NIGHT
"And Esau hated Jacob. . . . And Esau said in his heart, the days of
mourning for my father are at hand; then will I slay my brother
Jacob."--_The Book of Genesis._
It did not rain, but the wind blew a wild hurricane. Now and then it
seemed to cease, and I could hear a kind of moaning sound which the sea
made, but again it came as though it would sweep away the great rocks
that grimly defied the fury of the elements. I did not mind this,
everything accorded with my feelings. I found ease in breasting the
storm, I breathed more freely when the wind blew its loudest.
By and by the thunders began to roar and the lightnings to flash, still
no rain fell, so I did not mind.
But it was terrible to be alone on such a night, and with such a
problem to solve. For hours I think I was mad. I am sure that in my
frenzy my voice could be heard above the wind and wave. Nothing,
however, made me forget what lay before me. The future ever haunted
me, and turned the thunderings of the wave into derisive mocking
laughter.
Now and then I would stand and look at the old house, which I could
dimly see in the stormlight, and when I did so it became dearer than
ever to me. It was the home of my fathers, the place wherein they had
died, and my heart clave unto it. I felt proud of my name--proud that
I was born the representative of my family, and to give it up seemed
like pulling at my heart-strings.
And thus I was tempted in the night; I would maintain my position as
Trewinion's heir. I would wed Ruth. I would brave everything and
carry out the wish of my father. Ruth did not love me now, but she
might learn to love me in time, besides, I could not give her up. I
loved her--loved her supremely. All the strength of my nature, moulded
largely by wild surroundings and an uncultured people, was given to
her. I did not love tamely. It was no tender passion I felt, it was a
mad, passionate adoration. I can call it nothing less. Fer her I
could brave danger, difficulty, death; but I could not give her up.
And I would not!
Why should I? I was master, I would remain so. I would maintain my
rights. I would let Wilfred know that I was the elder brother and he
the younger. And Ruth should be mine. My father wished it, and so did
hers, and so I would claim her. I would take my father's place and
reign righteously. I would be a pattern to the neighbouring gentry,
and my name should be respected far and wide. This was what every
eldest son of my race save one had done--that is, they had all claimed
their position, and so would I. Wilfred's happiness! Well, Wilfred
had always defied me and treated me as an inferior. Wilfred must take
care of himself; he must be thankful that I gave him the annuity my
father had mentioned. I could not help being born the first; besides,
what had I to do with his happiness? What right had he to seek to win
Ruth's affections? Doubtless he who was so friendly with Mr. Inch
would know her father's wish. Thus he must have acted like a sneak to
have sought what could not be fairly given to him. And Ruth! Did I
not love her, would I not humour her every wish, grant her every
desire, and devote my life to make her happy?
And mother?
She had never cared for me, never trusted me, never treated me as a
son, never told me of her intentions. I did not know, indeed, if she
were my mother. Why, then, should I trouble about her? If need be she
could go and live with Wilfred; at any rate, I would be Trewinion's
lord, and maintain my rights.
Then the other side presented itself. If this were carried out what
would be the result? I should see Ruth suffering, pining day by day.
She would loathe my presence, she would shudder at my embrace. By my
selfishness I should wreck her life. I should be her murderer. Then
what happiness should I have? Could I be happy while the woman I loved
was being cursed by my presence?
Then I put it this way: If I went away--not that I should, but
considering it suppositiously merely--if I went away, what would be the
result? Wilfred would claim to be master; he would be Trewinion's
heir; he would wed Ruth, who would gladly join her life to his--for
were they not affianced lovers?--my mother would rejoice, and all would
be happy. My black shadow would be taken from their lives, and they
could for ever live in the sunshine.
The picture seemed bright, and for a moment the thought of it gave me
pleasure. Then I remembered that I should be leaving Ruth for ever; I
should be leaving my old home for ever; I should not die in the great
chamber where all my ancestors had died. I should be a wanderer, a
vagrant, homeless and friendless.
Besides, what could I do? Strong and hardy I was, as a man could well
be, but I had no trade or profession. That is the curse which befalls
eldest sons who expect fortunes; if anything happens to them they have
no profession on which to rely. What did I know? Something of the
management of an estate, but not enough for a steward, nor would anyone
hire a steward without an assurance as to his abilities and past
career. I was not fit for that, and if I went away the name of Roger
Trewinion must be sunk for ever, so that I could not seek such a post.
The only thing I could say I was fit for was the post of a sailor. If
I went away I must try and get a place in a trading vessel.
I thought of all this, but would not confess to myself that I was
seriously thinking of leaving my home, the sacrifice was too great.
Meanwhile the storm was raging, and flakes of foam were blown against
my face. Then I felt some raindrops falling, and the sky became more
lowering.
I would go in and go to bed, and on the morrow I would speak to Ruth.
Then came the moment of final struggle. Ruth was leaving the house
because of me, because she loathed the thought of being my wife, and
because she wished to be free from me as long as she could.
This thought took away much of my interest in home, as well as my
desire to remain among the scenes of my early childhood. It chilled
those warm feelings of attachment for the homestead, and for the people
who had become a part of my life.
Ruth leave because of me! And yet it was because of Ruth I wanted to
stay. I would look at the matter again. I wanted to make Ruth happy;
but what was the course I must take in order to do that? The great
hindrance to her happiness was myself. I was the black cloud that hid
her sun. If I did not exist her joy would be complete, for then she
would be free to wed the man she loved.
And while I was fighting this battle the storm beat furiously upon me.
Never shall I forget how the wind blew, nor how the waves became more
and more maddened. Dimly I could see the great mountains of waters, as
with thundering roars they hurled themselves on the rockbound coast and
became churned into foam. How stern and pitiless nature was, how
careless of all human joys or sorrows! It was well I had my dying
father's assurance that God was love, or I could never have believed it
then. To me there was an almighty devil ruling the universe. A being
who hated us, and sought our destruction.
I was however glad of the storm. It helped me. I had to resist, to
exert myself. It gave play to my active nature; it kept me from
succumbing to the dark cloud of sorrow in which I was enveloped.
I know not how, nor can I tell the exact moment when the decision was
made; but, in the end, I decided to leave the old homestead and to give
Ruth happiness. I claim no virtue for my act. There was not much in
it after all. I should never be happy if I remained at home; nay,
Trewinion Manor would be hell to me, while spectres that I should
constantly be raising would haunt my life. Besides, I might find some
relief away. I would go, I would roam the world all over, and,
perhaps, away from the scene of my misery, I should find peace. My
heart was breaking, and it was not worth while for me to add misery to
that which was already felt by those by whom I was surrounded.
It may be said by those who read this that my act was one of great
self-denial; but if it was it brought none of that peace and inward
satisfaction which are said to come from such deeds. My misery, if
possible, became more intense, and the storm seemed to mock me with
shrieks and howls of derision.
With a great weight on my heart I crept back to the house, and slowly
went to my room. When should I go?
"To-morrow" was the response of my weaker nature. "Get a good night's
rest, make an impressive scene before Ruth, and go away with a flourish
of trumpets." But that would not do. I doubt whether I could have had
the heart to go away in the daylight if I saw Ruth near me. Besides, I
did not want to go away openly; I would leave in secret, when no eye
should see me, and when no one should be able to trace me. When should
I go?
"Now!"
That was the answer of my stronger and sterner nature. Leave in the
night, alone, and at once. Never look at the sweet face of Elizabeth
and Katherine, never be weakened by the beauty of Ruth, never be shaken
in my resolve by the patronising pride of Wilfred or the unloving look
of my mother. Delay would be dangerous. On the one hand were
influences leading me to stay, by making me defiant, hard, and bitter;
on the other, by making me weak and yielding. I would go at once then.
Where?
That mattered not for the time. I would leave the house at once, and
decide my course when once away and alone.
Should I let any one know what had become of me, should I write a
letter to Ruth, or Wilfred, or mother? I dared not. To do that would
weaken me at once. Still, it would be better that I should let them
all know that I was gone away, never to return.
I clothed myself in a strong plain suit of clothes, which I had used
when shooting on our boggy rough moors, put twenty guineas in my
pocket, and then went down into the library again. I did not look
around me and think of the hours I had spent there. If I did Ruth
could not be happy, for I should not have sufficient courage to remove
my black shadow from her life. I went to the writing desk and began to
try to say good-bye. That I found I could not do, so I simply wrote
the words:
"From this time Roger Trewinion is no more. He ceases to be so that
Wilfred can be Trewinion's heir and Ruth can be happy. Let Wilfred do
his duty, or Roger Trewinion may come to life again."
That was all, and after I had written it I felt more calm. Then I took
a stout oak stick, on which was engraven my father's name, and one
which he usually took when out walking and went away from the house, in
my heart bidding it good-bye for ever.
I walked rapidly northwards, keeping close to the cliffs. It was now
early morning, but the sun had not yet risen. The black clouds had
passed away, but the sea forgot not its anger, and still broke
furiously upon the shore.
I must have walked five miles when I saw signs of day. The sky changed
from nearly black into a sombre grey, while the sea became like unto
the sky. The birds creeping from their night resting-places, began to
sing, and from the farms by which I passed I heard the sound of the
cocks crowing.
On I tramped, anxious to get away from the neighbourhood where I was
known, the light becoming clearer and clearer as I went, until I could
see the outline of the coast. Then before me I saw a great jutting
headland, similar to the one on which our house was built, thence I
should be able to see my old home.
By the time I got there it was broad day, I think about five o'clock,
and wistfully I scanned the coast. Yes, there was Trewinion clear and
plain, although miles away. The grey, rugged walls stood out
distinctly and striking, while the tower lifted its head proudly into
the sky. And this home I had given up. Back from it stretched broad
acres that were mine, and these I had renounced for a woman.
"Treat her well, Wilfred, or by the Creator of us both you shall curse
the day on which you were born."
I muttered this between my closed teeth, for at that moment I knew I
hated him.
Then I remembered the Trewinion's curse.
Do I believe in supernatural agencies, in witchcraft? Am I prey to
superstitious fancies? I cannot answer. The unseen world is so linked
with the seen that they are but one world. I cannot tell where to draw
the line between natural and supernatural. To me the two are one. But
this I know; the moment I realised that I hated Wilfred, I was cursed
with a terrible curse. Evil passions surged within me, I planned dark
deeds, murder did not seem hateful, and hell far worse than that which
I had felt when I had been struggling on the cliff was now my doom.
A bottomless pit! I was in it. A pit of slavery to evil desire, of
savage joy which was not joy, at the thought of evil. This was where I
was.
He, the miserable sneak, had robbed me of my love, my all. And yet I
could not go back. The house was mine, the lands were mine, yet I
could not claim them. I was bound, yet I could not see the fetters
which chained me.
Does a curse like unto mine follow the footsteps of men who hate, or
does the Trewinion race stand alone. Be that as it may, I felt cursed,
the clear fountains of my manhood were gone. Roger Trewinion was more
demon than man. For hatred poisons the soul.
And yet I loved Ruth. This, I think, was the power that kept me from
going back and doing evil, and yet this love did not make me hate the
less. Nay, it made hatred more intense.
Long I stood alone in the grey morning, watching the bleak house that
stood in the distance, while the sea moaned and sobbed miserably, as if
to add another feeling to the misery of my heart. I seemed riveted
there. I looked at the five prongs of the "Devil's Tooth" like one
entranced, and thought of their associations. I saw the place where I
had saved Ruth, when she had fallen from the cliffs. I fancied I
detected the place where the witches' cave stood, and I remembered all
that had been said.
"Ah," I cried, "Deborah Teague is indeed a true prophet. Dark omens
have a meaning. I am indeed homeless, friendless, forsaken, and the
Trewinion curse is come. I go now, never to return, while my love is
given to another, and my power is taken by my younger brother. Yet
seemingly I have done nothing to merit this."
For a time I was mad. I shook my fist and called down curses upon
Wilfred and my mother. I prayed that they should never have rest or
joy, and that the ghost of my father should haunt them. And yet I
could give no real reason for this, only that my heart was black.
I felt I must go on. I must get farther away from the place where my
life had been spent; so I gave one look more, one long hungering look
that was full of agony, and as at last I turned my eyes away, my heart
strings seemed to snap.
Then I set my teeth together, clasped my stick firmly, and, with
lowering brow and a black heart, trudged wearily northward.