THE UNEXPECTED MEETING AND MYSTERIOUS COMMUNICATION.
While the gentlemen were holding their consulation at Pendrea-house, the
ladies of the establishment were variously occupied. Mrs. Pendrea was
superintending the cooking of some nice little sweet dish for a poor
sick child in the neighbourhood, and the two young ladies were seemingly
playing at hide-and-seek with one another, and wandering from room to
room, in hopes of hearing something, or of catching a sight of their
lovers; while Alrina was left alone to meditate on her sad fate.
She had not been alone long, however, before the door was opened
cautiously, and a servant entered, and closing the door after her in a
very mysterious way, and, approaching the couch on which Alrina was
resting, she put her finger on her lips, as much as to say, "Be silent,"
and gave Alrina a slip of paper on which was written, or rather
scrawled, hastily in pencil--
"_Dearest Alrina.--I am wretched,--miserable! Grant me an interview
for a few minutes. I have something of the greatest importance to
communicate. I will be in the garden at the back of the house as
soon as the other gentlemen are gone. I shall go out with them to
prevent suspicion, and return on some pretence. The faithful bearer
of this will assist you and let you know when._
"_Adieu--my dearest love,_
"_Frederick._"
When her attendant saw the agitation into which the young lady was
thrown, on the perusal of this scrap of paper, her former conjectures
were confirmed, and she determined to do her best to assist the two
lovers. She had a sympathetic feeling, and she retired to the window
under pretence of putting the blind straight, while Alrina perused, and
reperused, these few pencilled lines, so dear to her. She thought but a
few hours ago that she had overcome every feeling but that of duty and
honor, and that she could look upon him whom she so dearly loved, as a
brother. It was for his good that she had decided on this course; and
she believed that she should have firmness and courage to carry it out
to the end; and but a short time ago she felt so strong in her mind and
will, that she wished to see him once more to tell him so again. But she
then feared that no opportunity would ever offer, and that she should
never see him again to explain to him fully the state; of her mind, and
her real motives of action; for she felt that she had wronged him in
what she had said, and wounded his feelings when she told him she could
not love him. She knew she ought not to have said that; but what else
could she say? Her father was alive then, and might recover; she could
not tell her lover of her father's faults and crimes; and what was she
to do? Now, that he was dead, all was known, and Frederick believed, she
must now know all too, and she could now tell him why she could not
marry him; and she wished and longed to see him once more--only once
more--and now the opportunity had come; it might never come again. But
her heart failed her; she could not see him and tell him calmly that
they must part for ever, and explain her reasons fully, so as to make
him understand clearly what she meant. No, she could not do this; and
yet she felt that she must see him once more. So she decided on obeying
the promptings of her heart; and calling the maid to her, she said she
wished to be informed when the gentlemen left, and then she would walk
in the back garden a little. It was not at all necessary to explain
anything further to that shrewd girl, for she immediately saw how things
stood, and managed accordingly.
The Pendrea ladies were summoned to the drawing-room, almost immediately
after the departure of the gentlemen, to entertain Captain and Mrs.
Courland and their niece, who had come to return the call the squire and
his lady had made on them a few days before at Penzance, where they had
taken lodgings. Nothing could be better for the interview between the
lovers.
Grace, the go-between, as she styled herself, was delighted. She
immediately went to Alrina's room, and informed her that all was ready,
and that the coast was clear; which information rather astonished the
young lady,--for she could not conceive how Grace should know that she
wanted the coast clear; unless Frederick had told her more than she
thought was prudent. However, she had made up her mind to go through
with it; and, having put on her bonnet and shawl, which the prudent
Grace had brought with her, followed her conductress into the garden,
when Grace shewed her prudence again by withdrawing and leaving the two
lovers to themselves.
Alrina trembled at the thought of the terrible trial she was about to go
through, and her heart throbbed at every step as she walked down the
narrow pathway of the little garden, which was at the very back of the
house, secluded from view and sheltered by high walls, with no window to
overlook it, although, when you were inside, every part of it was
exposed enough, for the trees were very few and stunted.
Frederick had not arrived, evidently, unless he was concealed in the
little arbour at the bottom of the garden. Alrina walked down to it and
looked in. No, he was not there,--something had detained him, no doubt.
She waited, and waited, and walked up and down; still he did not come.
She was getting cold. She climbed up so as to look over the wall, but
could see nothing of him; and now she began to think he had deceived
her. He had taken this course to be revenged for the insult she had
offered him, when she told him--he to whom she had so often before
avowed the fondest love--that she could not love him. Yes; he had indeed
been revenged, and she felt that she deserved it all.
But hark! she hears a footstep approaching towards the garden-door. Her
ears are quick; they have been listening intensely for some time. Yes!
it must be. She rushes towards the door, and is caught in the arms of
two lovely girls.
"Alrina, you naughty girl," exclaimed Blanch, "how could you be so
imprudent as to come out in this cold wind?
"Alrina!" exclaimed the young lady; "can it be possible? you, here!--and
have I found you at last, my darling schoolfellow!" And the two girls,
in their gushing love, embraced most lovingly and affectionately; and
then there were explanations to be given and rereceived, and Blanche led
the way into Alrina's room, where Julia informed Blanche how they had
been at school together, and how her brother Frederick had fallen in
love with Alrina, when she was out walking, and how she had carried
letters and messages between them, and how her brother had searched for
Alrina everywhere, when he returned from abroad, and had written her to
search everywhere for his lost lady-love too; and kissing Alrina, in her
girlish way, she said, "Oh! how glad Frederick will be to find you
here."
Alrina could do nothing but kiss her friend, in return for all her kind
expressions and caresses. What could she say? She felt glad--very
glad--to see her old schoolfellow; but, under the circumstances, it was
mixed up with too much pain and sorrow to give her any permanent
pleasure.
Very soon Julia was summoned to attend her uncle and aunt on their
return to Penzance. They had taken a very substantial lunch while the
three girls had been having their _tête-à-tête_.
Captain Courland and his party had travelled by easy stages, for they
had come all the way in their own carriage with post-horses. It was one
of those old lumbering carriages intended to hold six inside--a regular
family coach.
"Well, ladies," said the Captain, as he seated himself; "I wish you
would take pattern by Mrs. Pendray; she had no hoops, nor farthingales
on,--a plain homely woman. No nonsense,--everything above board."
"Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Courland; "a very pleasant, agreeable,
little woman, as I have met with for a long time; but in the country
they are not always dressed for receiving visitors."
"And didn't you like Blanche, aunt?" asked Julia; "she is such a dear
girl."
"A nice little girl enough, I dare say," said the captain, answering the
question for his wife; "but her elder sister seemed to snub her, I
thought. 'Shiver my mizen,' thinks I, I'd haul down your topgallant
sails, miss, if I were your father."
"My dear," said Mrs. Courland, "I wish you would try to forget your sea
terms when you are in the society of ladies. I observed Miss Pendray
looking at you with astonishment several times, when you were giving out
some of your elegant expressions."
"I wish the squire had been home," replied her husband, without noticing
the remarks of his wife; for he was accustomed to these rebukes,--not
that she said them or meant them ill-naturedly, but she inherited her
mother's aristocratic notions, and could not endure anything approaching
to vulgarity or coarseness. She had not had very much of her husband's
society in former years, for he was only at home for a few months at a
time, and then his time was very much occupied, being the principal
owner of the ship he commanded. But, now he had nothing to do, and was
at home constantly, so that his elegant and accomplished wife had more
frequent opportunities of experiencing his rough sailor-like manner; not
that he was at all a coarse-minded man,--it was only his manner, which
he had naturally imbibed from the persons he was obliged to come into
such close contact with on board ship. He was naturally kind-hearted in
the extreme, and would do any good that lay in his power for a fellow
creature in distress; but he couldn't overcome his habit of using
nautical expressions, nor indeed did he try to now. He did try at first,
years ago, to speak a little more "dandified," as he called it, to
please his beautiful wife; but he found it too hard to accomplish, and
so he gave up trying, and contented himself with listening to her
lectures, good-humouredly, which he said came in at one ear and went out
at the other: and so he had listened patiently now to her remarks, and
then continued the conversation as if nothing had been said on the
"vexed" subject by his sensitive wife.
"I wish the squire had been home," said he; "he's a jolly fellow. I hate
to be stuck up with a parcel of palavering women, and be obliged to sit
bolt upright in my chair and take out every word and look at it before I
speak, or else be hauled over the coals for it."
"I'm sure you behaved very well to day, uncle," said Julia; "I saw Miss
Pendray looking at you several times, as if she admired your blunt,
straightforward manners."
"Did you?" replied the captain, looking rather pleased; "I looked at her
too when she got round to the starboard-tack. Brace my rigging, says I
to myself; but you're as tight and well built a frigate from stem to
stern as ever I clap'd my two eyes upon, save one."
"It was well you put in that saving clause, uncle," said Julia,
laughing; "or you would have made Aunt Courland jealous."
"No, no," said the captain, taking his wife's hand affectionately, "I'm
a rough knot; but if she never makes me jealous, I shall never make her
so. Everything is upright and downright and aboveboard with me. No
secrets from my wife, no, no; and I don't think she has any secrets or
mysteries from me, although we do have a breeze now and then about the
lingo."
"Talking of mysteries," said Julia, turning to her aunt; "who do you
think I met at Pendrea? You'll never guess, so I may as well tell you.
Why, no other than my old friend and schoolfellow, Alrina."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Courland; "you quite surprise me, where did she
come from?--how did she get there?"
"I don't know," replied Julia; "for just as I was about to enquire all
the particulars, I was summoned to attend you."
"Has Frederick seen her, or does he know she is there," asked Mrs.
Courland, with more than her usual energy.
"I know no more than I have told you," replied Julia; "I only met her a
short time before we left; for Blanche and I had been wandering over the
curious old house, and we were just going to have a peep at what they
call their garden, when Alrina came rushing out to meet us. I was struck
with her peculiar beauty at once, for I didn't at first know her until
Blanche mentioned her name. She was but a girl when I knew her at
school; she has now grown a beautiful woman,--oh! so beautiful, Aunt,
and so fair, with that auburn hair which you admire so much. I have seen
someone very like her, but I can't remember who it is. The expression of
her countenance when she met us, was so like an expression I have seen
in some one before; but who it is I cannot remember,--it was so
strange."
"We must ask the family to visit us at Penzance, my dear, and bring this
wonderful stranger with them," said Mrs. Courland, thoughtfully; "I
should like to know something more about her, and where she has been
hiding so long, that no trace of her could be found."
"Oh! yes, Aunt," said Julia; "for the sake of Frederick, I'm glad she is
found again; he was so passionately devoted to her."
"For his sake, perhaps, it would have been better if she had never
crossed our paths again," replied Mrs. Courland, talking to herself
rather than to her companions; "but the destiny of all must be
fulfilled. There is some mystery about this girl,--I am convinced there
is."
"So am I," replied Julia; "and I shall not rest till I have found it
out."
"Mystery!" exclaimed Captain Courland, in a voice which startled the two
ladies; "I hate mysteries. Everything open and aboveboard, say
I,--there's no occasion for mystery. I'd throw the lubber overboard, and
let him sink into Davy Jones's locker, if he didn't out with it at once,
whatever it was. 'Speak the truth and shame the devil,'--that's my
motto. I'll have no mysteries hid from me--no matter who it
is--overboard he'll go--damn me!"
This outbreak was so sudden and so unexpected, that it made the two
ladies feel very uncomfortable, especially the elder lady, whose
conscience smote her, and made her feel that, some day, the secret she
was keeping so rigidly from her husband might be revealed to him, and
then all her happiness would be gone. For she now saw, from this sudden
outburst of feeling, how angry he could be, and to what lengths he could
carry his vengeance, if he ever found out that terrible secret, and
discovered how long he had been deceived. It was a dreadful thought and
she shuddered at it, and lay trembling in the corner of the carriage,
while Julia, having no such pricks of conscience, and being, on the
whole, more amused than otherwise at the Captain's burst of passion,
apparently without a cause, answered him in his own language as far as
she could: for she believed that it was only a reminiscence of something
that might have happened on board ship, that had so roused him; and
turning to him, with a laughing eye, she said,--
"There's rough weather where you're sailing, Captain, I believe."
"Rough!" said he: "yes;--but rough or smooth, I'll have the whole of the
crew overhauled from the first mate down to the loplolly-boy; I'll make
a clean sweep. Mysteries, indeed, on board my ship!"
"Why, whatever do you mean, Uncle?" said Julia, now getting alarmed in
right earnest.
"Why! this is what I mean," replied he searching his pockets; "I'd
forgotten all about it, till you began to talk about mysteries and such
nonsense. When I went out to have a look about the place there, after
lunch, a queer-looking 'son of a gun' came and gave me this letter, and
cut off again as if the devil was at his heels. Now, you just read that,
and see if I haven't enough to make me look out for squalls! what the
devil is the meaning of it? I don't know!"
Julia took the letter from her uncle, and read the contents--first to
herself and then aloud:--
"_Noble Captain.--A secret mystery, which now hangs over you and
your's, is about to be revealed; but fear nothing; be firm, and
bear it as a brave sailor ought to do, and it will add to your
happiness:--but should you be led away by passion, or weakness, and
receive it otherwise, misery and woe will be the portion of you and
your's for ever. Bide your time--you will have further notice._
"_A Friend,--who was formerly an Enemy._"
Julia read this strange epistle through two or three times, and so
intent was she in endeavouring to discover what it could mean, and who
the writer could be, that she did not notice the agitation of Mrs.
Courland, and the anguish of mind she was suffering as she lay half
concealed in the corner of the carriage; and the captain was too much
engrossed with his own irritating thoughts to pay any attention to
anyone else. So the poor lady was not disturbed by anything but her own
thoughts until they arrived at their lodgings, when she rushed upstairs
and gave vent to her feelings, harrowing up the most dreadful
consequences from this revelation, which she had no doubt was that of
her own secret. But, when she became more calm, and began to reflect a
little, she saw how absurd it was of her to anticipate evil so readily.
She had forgotten, in her haste, that she was now many, many miles away
from anyone who could possibly know her secret, and, as she became calm
again, she thought how very foolish she had been,--but so it is--an evil
conscience will start at a shadow. When the mind is constantly brooding
over one subject, and that, the consciousness of a crime committed, the
guilty perpetrator of the deed fears to look an upright, honest man in
the face; for he has the feeling that his breast is transparently open
to his gaze if he only gives him the opportunity to look in: and so he
slinks away, fearing that, in an unguarded moment, the transparency may
be penetrated. Just so did Mrs. Courland feel when she heard her husband
speak in those terrible and decided tones of his horror of secrets and
mysteries, well knowing that she was keeping one from him in her own
bosom which she ought to have told him long ago. And then that letter!
Could it be that _her secret_ was about to be revealed? She would have
given worlds to know: it would be a relief to know even the worst:--the
suspense was dreadful.
Every moment, during the latter part of their drive home, she expected
her husband would say that he knew all, and denounce her as a faithless
deceitful wife. She had consented to come into Cornwall, thinking that
she would be here removed from any chance of a discovery, but she found,
to her sorrow, that her guilt followed her even here--at least, so she
believed in her weak and self-accusing mind.