The world we live in is full of beautiful sights and sweet sounds; it
is a treasure-house of loveliness and of melody. Whether the eye ranges
over the face of nature at large, and marks all the varied, the
magnificent, the sweet, the bright, the gentle, in wood, and mountain,
and valley, and stream; or rests, wondering and admiring, on the bright
delicate fabric of a flower, the rich hues of the butterfly, or the
lustrous plumage of the birds, beauty and brightness are everywhere.
The air we breathe, too, is full of sweet sounds; whether in the
singing of the birds, the murmuring music of the stream, or the hum of
all the insect world upon the wing, everything is replete with harmony.
But of all the lovely sights, and of all the touching sounds whereof
nature is full, there is nothing so beautiful, there is nothing so
sweet, as the sight and the words of natural affection.
Alice Herbert--for to her we must now turn--sat by the bedside of her
father on the morning of that day, the eventful passing of which we
have already commemorated in the chapter just concluded, as far as it
affects the greater part of the characters connected with this tale.
Joy and brightness were upon her countenance; and in the small and
beautiful hand that rested on her lap she held open the packet of
papers which had been left her by Langford. She gazed in the
countenance of her father with a look of eager and gratified affection,
which gave to her features a look of additional loveliness, and added
the crowning beauty to the whole. Her voice, too, sweet and melodious
as it always was, seemed, at least to her father's ears, to have a more
musical tone than ever, as she told him, with a heart thrilling with
joy and satisfaction at having such news to tell, that she held in her
hand the means of freeing him from the painful situation into which he
had been plunged by the events of the night before; and that those
means had been furnished to her by him whom she so deeply loved.
The feelings of Sir Walter himself were also very sweet; they were
sweet to receive such assistance from a daughter's hand; they were
sweet from perceiving the happiness which to give that assistance
afforded her; they were sweet from the very act of appreciating all her
sensations; from the power of understanding and estimating the ideas
and feelings of her whom he loved best on earth. They were sweet, but
not wholly sweet. There was a sensation mingled with them, as there
must almost always be with every enjoyment and delight of our mortal
being, which tempered, if it did not sadden--which took some little
part off the brightness of the joy. It may be, that such slight
deteriorations, that such partial alloys thrown into the gold of
happiness, do, like the real alloys which render the precious metals
more fitted for the hand of the workman, render our pleasures more
adapted to our state of being. At all events, the slight shade of
something less than happiness which mingled with Sir Walter Herbert's
feelings, was not sufficient to do more than give them a deeper
interest. It was the thrill of a fine mind on receiving a benefit.
Pride had nothing to do with it; and, yet, when Alice Herbert showed
him the various notes and bills of exchange which she held in her hand,
a slight flush appeared upon his cheek, a momentary feeling of
embarrassment came over him. He would not, however, have let Alice
perceive for the world that he felt the least embarrassment; he
struggled against it, and conquered it in a moment.
"This is indeed generous and noble of Langford." he said. "This is like
what I always supposed him; this is what I could desire and hope in him
who is to possess my Alice. But I must rise, Alice, my beloved. I must
rise and see him; and thank him myself. I long to tell him how I
appreciate his good and noble character, and to show him that I do so
by seeking his advice, assistance, and counsel in a situation to which
some carelessness and some want of wisdom, perhaps, have brought my
affairs; though I feel assured and am confident Alice, as you tell me
he himself said last night, that matters are by no means so bad as that
lawyer would unkindly have us believe. Go down, my love, and have the
breakfast prepared; I will join you speedily."
Alice did as he bade her, leaving the papers with him; but although her
heart was very happy, she could have much wished that Langford himself
had not been absent. She knew that a thousand causes, of the simplest
and most natural kind, might have taken him out at that early hour of
the morning; but yet there was a feeling of apprehensiveness in her
bosom that she did not attempt to account for, but which in reality
proceeded from the events of the preceding evening; agitation which had
taken from her heart that feeling of security in its own happiness
which seldom if ever returns when once scared away. The first great
misfortune is the breaking of a spell, the dissolving of that bright
and beautiful illusion in which our youth is enshrined, the confidence
of happiness; and there is no magic power in after-life sufficient to
give us back the charm. It may come in another world, but there it
shall be a reality, and not a dream.
Alice Herbert, then, felt apprehensive she knew not of what; but in the
silence of the old servants, and the solemn gloom that seemed to hang
over them as they laid out the morning meal, there was something which
increased her uneasiness. She asked herself, why Wilson walked so
slowly, why Halliday no longer bustled about as usual, forgetting for a
moment his reverence for the ears of his master, in directing and
scolding the other servants if they went wrong: and though she
ultimately concluded that they had all heard some report of the
difficulties into which, her father had fallen, and that such a report
had rendered their affectionate hearts sad, yet the conclusion did not
altogether satisfy her; and she longed both for Langford's return, and
for her father's appearance at the breakfast-table.
Sir Walter did at length appear, but his first question was for
Langford, to which the servant Halliday answered as he had been
directed. The good knight seemed perfectly satisfied, and, sitting down
to table, commenced his breakfast, talking to his daughter with an air
that showed that the slight embarrassment under which he at first
laboured was gone; that the despondency which had been produced by the
imperfect insight into his affairs, given by the events of the
preceding night, was passing away, and that hope and expectation were
beginning to brighten up and smile upon him once more.
Ere breakfast was over, however, the servant Halliday entered the room,
and approaching the end of the table where his master sat, informed him
that Gregory Myrtle, the landlord of the Talbot, desired instantly to
speak with him.
"What does he want, Halliday?" demanded the knight; "will not the good
man's business wait?"
"I believe not, your worship," replied Halliday; "he says it is a.
matter of much importance."
"Well then, send him in," said Sir Walter; "he is a good man and a
merry one, and I will discuss the matter with him while I finish my
breakfast."
Halliday looked at Alice, but he did not venture to say anything, and
retiring from the room, he soon after re-appeared, ushering in the
portly form of Gregory Myrtle.
The worthy host of the Talbot, however, for once in his life, had lost
that radiant jocundity of expression which his countenance usually
bore; and the first question of Sir Walter was, "Why, how now, Master
Gregory Myrtle, what is the matter with thee, mine host? Thou lookest
as solemn and as much surprised as if thou hadst seen a ghost on thy
way hither. I hope nothing has gone wrong with thee, good Gregory?"
"I have seen a sight your worship," replied the landlord, laying his
hand upon the white apron which covered his stomach, "I have seen a
sight which I never thought to see, and which has made me as sad as
anything can make Gregory Myrtle. I have seen Master Harry Langford
taken away from mine house by two magistrates on charge of murder!"
Sir Walter gazed on him for a single instant with astonishment, but
then immediately turned towards his daughter, forgetting all his own
feelings in hers. Alice, as pale as death, had sunk back in her chair,
and was covering her eyes with her hands, while she seemed to gasp for
breath under the agitation of the moment. Sir Walter started up, and
approached her tenderly, while Halliday ran from the other side of the
room with water. She put it away with her hand, however, saying, "I
shall be better in a moment! It was but the shock! Go on, Master
Myrtle!"
Sir Walter gazed tenderly on his child, but the colour soon came back
into Alice's cheek, and she begged her father not to attend to her, but
to go on with the sad business which had been so suddenly brought
before him. Sir Walter again sat down to the table, and as his mind
turned from his daughter to the charge against one whom she loved and
whom he esteemed, surprise and indignation superseded all other
feelings, and the blood mounted up into his check, while he demanded,
"Of whose murder, pray, have they had the folly to accuse him?"
"Folly, indeed, your worship," replied Gregory Myrtle; "but they accuse
him of having murdered Lord Harold last night upon the moor."
The blood again rushed rapidly through every vein back to Alice
Herbert's heart, and her fair hand clasped almost convulsively the arm
of the chair in which she sat. Her father's heart had instantly
directed his eye towards her, and, rising from his seat, he went gently
up to her, and took her by the hand, saying, "Let me help you to your
own room, dear child. I must make inquiries into this matter; but it is
not a subject for your ears, my Alice."
"Yes, indeed," she replied, making an effort for calmness. "I have now
heard the worst, my dear father, and shall be anxious to know all the
rest. If I were away, I should be still more uneasy than I am here;
pray go on."
"The charge is perfectly absurd!" replied Sir Walter, returning to his
chair. "No one that knows Langford can for a moment suspect him of
committing any crime. I will investigate the affair to the bottom, and
of course take care that he is not subject to the annoyance of
confinement any longer, my Alice. But go on, Master Myrtle!"
Alice listened eagerly to all the details which Gregory Myrtle now
gave, for her mind was not at all at ease in regard to the real state
of the case. Not that she ever suspected Langford of having murdered
the unhappy Lord Harold: of course such an idea never entered her mind;
but she remembered that Langford had been absent the greater part of
the preceding evening, and even a portion of the night. She knew that
he had left her for the purpose of returning to Lord Harold, whose
feelings, she doubted not, were irritated and excited by what he had
seen take place between her and his rival; and she did fear that
Langford, notwithstanding the promise he had given her, might have been
driven or tempted to draw his sword under some strong provocation. She
knew that he had great powers of commanding himself; and she believed
that, even had such an occurrence taken place, he would have been
perfectly capable of conversing with her over her father's affairs, as
he had done. At the same time she recollected that, although absorbed
by the situation of her father, and occupied by her own feelings and
sensations, she had remarked that Langford was pale, thoughtful, and
seemingly agitated by emotions different from those which might be
naturally called forth by the subjects on which they spoke.
On the other hand, he had assured her that no encounter had taken place
between him and Lord Harold, and she did not think that, even to spare
her feelings, Langford would say anything that was not true; but yet
she thought that their meeting might have taken place even after
Langford had left her. She accounted for his previous absence by
supposing that he had gone to seek some friend to act as his second
upon the occasion, and, in short, imagination found many a way of
justifying the apprehensions that love was prompt to force. Under any
ordinary circumstances, though she might bitterly have regretted
that one whom she loved had stained his hand with the blood of a
fellow-creature, yet she would have entertained no apprehensions for
his safety in a mere affair of honour. But Alice had known from her
infancy the Earl of Danemore, and had formed, almost without knowing it
herself, an estimate of his character, which was but too near the
reality. There was in it a remorselessness, a vehemence, a
determination, an unscrupulous pursuit of his own purposes, which had
been apparent to her, even as a child. She knew well, she felt
perfectly convinced, that he would halt at no step, that he would
hesitate at no means, in order to obtain vengeance upon any one who had
lifted a hand against his son; and she was well aware, too, that Lord
Danemore united to his unscrupulous determination of character, talents
and skill which gave him but too often the means of accomplishing his
purpose, however unjust.
Such knowledge and such feelings added deep apprehensions for
Langford's safety to the pain that she would at any time have felt at
the idea of one she loved taking the life of another human being; and
the whole was mingled with sincere grief to think that one who had been
her playmate in childhood, and had loved her truly in her more mature
years--one whom she esteemed and felt for deeply, though she could not
return his love, had been cut off in the spring of life, before many
blossoming virtues had yet borne fruit.
She listened eagerly, therefore, and anxiously to the words of the good
landlord of the Talbot, while he detailed all those facts connected
with the arrest of Langford which we have already dwelt upon. Her
father, indeed, felt and showed much more indignation and surprise that
the charge should be brought at all, than apprehension lest it should
prove just; and when, from some part of the conduct of the magistrates,
as detailed by the worthy landlord, it appeared that they accused
Langford of having slain Lord Harold in an unfair and secret manner,
Alice shared in the indignant feelings of her father, and raised high
her head at the very thought of her noble, her generous her gallant
lover, being suspected of an unworthy act for a moment.
By the showing of Gregory Myrtle, it very speedily appeared to Sir
Walter and his daughter, that the magistrates had not dealt quite
impartially in taking or seeking for evidence; and that they had shown
a strong inclination to find out that Langford was really guilty. From
what Sir Walter knew of the character of one, if not of both of those
worthy gentlemen, he easily conceived it to be possible that they
should be somewhat desirous of recommending themselves to Lord Danemore
by an overstrained and excessive zeal in discovering the murderer of
his son. But when he heard that the body of Lord Harold had not even
been found, his indignation grew still greater, and he sent back
Gregory Myrtle to the village, with directions to collect together
every one who could give any information on the subject, promising to
come over to the Talbot as soon as his horses could be saddled, and
investigate the matter to the bottom.
"As soon as this is done, Alice," he said, "I will ride over to the
castle, notwithstanding the painful event that has occurred, discharge
this long-standing debt to my good Lord Danemore, who has thought fit
to make so unhandsome a use of it; and then insist upon even justice
being shown towards our noble friend Langford, who, I doubt not, can
prove his innocence in five minutes."
The worthy Knight hastened all his proceedings; for when the cause of a
friend was in his hands, none of that easy and somewhat apathetic
indifference displayed itself with which he was but too apt to regard
his own affairs. His riding boots were drawn on with speed, and he
twice asked for his horses before the grooms could have had time to
saddle them; nor had he for many years before been known to ride so
fast as he did in going from the gates of his own park to the door of
the Talbot. Almost the whole population of the little town was gathered
about the inn, enjoying the satisfaction of a legitimate subject of
marvel and gossip: and the glad and reverential smiles, the bows of
unfeigned respect, and the homely but affectionate greeting with which
they received the good knight as he rode up, showed pleasingly how much
beloved the virtues and good qualities of all its members had rendered
the family of the Manor.
Sir Walter, however, was detained at Moorhurst much longer than he
expected, for everybody was anxious to give testimony before him, and
many more crowded forward than could afford any satisfactory
information, or throw the most trifling light upon the case; and yet,
as each and all of them had something to say in favour of Langford, Sir
Walter could not find it in his heart to refuse to listen to any. The
clerk of the parish was called upon to take down their depositions: and
certainly, if the fact of having established a good character in a
country town could have assisted any man in a similar predicament, it
might have done so with Langford in the present instance.
Sir Walter Herbert, however, did not lose sight of the great object,
though he suffered himself to be deluged by much irrelevant matter; and
he soon found that the only legitimate cause for supposing Langford at
all connected with the death or disappearance of Lord Harold was the
fact of the half-witted man, John Graves, having run down, during the
preceding evening, and besought several persons to come up and prevent
Langford and the young nobleman from killing each other. As he was
known to adhere invariably to the truth, two or three of the
town's-people had gone up with him into the park in order to keep the
peace, but on finding all quiet, and nobody there, had returned without
further search.
Sir Walter discovered also that the two magistrates who had preceded
him in the investigation had not even demanded to see John Graves
himself, though his testimony, taken second-hand, was that in fact on
which the whole case rested. This he determined immediately to remedy;
but the half-witted man was by that time nowhere to be found, and
though Sir Walter waited for many hours while persons were despatched
to seek for him in all directions, the good knight was at length
obliged to give the matter up for the day, and return to the Manor
House.
During his absence, Alice was left for several hours with no companion
but her own painful thoughts. She felt, as she might well feel, quite
sure that Langford was innocent of any base, or cowardly, or
treacherous action; she felt sure of his honour, his integrity, his
uprightness. But that certainty, that confidence, though it gave her
support, could not deliver her from apprehension. All her thoughts were
gloomy. The bright joy which Langford's acknowledgment of his love on
the preceding evening had afforded her, had been like one of those
sweet warm summer-like days in the unconfirmed infancy of the year,
which are succeeded immediately by storms and tempests. Her mind had
rested for a moment in a vision of perfect happiness; but now,
whichever way she turned her waking eyes, there was something painful
in the prospect. Although she was very willing to believe that her
father's pecuniary affairs were not in near so bad a state as Lord
Danemore's lawyer had made them appear, yet there could be no doubt
that they were greatly embarrassed, and that his income and resources
were so much smaller than those of his ancestors, that it would be a
duty to curtail his expenses, to diminish his establishment, and, in an
age when luxury and splendour were daily increasing, to forego many of
the conveniences and comforts which he had hitherto enjoyed, and all
that dignified but unostentatious state which his family had kept up
for many generations.
She knew, too, that to do so would be a bitter pang, well nigh to the
breaking of the heart that felt it; and although, for her own part,
there was scarcely a pretty cottage in the neighbourhood in which she
could not have made her home with cheerfulness and happiness, she
looked forward with painful apprehension to the time when her father
might have to quit the Manor House, and discharge the old servants who
had served him so long, and be no more what he had been amongst the
many who looked up to and reverenced him.
Such was one dark subject of contemplation; the death of Lord Harold
was another. She thought of him as she had seen him the evening before,
full of youth, and health, and energy; she thought of him as she had
seen him in other days, full of joy and gaiety, and that bright
exuberant life which it is difficult to imagine can ever be
extinguished, when we gaze upon it in all its activity and brightness;
and yet a single moment had ended it for ever.
Her mind then turned to the father of him who was gone; and she
pictured him sitting in his lonely halls, childless, solitary,
desolate, left without hope and without consolation to pass through the
chill winter of his age, till he reached the dark and cheerless
resting-place of the tomb. She pitied him from her very heart; she
could have wept for him; but then her thoughts turned to Langford, and
she asked herself, if it were possible that a man who had just suffered
so severely as Lord Danemore himself, could seek to bring misery and
sorrow upon others? Abstractedly, she would have thought such a thing
impossible; but when she reflected upon the character of the man, she
felt but too deeply convinced that his own misery would but make him
seek to render others as miserable; that his despair would be bitter
and turbulent, not calm and mild; and that to see the hearths of others
desolate, the hearts of others broken, would in all probability be the
consolation he would choose.
She was pondering sadly upon these gloomy subjects of contemplation, as
well upon that chief and still more absorbing one, the situation of him
whom she so dearly loved, when the servant Halliday appeared to
announce to her that Master Kinsight, Lord Danemore's attorney, was at
the gate, and would not go away. He had told him, the servant said,
that his worship was out, and that she herself was busy, and not to be
disturbed; "but he still hangs there, Mistress Alice," continued the
man, "and he is no way civil; so much so, indeed, that if I did not
know his worship is averse to having anybody cudgelled, I would drub
him for his pains."
"Do no such thing, Halliday," replied Alice, "but bring him in here; I
will speak to him myself."
In a few minutes the lawyer entered the room, and threw himself down
into a chair with very little ceremony. "So, Mistress Alice," he said,
in a tone, the natural insolence of which was increased by the
unconcealed hatred of Sir Walter's servants, "I find your father's out;
gone out, I suppose to avoid me, for he knew I was coming about this
time for his answer and yours, as to what we were speaking of last
night."
"My father has gone out, Master Kinsight," replied Alice, calmly, "upon
business of importance; but I can give you the answer that you require,
as well as if he were present. He is going over to Danemore Castle as
soon as possible, to pay the money and interest which you came to
claim, having found the means of doing so, without any further delay."
"Ay, indeed, madam!" exclaimed the lawyer, with evident surprise;
"indeed! Pray how?"
"That, I should conceive, sir," replied Alice, in the same tone in
which she had before spoken, "is no business of yours."
"Your pardon, madam, your pardon," cried the lawyer, "it is business of
mine. Your father must have borrowed the money, and to have borrowed
the money he must have given security, and we hold mortgages over his
whole property to its full value, and therefore--"
As he paused and hesitated, Alice replied, "I do not yet see, sir, how
that would make it any business of yours. However, to satisfy you, the
money was lent by my father's friend, Captain Langford, without any
security whatever."
"Do you mean to say that the money was lent," he exclaimed, rudely,
"actually lent, paid down? Come, come; I shall not go out of the house
till I hear more of the matter, for I do not want to be trifled with,
or to tell my lord that the money is ready when it is not."
"Sir," said Alice Herbert, raising her head with a look of indignation,
"you are insolent. The money is, as I have told you, now in the house,
ready to be paid to your master--as I suppose I must call Lord
Danemore--whenever my father is at leisure to do so. I expect him ere
long; and if you choose to remain till he returns, you may wait in the
servants' hall. At present I myself am busy, and wish to be alone."
The lawyer looked somewhat disconcerted; but he paused thoughtfully for
a moment, biting his lip, twirling his hat, and laying his finger on
his brow, as if uncertain what to do. At length, he exclaimed, "No, no,
I'll not wait; I'll go over to the Earl directly, and take
instructions."
So saying, he bade Alice a short and saucy adieu, and quitted her
presence and the house, not finding a servant who would even show him
the attention of holding his horse while he mounted.