But Archibald had come into possession of his intelligent soul once more;
or he was awake again; or the pressure of the skull upon the cerebrum had
yet another time been relieved; at all events there was now a brilliant
youth in the flesh-and-blood envelope which, an hour before, had contained
only a half-witted boy. When the first crash of the restoration was over,
the new man began to accommodate himself with wonderful rapidity and
keenness to the strange environment. He knew of nothing that had happened
since that afternoon when he spoke with Kate in the east chamber, while
the blood oozed from the cut on his forehead; but he accepted the facts
with more than a youth's resolution and stoicism. The world had been
turning round while he had been absent--somewhere! Well, then, by the
force of his will and his splendid faculties he would get on even terms
with it again--and more. Injury had been done him; irreparable injury,
perhaps, but which still might be avenged. He was not discouraged; his
spirit seemed to come upon life with all the freshness of a seven years'
rest, and it reckoned nothing impossible.
Of course his fresh metamorphosis created plenty of comment among the
neighbors; Archibald Malmaison was the most talked-of man in that part of
the country for several weeks, the impossibility of arriving at any
satisfactory conclusion regarding his condition or conditions prolonging
the wonder so far beyond the proverbial nine days. One party were
vehemently of the opinion that he was mad; another party opposed this view
with equal energy and just as much foundation. Both sides put forward
plenty of arguments, and when they were refuted, appealed to Sir Henry
Rollinson, who confirmed them both with equally sagacious shakes of the
head.
But this good gentleman was now getting near the end of his days, and, in
fact, ceased living in the world before the close of the year. He did not
depart without leaving a successor, however, and one who bade fair to do
credit to his ancestry. This was Mr. E. Forbes Rollinson, his son, who had
concluded a course of study at Vienna and Paris, and who returned to his
native land with the highest diplomas that continental schools could give
him. He was at this time a young man of about five and twenty, with a
great square head and a short, compact figure. The wild jungle of beard
and the terribly penetrating eye-glass which distinguished him in later
times had not then made their appearance. Well, the new Dr. Rollinson had
known something of Archibald as a boy, and was of course much interested
(apart from his friendly feelings) in so remarkable a case. His theory
upon the matter, in so far as he had formed one, did not on all points
coincide with his father's; he belonged to a somewhat more recent
school--more critical and less dogmatic. Still, it would be hazardous to
assert that young Dr. Rollinson knew exactly what was the matter with
Archibald--especially as he has seen reason to modify his first
impressions more than once during the last fifty years. It is enough to
remark here that he thought the affection was of a rhythmic or regularly
recurrent character, a notion which its previous history went far to
justify; and he consequently looked with interest to see whether the
lapse of another seven years would bring about another change. To have
discovered the orbit, so to speak, of a malady, is not, indeed, to have
explained it; but it is always something. It would be more interesting to
know what Archibald thought of himself; and were I, in this instance, a
novelist dealing with a creation of my own, I might not shrink from an
attempt to analyze his mental state. As it is, I can do no more than point
to the curious field of conjecture which it here afforded: the young man
left no confessions or self-analytic diaries; still less did he discuss
his peculiarities with other people. With excellent good sense and no
small courage, he accepted things as they were; he felt his individuality
in no way diminished by the circumstance that it was intermittent or
exchangeable; and perhaps it seemed no more strange to him than the
nightly falling asleep of all mankind does to them. The one mystery is
quite as strange as the other, only the sleep of seven hours is common to
all, while that of seven years is probably unprecedented.
One grotesque question suggests itself--or may do so shortly--and that is
whether Archibald would be responsible in one phase of his being for a
crime committed in another--for a crime, or any other act involving the
welfare or condition of other people. The analogy with sleep does not here
seem altogether satisfactory; for in ordinary sleep, or even somnambulism,
we are not in active relations with our fellow-beings, and consequently
our lawgivers have not devised a code to control our doings while in that
state. A jury, in delivering its verdict, would be embarrassed by the
reflection that although only one half of the culprit before them was
guilty, they could not give that half its just punishment without at the
same time unjustly punishing the half that was guiltless. A consistent
individuality, therefore, though often a burden and a weariness, is still
not without its advantages.
Meanwhile an important change had taken place in the relations between the
family of Malmaison and the Honorable Richard Pennroyal. The latter
conceived himself to have been affronted by the former on the occasion of
his marriage, and refused a reconciliation--which, to tell the truth,
neither Sir Edward nor his younger brother were too anxious to force upon
him. Lady Malmaison was still for peace, but her opinion had ceased to
have much weight in the family counsels. At length matters came to a head
somewhat in the following manner.
Sir Edward Malmaison and Pennroyal happened to meet at the table of a
common friend, and after the ladies had withdrawn, Pennroyal, who had
taken more wine than was usual with him, began to talk at Sir Edward in an
unnecessarily audible and offensive tone. Sir Edward kept his temper, and
made no reply, not having as yet been personally addressed. Pennroyal
after a while came round to where he was sitting, and the two gentlemen
presently fell into conversation. Pennroyal finally declared that he had
been insulted by a man who retained his present title and estates solely
by his (Pennroyal's) permission and kindness. Sir Edward was constrained
to ask him what he meant. Pennroyal thereupon began to utter disparaging
reflections upon the late Sir Clarence, who, he intimated, was not legally
entitled to his name. This brought on a dead silence, and all eyes were
turned upon Sir Edward, whose pale countenance became yet paler as he
said, with his imperturbable courteousness of phrase:
"I must entreat Mr. Pennroyal not to indulge in innuendos, but to state
explicitly whether he intends anything dishonorable to my father."
"To a man of the world a word is enough," responded the Honorable Richard,
insolently. "I am not here to tutor schoolboys in the comprehension of the
English tongue."
"I cannot allow you to evade my question," rejoined Sir Edward, with a
gleam in his eye, though without an alteration in his voice. "You must
explain what you have seen fit to insinuate before these gentlemen, one
way or the other."
Pennroyal laughed. "When you have lived a few years longer, young
gentleman," said he, "you will learn to be cautious how you ask for too
explicit information regarding the morals of your grandparents."
At this brutal remark there was a general expression of indignation among
the hearers; but Pennroyal, in no way abashed, added, "Let him disprove it
if he can. Since he provokes me to it, I affirm it--his father had no
right to the title. Let him prove the contrary if he can. I didn't force
on the discussion, but I will tell young Sir Edward Malmaison, as he calls
himself, that he holds property to which he has no claim, and that it
depends upon my good-will and pleasure how long he holds it."
The host--he was Francis Hastings Kent, Esq. and M. P., the same who
afterward became famous in the Corn-law controversy--here interposed, and
"spoke the sense of the meeting." "Egad, Pennroyal," cried he, "you are
drunk, and you have insulted a gentleman at my table. I'll trouble you to
make him an apology. I have no doubt that Sir Edward Malmaison's titles
are just as good as yours or mine, and, begad, they sha'n't be called in
question here at all events. I say you shall make Sir Edward an apology!"
There was only one man in the room who evinced any disagreement with this
speech, and that one was Major Bolingbroke, a retired officer of good
family but of not altogether unexceptionable personal repute; he was
believed to have fought more duels than are usually considered desirable;
and he had for some months past been a constant inmate at the house of Mr.
Pennroyal.
"It's no affair of mine, of course," said this gallant warrior, "if Sir
Edward chooses to put up with such language from a man, on the ground that
he was drunk when he used it. Only, if there's going to be an apology, I
should advise Sir Edward to exact a very full one, and lose no time about
it."
Sir Edward, however, rose carelessly, and said with a smile that he could
not think of contributing any further to the unfortunate interruption of
the social harmony; and adding that he had no doubt Mr. Pennroyal would,
as soon as he had had time to recollect himself, make every explanation
that the case demanded, he bowed and left the room.
It was afterward suspected that Pennroyal's intoxication had been assumed
for the purpose of insulting the heir of Malmaison with the more impunity;
and that the Major was present expressly to aid and abet him. What, then,
was the object, and what the grounds, of the charge which Pennroyal made?
With respect to the latter, nothing was known until later; but the
immediate result was this. Sir Edward went home, and appeared more
cheerful and in better spirits than usual. He spent the next forenoon in
his chamber, apparently engaged in looking over some papers. In the
afternoon he mentioned to his mother and Archibald that he should be
obliged to run up to London for a few days on business, and that he must
start that evening. He had made no allusion to the affair at Francis
Kent's house, and neither Archibald nor Lady Malmaison knew anything about
it. That evening, accordingly, he bade them good-by, and departed
seemingly with a light heart, bidding his brother act as his accredited
plenipotentiary while he was away, and promising his mother to bring her
the latest fashion in turbans when he returned.
He was absent five days. The Honorable Richard Pennroyal, who had happened
to be likewise called away on business at the same time, returned to his
house some twenty-four hours before Sir Edward was brought in a carriage
to Malmaison, with a bullet-hole just beneath the collar-bone. The fact
is, the two gentlemen had travelled to Belgium instead of to London, and
had there shot at each other in the presence of Major Bolingbroke (who
gave the word) and of a friend of Sir Edward's whose name has not come
down to us. Pennroyal had escaped untouched; Sir Edward, under the care of
Dr. Rollinson the younger, lay for several weeks in a critical condition;
but, when the bullet had been extracted, he rallied, and was able before
long to rise from his bed and walk about the house. But though his
strength had improved, he appeared to be harassed in mind; he carried on a
considerable correspondence with the family lawyers in London, and was
continually searching for something--what, no one could tell. Whatever it
was he did not find it, and his anxiety did not diminish.
Archibald had of course asked him about the particulars of the duel, and
what led to it; but his brother had sought to make light of the affair,
saying merely that Pennroyal had been very rude, and had failed to make a
suitable apology; and that the insult having been public, he was forced to
resent it. In answer to Archibald's question as to the subject of his
present correspondence with the lawyers, he replied that it related to
some old family traditions, and possessed only an antiquarian interest.
Archibald accepted these answers in silence, but with entire incredulity.
The brothers were fond of each other, but the strange conditions of the
younger's life had prevented their attaining really intimate and
confidential relations. Archibald was too proud either to demand further
particulars from Sir Edward, or to make inquiries elsewhere. Moreover,
there was perhaps less need of information on his side than on that of his
brother, had the latter but known it. Archibald had secrets of his own.
Pennroyal, meanwhile, kept quiet, waiting for the affair to blow over.
Whether he had intended to kill Sir Edward, or whether he was glad that
the duel had not resulted fatally, I cannot tell. Of course, neither he
nor his wife were seen again at Malmaison. The neighbors were for some
time disposed to give him the cold shoulder; but when his antagonist
recovered, and the matter had lost its first freshness, there appeared to
be little more against him than that he had committed an indiscretion
while under the influence of liquor, and had afterward atoned for it in
accordance with a code of honor which had not, at that epoch, fallen
entirely into disuse. And, after all, what business was it of theirs?
Pennroyal, however objectionable in himself, owned a large property and
belonged to a good family. In short, society received the honorable
prodigal in its bosom once more, and Mrs. Pennroyal reigned the undisputed
toast for a while longer.
But at the end of six or seven months a new order of events began. Sir
Edward, either from anxiety, or from some imprudent exposure, fell ill
again, and his wound opened afresh and became inflamed. His constitution
had never been good for much, and the chances were all against its being
able to survive this trial. Dr. Rollinson did all that could be done; but
one morning Sir Edward asked to see his brother, and when the two were
left alone together, he said:
"Well, Archie, how shall you like to be Sir Archibald?"
For a minute they looked at one another in silence.
"Do you think so?" then said the younger, frowning a little.
"I am certain of it."
"Ned, we are brothers," said Archibald.
The young men grasped hands, and Archibald half sat on the edge of the bed,
looking down at the invalid, whose face was now bony in its emaciation,
and his eyes sunken and bright.
"Archie, I have something to tell you."
"I feared so."
"It is not anything that you could expect. That quarrel between Richard and
me was about our father. Richard said he was--that is--"
"Don't fear. Say it!"
"That his mother was not Lady Malmaison."
"He lied!"
"So I told him. But that's not the end of it, unfortunately. He defied me
to prove the contrary. Ever since I first got up after the duel, I have
been looking for the papers relating to Sir Clarence's birth. They're not
to be found. There is no record that our grandmother had any son at all.
On the other hand, there is indirect evidence that our grandfather had an
affair with some woman.... The amount of it is, I have not been able to
establish Sir Clarence's legitimacy. And the worst is still to tell."
"I know the rest; I know it all! Why didn't you say all this to me at
first, brother? You have been harassing yourself with the idea that
because you couldn't vindicate father, Malmaison might be claimed by
Richard, under that old agreement of Sir Charles's time."
"How did you know--"
"I know everything. I know where the papers are that you have been looking
for. Set your mind at rest, Ned. Sir Clarence was the legitimate heir.
There was also a son by the other woman, but he died in infancy. Ned, why
weren't you open with me? Richard has no more hold on our estates than my
groom has. Blame him! I only hope he'll think otherwise! We'll ruin him
first and kill him afterward."
"If I had only known...." said the sick man, after a pause. "But you are
certain? You have the proof? Where did you find the papers?"
"I have them. Get well, and you shall know all about it. I have a good many
curious things to tell you, and to show you, too."
"Well, God be thanked! whatever becomes of me. It is late, Archie, but I'm
beginning to get acquainted with you at last. It is my fault that I did
not know you before. You are better fitted to bear the title than I."
"No. If I thought so, I would not deny it; but if I inherit Malmaison, our
family will--perish off the earth! I can foresee some things, Ned. The
hope of the house lies in you; I shall bring only calamity. You must get
well."
Again the brothers grasped hands, looked in one another's eyes for a moment
or two, and then Archibald went out; the day passed, and the evening fell.
At midnight he was Sir Archibald of Malmaison.