There is a strange and curious difference between the light of morning
and the light of evening. The same sun gives it, the same flood of
glory falls through the skies, the same scene lies below, the same
horizon sweeps around. It seems only that the lightgiver is at the one
hour in the east, at the other in the west, and no sufficient cause
appears for that extraordinary difference of hue in the air and over
the earth.
It was morning, and the soft early light was stealing gently over
everything, amongst the leaves of the trees, through the breaks in the
rocks, down into the deep basin of the hills, into the caverns of the
lava, along the smooth unruffled surface of the lake; and Charles
Dudley and Edgar Adelon were seated together upon the top of the bold
crags which towered over the crater of the extinct volcano. The whole
scene was softened to their eyes; a slight mist hung over the woody
world on the one hand, and profound shadows, only broken here and
there by the quiet morning ray, lay in the deep abyss upon the other
side. It was a fit scene for such conversation as they were to hold,
and Dudley, with his head resting on his hands, listened with eager
attention to his young companion's words, sometimes, indeed,
interrupting him by a question, but generally too intensely moved for
any inquiry.
"Then she loves me still!" he said: "then she loves me still!"
"As deeply and devotedly as ever," answered Edgar; "and you have
wronged her if you have doubted, Dudley."
"Never, never!" murmured Dudley.
"But let me proceed," said Edgar Adelon. "Matters pursued this course
for many months. I recovered completely from the fever. The trials of
the rioters at Barhampton took place, and almost every man who
underwent the ordeal was condemned. Men thought the government very
lenient in not pressing a more serious crime upon them, and banishment
for life was judged a mild sentence. I heard nothing of Mr. Clive or
Helen, and you can imagine, Dudley, how my too eager and impatient
spirit could bear such suspense. I inquired of Filmer. I asked
everybody connected with the farm, but I received no intelligence. The
priest assured me that he was acting on Mr. Clive's behalf without any
other authority or directions than those which he had received on that
fatal night which brought so much misery along with it. Yet Helen had
promised to write, and I never knew her break her word. My father,
though long detained in London, returned at length to Brandon.
"It was after the trial of the rioters," he added, with a sad but
meaning look; "and finding poor Eda in the melancholy and desponding
state which I have described, he took her into Yorkshire, in order, if
possible, to divert her mind from the subject on which her thoughts
rested so painfully. It was clear, however, to my eyes, at least, that
he himself was neither well nor happy. I guessed the cause; but that
is a part of the story, Dudley, which I cannot enter into. You may,
perhaps, divine the whole, but I cannot speak of it. I took advantage
of the change of our residence from Brandon, and obtained my father's
consent to travel for some months on the continent. He had no idea, it
is true, why I went, or what I sought; but a suspicion had crossed my
mind, which, as it proved, was a just one. What made it enter into my
head I cannot rightly tell. There are some things so like intuition
that I can hardly doubt that the mind has greater powers than
philosophers have been inclined to admit. In this instance a
perception of the truth flashed across me like a stream of lightning,
one day while I was conversing with Filmer. He said nothing, it is
true, which could naturally give rise to the idea which presented
itself. The words were merely, 'Poor Clive's long absence;' and
whether it was the tone in which he spoke, or the peculiar look with
which the words were accompanied, I know not; but I asked myself at
once, 'Is Clive's absence connected with Dudley's fate?'"
"But tell me, Edgar," said Mr. Dudley, "did you never suspect that Mr.
Filmer himself had laboured to deprive me of the proofs of my
innocence?"
"Never," answered Edgar. "Eda suspected him, I know; but I always
thought she was prejudiced. I also suspected him, but not of that. I
thought he had practised on me one of his pious frauds."
"Mr. Norries told me," said Dudley, "that he had certainly taken means
to stop your communication with the only men who were likely to have
the power of proving that I quitted Lord Hadley at the exact spot
where I asserted I had left him, and walked on at once towards
Barhampton."
"He did do so," replied Edgar, "and I discovered that he did; but you
must recollect I had been severely injured by a blow on the head, and
I attributed Filmer's conduct to an anxiety on his part to prevent my
exerting myself at a time when I was certainly unfit for it. I was
angry that he did so, and I taxed him with it. He boldly justified his
conduct, asked me if even the exertion I had made had not nearly
killed me, and then demanded, what would the consequences have been
had I made such exertion two days before. This satisfied me, Dudley,
and never till that moment which I have just been speaking of, did a
suspicion of the truth cross my mind. However, if I had been anxious
before to discover Clive's residence, I was now determined that I
would do so, and as soon as possible I set out upon the pursuit. One
of the men who had been tried for insurrection acknowledged that they
had been supplied with arms from France, brought over in a vessel
chartered by the communists of that country, at the port of Nantes. I
knew it was the same in which Mr. Clive and Helen had quitted England,
and to Nantes I accordingly went. I had obtained every clue that I
possibly could as to the proprietors of the vessel, before I set out,
but my information aided me but little. No effort I could make enabled
me to trace those whom I sought. I wandered all through Brittany, and
La Vendee, and Normandy, and Touraine; but it was all in vain. Beyond
the town of Nantes itself I lost all trace, and at length, late in the
spring of last year, I returned to England. My father and Eda were by
this time in London; and Filmer, I found, was absent in France. I told
Eda all I had done. I tried to console her with hopes of still
establishing your innocence. It was the only consolation the dear girl
had; for my father, not judging rightly of her heart and mind, was
eager to dissipate her gloomy thoughts by forcing her into society.
His house was filled with people from morning to night; but Eda
remained almost entirely shut up in her own room, and would not go out
to any public place, or any party. She never would believe that Filmer
had been really anxious for your safety, and her doubts now affected
me. A new suspicion took hold of me. Although he had made a pretence
to my father of very different business in France, I suspected that he
had gone to see Clive; and one day, when my father handed me over a
letter of his, containing some interesting observations upon the state
of France--there is no man more capable of making them--I examined
carefully the post-mark of the letter, and discovered the word Angers.
In looking at the date of the letter, it was Tours. This was a
discovery. He was deceiving my father, as well as myself; but I
brought no rash charges; I have grown wonderfully prudent, Dudley; and
I would not even write to Clive till I was aware that Filmer had left
him, if, as I suspected, he was at Angers with him. Another month
passed in impatient suspense, and my father threw out many hints of
tours in different parts of Europe, which he thought might amuse Eda's
mind. There were even preparations for travelling made, when suddenly
Mr. Filmer again appeared amongst us. The very night after his
arrival, I was informed by Sir Arthur that he intended to go to Italy,
and thence by the Ionian Islands and Greece, to Constantinople. Eda
and Filmer were to be his companions, and my presence was looked upon
as a matter of course. I was not even invited: it was taken for
granted. But I was resolved not to go, at least at once, and therefore
I took care to involve myself in engagements which could not easily be
broken through. With one friend I laid a bet, a very heavy one, as to
the result of three days' shooting on the moors. I promised my friend,
Eldred, to be present at his marriage; and in fact, I created for
myself so many excuses that my father was obliged to own it would be
necessary for me to stop and join the party afterwards at Naples. I
could see Mr. Filmer's face change when he heard this arrangement; and
a look of bitter gloom came upon it, which confirmed my former doubts.
Without waiting for their departure, I at once wrote a letter to Clive
himself, and addressed it 'Angers;' but I was now suspicious of
everything. I took it to the post myself, and I told him to whom I
wrote all that had befallen you, begging him to address his reply to a
hotel in London. Day after day passed by; my father and the rest set
out upon their tour, and I began to fancy that I had been mistaken,
for no letter came. I then determined that I would go over to Angers
myself, and was sitting in the dining-room of my father's house, the
only public room which had been left open when he went abroad,
gloomily pondering, both over my own fate and yours, Dudley, when I
saw, on the opposite side of the street, a figure which instantly made
me start up and hurry to the window. It was Clive himself; and he was
gazing up at the closed windows of the house, thinking, as he told me
afterwards, that there was nobody in town, and proposing to go down to
Brandon in search of me. He had received my letter, and as soon as
possible had come over in person, leaving dear Helen in France. I need
not tell you now all the particulars of what followed, for we shall
have plenty of time, I trust, to dwell upon details which will
interest you much. It may be only necessary to say, that the
noble-spirited old man had been kept in utter ignorance of an act
having been charged upon you which he had himself performed--an act
which in him was an act of justice, but in you might be considered as
a crime. He told me that Helen had written to me often, and that
although he had not seen what she wrote, he was sure that she had used
such expressions as would have led me at once to perceive how Lord
Hadley had met his death----"
"How was it!" exclaimed Dudley, interrupting him. "But I can guess; I
can guess. Go on, Edgar."
"Nay, it is soon told," answered Edgar Adelon. "On that fatal night,
Clive had learned from Mr. Norries the shameful persecution which my
sweet Helen had suffered from Lord Hadley, and he was returning over
the cliffs, with a heart full of angry feelings, when he heard a cry
for help, and instantly recognised his daughter's voice. Springing
forward, he found the villain dragging her down towards the sea-shore,
where he expected, it seems, to meet with a boat, which would have
carried them to France. Clive instantly struck him a furious blow.
Lord Hadley let go Helen, and returned it, and another was given by
Clive. Only those three blows were struck; but the third, coming from
Mr. Clive's powerful arm, dashed the unfortunate wretch back upon the
railings at the top of the cliff; the woodwork gave way, and he fell
headlong to the bottom. Thus took place the death of Lord Hadley; and
you have seen enough of Mr. Clive yourself to be sure that it was not
with his consent or knowledge that the deed was imputed to you. As
soon as he discovered from my letter that such was the case, he came
to give himself up and to clear you; and as he knew little of the
means to be employed in such cases, he at first sought me at the hotel
where I had ordered the letters to be addressed, and was thence
directed to my father's London house. More by accident than by
possessing any better information than his own, I advised him to
follow what, as it has proved, was the best course he could have
taken. I felt sure that, under the circumstances, no evil result could
befall him from the open confession of the whole, which he proposed to
make; and I offered to go with him immediately to the Secretary of
State, whom I know personally, and tell him the whole facts. He agreed
perfectly to my views, and we set off at once. You know Clive's
straightforward, almost abrupt, way of dealing; but in this instance,
it was understood and appreciated. The Secretary asked but few
questions. Clive placed before him the letter which he had received
from me; told him that it was the first intelligence which had been
given to him of an innocent man having been accused and condemned for
a deed which he had performed; and that he had instantly come over
from France to tell the whole truth. The tale was so simple, and
Clive's sincerity so clear, that all doubts as to your share in the
transaction were at an end. The only question was how the case of
Clive himself was to be dealt with; and the Secretary determined to
leave him at liberty till his daughter and a labourer at the Grange,
named Daniel Connor, could be brought to Loudon, upon his undertaking
to appear whenever he should be called upon, and to hold no
communication in the mean time with either of the two who were
summoned as witnesses. In the end, a full investigation took place at
the Secretary of State's office, where a police magistrate of great
keenness and discrimination was called upon to assist. The
examinations of Helen and of Daniel Connor were conducted apart,
without either of them having seen Mr. Clive. Helen told the story
simply and exactly as her father had told it; and the man, after a
momentary hesitation and some prevarication, on being informed that
Clive had come over himself voluntarily to tell the whole tale,
confirmed every particular which had been previously stated. His
evidence was compared with that which he had given before the
coroner's jury and at your trial; and it was found that, although he
had evidently given a colour to the truth on those two occasions,
which left the jury to infer that you had committed the deed, he had
not actually perjured himself. The intention, however, to procure your
condemnation was so clear, that it led to farther inquiry; for in
every other respect the man seemed honest and well-meaning, and the
character that he bore in the country was exceedingly high. His
veneration and regard for Clive did not sufficiently account for his
conduct; and on being severely cross-questioned, he admitted that he
had been prompted to give his evidence in the manner which you heard
it given. I am sorry to say that the prompter was one whose character
and profession should have been the last to be sullied by such acts."
"I can guess whom you mean," replied Dudley. "But here comes Norries
himself, and I should much wish to ask him one question upon this
matter: namely, why he did not himself either tell you that Clive had
done the deed, when you were seeking for evidence in my defence, or
give Mr. Clive information of my having been tried and condemned,
though innocent?"
While he was speaking, Norries came up, and sat down beside them, and
as he did not answer, although he must have heard part of what passed,
Dudley addressed the question to himself. He replied, with a smile,
"How ready all men are, Mr. Dudley, to judge upon insufficient
grounds! You have jumped at the conclusion that I was aware of facts
which had not in any way come to my cognizance. I will not deny that I
felt the strongest possible suspicion that my brother-in-law Clive had
killed Lord Hadley, knowing the vehemence of his nature, the warmth
and tenderness of his love for his daughter, and the gross insults and
injuries she had received. But I had no right to inform others of my
suspicions; and as to where Clive was, I never heard till yesterday. I
was sure, however, that wherever he was, he would sooner or later do
you justice; indeed, I do not know, and cannot comprehend, how the
most upright and honest man that ever lived could suffer, either by
his act or neglect, another to bear the imputation of a deed of his."
"He was deceived," answered Edgar Adelon. "He was kept without
information. He was made to believe that suspicion rested upon him,
and that if he returned to England, he would bring a blight and a
shadow upon his honourable name, and a disgrace upon his child. He
knew not that Dudley had ever been tried, far less that he had been
condemned; and it is evident that Helen's letters to myself were all
intercepted and destroyed."
"By whom?" demanded Norries.
"By the priest," replied Edgar.
"Ay, I remember," said Norries, thoughtfully, "There was a priest used
to come down to the house; one Father Peter, they used to call him. I
never saw him; but Clive represented him as upright and elevated in
character and mind."
"He knows better now," answered Edgar; "for many of Mr. Filmer's
insincere proceedings have been now so thoroughly exposed, that the
blackest web of subtlety ever woven by the disciples of Loyola cannot
conceal their falsehood and their baseness."
"Filmer!" said Norries, thoughtfully; "is that the same man whom they
called Father Peter?"
"The same," replied Edgar. "But to return to my tale, Dudley. Clive's
straightforward tale, and Helen's clear and candid evidence, backed by
that of many of the servants at Clive Grange, who were more or less
aware of Lord Hadley's previous conduct towards her, convinced the
Secretary of State that there was no ground for the Crown proceeding
against a man who had accidentally slain another in defence of his own
child. He left it to the relations of the dead man to act as they
liked; but upon a clear view of the evidence, they were advised not to
prosecute; and thus ended the matter as affecting Clive. In regard to
yourself, a full pardon immediately passed the great seal; and I have
the strongest and most positive assurance in writing that everything
shall be done, as soon as you return, to clear your reputation from
the slightest stain. I felt, Dudley," continued Edgar, grasping his
hand, "that your sympathy with me, and your indignation of the base
treatment of one I love, had had a share, at least, in bringing so
many misfortunes upon you, and I determined at once to set out to seek
you, and bear you the happy tidings of your exculpation in person.
Although Helen might feel some anxiety for my safety and health during
a long voyage, and, perhaps, would have been better pleased, as far as
she was personally concerned, had I remained in England, she was far
from trying to dissuade me; and after seeing her and her father once
more happily established at Clive Grange, I set out for this distant
land as soon as I could find a ship. Shortly before I departed, I
received a letter from my father, who had journeyed as far as Syria.
He expressed some surprise that I had not joined him and Eda; but,
doubtless," added the young man, with a smile, "he was more surprised
still when my next letter informed him that I had sailed for
Australia. I gave him no particulars, nor assigned any reason for my
going; for I wished much, Dudley, to leave you free to act in any way
you might think fit, and to consult with you upon my own future
conduct as well as yours. There is no probability of the tidings of
Clive's confession and your exculpation reaching my father from any
public source, as the examination was conducted privately; and I made
it a particular request, both to Helen and her father, that they would
not speak of the subject at all till my return. I will not conceal
from you that there are difficulties and dangers, perhaps, before us
both, prejudices of many kinds to be overcome; ay, and the skill and
cunning of a subtle adversary to be frustrated. I know him now, and
depend upon it, he will never forgive the detection of his falsehood
and baseness."
"Filmer!" said Norries, who had been meditating gravely for several
minutes: "Filmer! Father Peter! That throws fresh light upon the
whole. Mr. Dudley, I should like to speak with you for a few moments
quite alone; and afterwards we had better go to breakfast, for this
mountain air gives a keen appetite."
"I must catch or shoot our breakfast first," replied Dudley, "unless
you will content yourselves with some salt provisions which I have
laid up here."
"Let us walk down to the lake together," replied Norries. "We can
converse as we go; and you can exercise your skill in angling, while I
give you some information that may be useful."
Dudley willingly agreed; and when he and Norries rejoined the party
above, after an absence of more than an hour, they brought with them
plenty of fish, and Dudley's face bore an expression of thoughtful
satisfaction, as if his conversation with Norries had added a new
relief to that which the intelligence of Edgar had afforded.