In a very humble quarter of the old town of Louvain, at the corner of
La Rue des Moines, Augustus Bramleigh and his sister had taken up their
lodgings. Madame Jervasse, the proprietress of the house, had in her
youth been the _femme-de-chambre_ of some high-born dame of Brussels,
and offered her services in the same capacity to Ellen, while, with the
aid of her own servant, she prepared their meals, thus at once supplying
the modest requirements they needed. Augustus Bramleigh was not a
very resolute or determined man, but his was one of those natures that
acquire solidity from pressure. When once he found himself on the
road of sacrifices, his self-esteem imparted vigor and energy to his
character. In the ordinary course of events he was accustomed to hold
himself--his abilities and his temperament--cheaply enough. No man was
ever less self-opinionated or self-confident. If referred to for advice,
or even for opinion, he would modestly decline the last, and say,
“Marion or Temple perhaps could help you here.” He shrank from all
self-assertion whatever, and it was ever a most painful moment to him
when he was presented to any one as the future head of the house and the
heir to the Bramleigh estates. To Ellen, from whom he had no secrets,
he had often confessed how he wished he had been a younger son. All his
tastes and all his likings were those to be enjoyed by a man of moderate
fortune, and an ambition even smaller than that fortune. He would say,
too, half-jestingly, “With such aspiring spirits amongst us as Marion
and Temple, I can afford myself the luxury of obscurity. _They_ are sure
to carry our banner loftily, and _I_ may with safety go on my humble
path unnoticed.”
Jack had always been his favorite brother: his joyous nature, his
sailor-like frankness, his spirit, and his willingness to oblige,
contrasted very favorably with Temple's sedate, cautious manner, and
the traces of a selfishness that never forgot itself. Had Jack been the
second son instead of the youngest, Augustus would have abdicated in his
favor at once, but he could not make such a sacrifice for Temple. All
the less that the very astute diplomatist continually harped on the sort
of qualities which were required to dispense an ample fortune, and more
than insinuated how much such a position would become himself, while
another might only regard it as a burden and a worry. It was certainly
a great shock to him to learn that there was a claimant to his family
fortune and estate: the terrible feeling that they were to appear before
the world as impostors--holding a station and dispensing a wealth to
which they had no right--almost overcame him. The disgrace of a public
exposure, the notoriety it would evoke, were about the most poignant
sufferings such a man could be brought to endure. He to whom a newspaper
comment, a mere passing notice of his name, was a source of pain and
annoyance,--that he should figure in a great trial, and his downfall be
made the theme of moral reflections in a leading article! How was this
to be borne? What could break the fall from a position of affluence and
power to a condition of penury and insignificance? Nothing,--if not the
spirit which, by meeting disaster half-way, seemed at least to accept
the inevitable with courage, and so carry a high heart in the last
moments of defeat.
Augustus well knew what a mistaken estimate the world had ever formed of
his timid, bashful nature, and this had given his manner a semblance of
pride and hauteur which made the keynote of his character. It was all
in vain that he tried to persuade people that he had not an immeasurable
self-conceit. They saw it in his every word and gesture, in his coolness
when they approached him, in his almost ungraciousness when they were
courteous to him. “Many will doubtless declare,” said he, “that this
reverse of fortune is but a natural justice on one who plumed himself
too much on his prosperity, and who arrogated too far on the accident
of his wealth. If so, I can but say they will not judge me fairly. They
will know nothing of where my real suffering lies. It is less the
loss of fortune I deplore, than the world's judgment on having so long
usurped that we had no right to.”
From the day he read Sedley's letter and held that conversation with the
lawyer, in which he heard that the claimant's case seemed a very strong
one, and that perhaps the Bramleighs had nothing to oppose to it of so
much weight as the great fact of possession,--from that hour he took a
despairing view of the case. There are men who at the first reverse of
fortune throw down their cards and confess themselves beaten. There are
men who can accept defeat itself better than meet the vacillating events
of a changeful destiny; who have no persistence in their courage, nor
any resources to meet the coming incidents of life. Augustus Bramleigh
possessed a great share of this temperament. It is true that Sedley,
after much persuasion, induced him to entertain the idea of a
compromise, carefully avoiding the use of that unhappy word, and
substituting for it the less obnoxious expression “arrangement.” Now
this same arrangement, as Mr. Sedley put it, was a matter which
concerned the Bramleighs collectively,--seeing that if the family
estates were to be taken away, nothing would remain to furnish a
provision for younger children. “You must ascertain what your brothers
will do,” wrote Sedley; “you must inquire how far Lord Culduff--who
through his marriage has a rent-charge on the estate--will be willing to
contribute to an 'arrangement.'”
Nothing could be less encouraging than the answer this appeal called
forth. Lord Culduff wrote back in the tone of an injured man, all
but declaring that he had been regularly taken in; indeed, he did not
scruple to aver that it had never been his intention to embark in a ship
that was sure to founder, and he threw out something like a rebuke on
the indelicacy of asking him to add to the sacrifice he had already made
for the honor of being allied to them.
Temple's note ran thus:--
Dear Gusty,--If your annoyances have not affected your brain, I am at a
loss for an explanation of your last letter. How, I would ask you, is
a poor secretary of legation to subsist on the beggarly pittance F.
O. affords him? Four hundred and fifty per annum is to supply rent,
clothes, club expenses, a stall at the opera, and one's little charities
in perhaps one of the dearest capitals in Europe. So far from expecting
the demands you have made upon me, I actually, at the moment of
receiving yours, had a half-finished note on my writing-table asking
you to increase my poor allowance. When I left Castello, I think you had
sixteen horses. Can you possibly want more than two for the carriage and
one for your own riding? As to your garden and greenhouse expenses, I
'll lay ten to one your first peas cost you a guinea a quart, and you
never saw a pine at your table under five-and-twenty pounds; and now
that I am on the theme of reduction, I would ask what do you want with a
chef at two hundred and fifty a year? Do you, or does Ellen, ever eat of
anything but the simplest diet at table? Don't you send away the entrées
every day, wait for the roast gigot, or the turkey, or the woodcocks,
and in consequence, does not Monsieur Grégoire leave the cookery to be
done by one of his “aides,” and betake himself to the healthful pursuit
of snipe-shooting, and the evening delight of Mrs. Somebody's tea at
Portshandon? Why not add this useless extravagance to the condemned list
of the vineries, the stables, and the score of other extraordinaires,
which an energetic hand would reduce in half an hour?
I 'm sure you 'll not take it in ill part that I bring these things
under your notice. Whether out of the balance in hand you will give
me five hundred a year, or only three, I shall ever remain Your
affectionate brother,
Temple Edgerton Bramleigh.
“Read that, Nelly,” said Augustus, as he threw it across the table. “I
'm almost afraid to say what I think of it.”
This was said as they sat in their little lodgings in the Rue des
Moines; for the letter had been sent through an embassy bag, and
consequently had been weeks on the road, besides lying a month on a tray
in the Foreign Office till some idle lounger had taken the caprice to
forward it.
“Her Majesty's Legation at Naples. Lord Culduff is there special, and
Temple is acting as secretary to him.”
“And does Marion send no message?”
“Oh, yes. She wants all the trunks and carriage-boxes which she left at
Castello to be forwarded to town for transmission abroad. I don't think
she remembers us much further. She hopes I will not have her old mare
sold, but make arrangements for her having a free paddock for the rest
of her life; and she adds that you ought to take the pattern of the
slipper on her side-saddle, for if it should happen that you ever ride
again, you 'll find it better than any they make now.”
“Considerate, at all events. They tell us that love alone remembers
trifles. Is n't this a proof of it, Gusty?”
“Read Temple now, and try to put me in better temper with him than I
feel at this moment.”
“I could n't feel angry with Temple,” said she, quietly. “All he does
and all he says so palpably springs from consideration of self, that
it would be unjust to resent in him what one would not endure from
another. In fact, he means no harm to any one, and a great deal of good
to Temple Bramleigh.”
“And you think that commendable?”
“I have not said so; but it certainly would not irritate me.”
She opened the letter after this and read it over leisurely.
“Well, and what do you say now, Nelly?” asked he.
“That it's Temple all over; he does not know why in this shipwreck every
one is not helping to make a lifeboat for him. It seems such an obvious
and natural thing to do that he regards the omission as scarcely
credible.”
“Does he not see--does he not care for the ruin that has overtaken us?”
“Yes, he sees it, and is very sorry for it; but he opines, at the same
time, that the smallest amount of the disaster should fall to his share.
Here's something very different,” said she, taking a letter from her
pocket. “This is from Julia. She writes from her little villa at Albano,
and asks us to come and stay with them.”
“How thoroughly kind and good-natured!”
“Was it not, Gusty? She goes over how we are to be lodged, and is full
of little plans of pleasure and enjoyment; she adds, too, what a benefit
you would be to poor George, who is driven half wild with the meddlesome
interference of the Church magnates. They dictate to him in everything,
and a Mrs. Trumpler actually sends him the texts on which she desires
him to hold forth; while Lady Augusta persecutes him with projects in
which theological discussion, as she understands it, is to be carried
on in rides over the Campagna, and picnics to the hills behind Albano.
Julia says that he will not be able to bear it without the comfort and
companionship of some kind friend, to whom he can have recourse in his
moments of difficulty.”
“It would be delightful to go there, Nelly; but it is impossible.”
“I know it is,” said she, gravely.
“We could not remove so far from England while this affair is yet
undetermined. We must remain where we can communicate easily with
Sedley.”
“There are scores of reasons against the project,” said she, in the same
grave tone. “Let us not speak of it more.”
Augustus looked at her, but she turned away her face, and he could only
mark that her cheeks and throat were covered with a deep blush.
“This part of Julia's letter is very curious,” said she, turning to
the last page. “They were stopping at a little inn, one night, where
Pracontal and Longworth arrived, and George, by a mere accident, heard
Pracontal declare that he would have given anything to have known you
personally; that he desired, above everything, to be received by you on
terms of friendship, and even of kindred; that the whole of this unhappy
business could have been settled amicably, and, in fact, he never ceased
to blame himself for the line into which his lawyer's advice had led
him, while all his wishes tended to an opposite direction.”
“But Sedley says he has accepted the arrangement, and abandoned all
claim in future.”
“So he has, and it is for that he blames himself. He says it debars him
from the noble part he desired to take.”
“I was no part to this compromise, Nelly; remember that. I yielded to
reiterated entreaty a most unwilling assent, declaring, always, that
the law must decide the case between us, and the rightful owner have his
own. Let not Mr. Pracontal imagine that all the high-principled action
is on his side; from the very first, I declared that I would not enjoy
for an hour what I did not regard undisputably as my own. You can bear
witness to this, Nelly. I simply assented to the arrangement, as they
called it, to avoid unnecessary scandal. What the law shall decide
between us, need call forth no evil passions or ill-will. If the fortune
we had believed our own belongs to another, let him have it.”
The tone of high excitement in which he spoke plainly revealed how far a
nervous temperament and a susceptible nature had to do with his present
resolve. Nelly had seen this before, but never so fully revealed as now.
She knew well the springs which could move him to acts of self-sacrifice
and devotion, but she had not thoroughly realized to herself that it
was in a paroxysm of honorable emotion he had determined to accept the
reverse of fortune, which would leave him penniless in the world.
“No, Nelly!” said he, as he arose and walked the room, with head erect,
and a firm step. “We shall not suffer these people who talk slightingly
of the newly risen gentry to have their scoff unchallenged! It is the
cant of the day to talk of mercantile honor and City notions of what is
high-minded and right, and I shall show them that _we_--'Lombard Street
people,' as some newspaper scribe called us the other day--that we can
do things the proudest earl in the peerage would shrink back from as
from a sacrifice he could not dare to face. There can be no sneer at a
class that can produce men who accept beggary rather than dishonor. As
that Frenchman said, these habits of luxury and splendor were things
he had never known,--the want of them would leave no blank in _his_
existence. Whereas to us they were the daily accidents of life; they
entered into our ways and habits, and made part of our very natures;
giving them up was like giving up ourselves,--surrendering an actual
identity. You saw our distinguished connection, Lord Culduff, how he
replied to my letter,--a letter, by the way, I should never have stooped
to write; but Sedley had my ear at the time, and influenced me against
my own convictions. The noble Viscount, however, was free from all
extraneous pressure, and he told us as plainly as words could tell it,
that he had paid heavily enough already for the honor of being connected
with us, and had no intention to contribute another sacrifice. As for
Temple,--I won't speak of him; poor Jack, how differently he would have
behaved in such a crisis.”
Happy at the opportunity to draw her brother away, even passingly, from
a theme that seemed to press upon him unceasingly, she drew from the
drawer of a little work-table a small photograph, and handed it to him,
saying, “Is it not like?”
“Jack!” cried he. “In a sailor's jacket, too! What is this?”
“He goes out as a mate to China,” said she, calmly. “He wrote me but
half a dozen lines, but they were full of hope and cheerfulness. He said
that he had every prospect of getting a ship, when he was once out;
that an old messmate had written to his father--a great merchant at
Shanghai--about him, and that he had not the slightest fears for his
future.”
“Would any one believe in a reverse so complete as this?” cried
Augustus, as he clasped his hands before him. “Who ever heard of such
ruin in so short a time?”
“Jack certainly takes no despairing view of life,” said she, quietly.
“What! does he pretend to say it is nothing to descend from his rank
as an officer of the navy, with a brilliant prospect before him, and an
affluent connection at his back, to be a common sailor, or, at best, one
grade removed from a common sailor, and his whole family beggared? Is
this the picture he can afford to look on with pleasure or with hope?
The man who sees in his downfall no sacrifice or no degradation, has no
sympathy of mine. To tell me that he is stout-hearted is absurd; he is
simply unfeeling.”
Nelly's face and even her neck became crimson, and her eyes flashed
indignantly; but she repressed the passionate words that were almost on
her lips, and taking the photograph from him, replaced it in the drawer,
and turned the key.
“Has Marion written to you?” asked he, after a pause.
“Only a few lines. I 'm afraid she 's not very happy in her exalted
condition, after all, for she concluded with these words: 'It is a cruel
blow that has befallen you, but don't fancy that there are not miseries
as hard to bear in life as those which display themselves in public and
flaunt their sufferings before the world.'”
“That old fop's temper, perhaps, is hard to bear with,” said he,
carelessly.
“You must write to George L'Estrange, Gusty,” said she, coaxingly.
“There are no letters he likes so much as yours. He says you are
the only one who ever knew how to advise without taking that tone of
superiority that is so offensive, and he needs advice just now,--he is
driven half wild with dictation and interference.”
She talked on in this strain for some time, till he grew gradually
calmer; and his features, losing their look of intensity and eagerness,
regained their ordinary expression of gentleness and quiet.
“Do you know what was passing through my mind just now?” said he,
smiling half sadly. “I was wishing it was George had been Marion's
husband instead of Lord Culduff. We 'd have been so united, the very
narrowness of our fortunes would have banded us more closely together,
and I believe, firmly believe, we might have been happier in these days
of humble condition than ever we were in our palmy ones; do you agree
with me, Nelly?”
Her face was now crimson; and if Augustus had not been the least
observant of men, he must have seen how his words had agitated her. She
merely said, with affected indifference, “Who can tell how these things
would turn out? There 's a nice gleam of sunlight, Gusty. Let us have a
walk. I'll go for my hat.”
She fled from the room before he had time to reply, and the heavy clap
of a door soon told that she had reached her chamber.