it! take it!" said Hortensia, putting the letter in his
hand; "I will be back directly; all this news confounds me; I must
think--alone and in quiet. I will be back soon, and we will decide
upon something."
Again the warm blood rushed into her cheek, as if some sudden thought,
for which she took shame to herself, crossed her mind secretly, and
she added, in a faltering voice, "To have my house occupied by troops!
I will be back presently."
For nearly half an hour Ralph walked up and down the hall alone; but
then, with a slow and somewhat languid step, Hortensia rejoined him,
and seated herself near the table. Not a trace of tears was upon her
cheek; she had evidently not been weeping, but she was still as pale
as alabaster, though her eyes beamed with even more light than usual.
Was it that there had been a deadly struggle of passions in her heart?
that she had been the victor? that the light of triumph was in her
eyes, but that the exhaustion of combat well-nigh overpowered even the
conqueror? Perhaps so; but certainly she betrayed no evidence of the
struggle in her manner toward Ralph. She was as kind, as warm, as
eager as ever.
He had still the roll of letters in his hand, and, pointing to them,
she said, with her sweet smile and musical voice, "I must do
something, Ralph, to win this dear girl's gratitude, as she trusts to
me. Let me see the letter again."
He gave it to her. She read it through, and then murmuring, "May she
be happy!" pressed her lips upon Margaret's name. When she gave it
back to Ralph, there was a single tear upon it, and that was all she
shed.
"Now," said Hortensia, gayly, "we must to counsel, to see if we can
not out-maneuver our enemies. There is further down the coast a little
port called Seaton, where there used to be large and very safe boats
which they called luggers. I was a great favorite there with the good
fishermen when I was a child, and methinks, if we can reach that port,
it would be very easy to hire one of these boats, if not to convey you
to the coast of France or Holland, at least to land you at some other
English port where you may find a vessel ready to sail."
"Perhaps I had better set out at once," said Ralph; "my horse is quite
fresh now, and, with some one to guide me, I could reach the port
rapidly."
"No, no, that will never do," replied Lady Danvers; "the country is
all covered with troops, and you will be stopped to a certainty. I
will tell you how we must manage. During the day we will send forth
people in all directions to ascertain what roads are clear. Then,
toward evening, we will set out in my carriage, as it were, for an
hour's drive round the place. No one dare stop me; and after that we
shall have darkness to befriend us. We can take the roads we know to
be open, and as your friend Moraber gives you two whole days, we shall
be within the limit."
"Nay, nay," said Ralph, "I will not have you peril yourself for me.
That must not be, dear Lady Danvers."
"Well, I will convoy you part of the way," said Hortensia. "Let your
servant ride on to Seaton, obtain information there, and meet us on
the road. One of my people can mount your horse; and when you need the
beast, the man can get upon the carriage to return. This will be the
surest way; and if we obtain good intelligence, I shall run no risk,
nor you either, I trust, Ralph."
So was it settled; and the same evening Ralph and Hortensia began a
pilgrimage which will require a chapter to itself.