Small progress is made in post-chaises across country at night. On the public high road it may do very well. One may go from London to York as fast as Turpin, even without a railroad; but from county town A to county town B, you had better wait for daylight. So did Chandos Winslow find it; and it was broad day when he reached the fine old town of Salisbury. As he got out of the chaise, he inquired if there were not a coach to the railroad. The answer was, that it had gone by ten minutes. There was another three hours after; but the waiter informed him, that the light coach, the Hero, direct to London, set out for town in an hour, and beat the rail by an hour and a half; (the landlord was a proprietor of the Hero;) and upon this assurance being reiterated from various quarters, Chandos, though not very fond of heros, determined to try this specimen of the class, as he thought it very likely that the promised enterprise would be achieved. His finances, also, were not in a nourishing condition. For the first time in life he was obliged to calculate shillings: the Hero was a far cheaper conveyance than the railroad and coach combined; and after having ordered and obtained some breakfast, he got upon the top of the stage, and was driven away on the road to London.
The number of passengers was very scanty; but some one had monopolized the box; and Chandos was obliged to take up his position on the roof, with a stout countryman on one side, a grazier by trade, who was full of the famous cause which had just come off, as he termed it, at S----. Chandos certainly gave him no encouragement; but when bottles are filled too full they will run over; and his entertainment for the next twenty miles was his own trial for felony. He had the satisfaction, however, of finding a stout partisan in the good grazier, who declared that he had been sure from the first the young gentleman was innocent; for didn't he pay the fine two years before for Matthew Green, the farmer's son, who was brought up for killing some pheasants upon his father's farm? The reasoning did not seem quite conclusive to Chandos, even in his own defence; but he knew that he was not guilty of murder, and was glad to find that a good action could live a day beyond its date.
It was dark when the coach rolled into London, for it was not heroic as to time; and the crowded streets, the blaze of gas-lamps, the illuminated shops with their wide crystal fronts, and the multitudes pouring hither and thither, each busy with his particular selfishness, had a strange effect upon one who, for so many days preceding, had been engrossed with the weighing of his own life and death in the mere chance-balance of a court of justice. If there were any in all the masses of human mites he saw who had ever heard of him, it was but as the prisoner in the felon's dock; and by this time they had forgotten, and thought of him no more.
His own case had, in his eyes, seemed of immense importance not many hours before. It had connected itself, in his imagination, with the general administration of justice: it seemed to affect millions in its chances and results. But now, in the midst of that wide ocean of life, and feelings, and interests, all separate, all alone, yet all connected with each other, it lost its magnitude, and seemed small and insignificant in the diversified infinite around. "Birch, pastry-cook;" "Gobble, mercer;" "Walker, fish-monger;" what was the trial of Chandos Winslow to them? A tart, a yard of silk, a red mullet, was of much more importance to each. And what more did care any of the many who rushed past like ripples on a quick stream? Verily there is truth in the saying, that the greatest solitude is in multitudes; for there each man raises a thorny hedge of selfishness around him, which excludes every other human being except the few for whom he will be pleased to open the wicket.
On arriving at the dull-looking inn where the coach stopped, the young wanderer paid his fare, sought a bed-room, removed the dusty garments in which he had travelled, and set out for the other end of the town. As he passed through some small, quiet squares of smoked brick houses, and escaped from the pressure of the multitude, Chandos, for the first time, began to ask himself, what was the object of his visit, and what the excuse he was to make for so speedy an appearance at General Tracy's house. He went to see Rose Tracy--to hear of her, if not to see her. But what could he say when he did see her? How was he to act towards her?--how towards her uncle and her father? Though Mr. Tracy might be ruined, yet Emily and Rose were the co-heiresses of their uncle, a man of ample fortune; and Chandos could not shut his ears to the question, Was he--just tried for murder, and acquitted on evidence which must soon be proved to have been given in error--he whose pittance, originally so small, had been further diminished by an expensive trial--was he in a position to ask the hand or seek the promise of one of General Tracy's nieces? He found it difficult to answer. Then he inquired what he should assign as his motive for following the family at once to London; and he thought of many things, but at length determined to trust to chance, as, perhaps, was the wisest plan.
Ah! that chapter of accidents, with its manifold pages, how often do its magic spells relieve poor mortals from their greatest difficulties! What wonders has it not done for every man! Which man amongst us, if he were to look back through life with sane and scrutinizing eyes, would not find that far more than one-half of all his successes--far more than one-half of all his reverses--far more than one-half of all that has befallen him in life, is attributable to that broad chapter of accidents, and not to his own efforts, his own errors, or his own fore-thought.
Chandos Winslow walked up Green-street, at length; and then the question became, which is General Tracy's house? He fixed upon one, and rang the right-hand bell. An unknown and powdered servant appeared, and informed him very civilly, (for Chandos Winslow's appearance was not easily to be mistaken for anything but that of a gentleman,) that the house was Lord ----'s; but he added the information that was wanted. General Tracy's abode, he said, was about ten doors further up, nearer to the Park: the gentleman would see a small brass-plate upon the door. Chandos soon found the door and the brass-plate, and as that house still possessed a knocker, he knocked. The door was opened by the General's old servant, who had been with him at Northferry; and the man almost started, certainly gazed with wonder, when he saw the well-known face which presented itself. He was an elderly man, whose wits when they once got into that state which I must call "stirred-up," did not easily settle again; and in his ideas regarding Chandos Winslow, there was some confusion. In his eyes Chandos was, according to the happy figure of a celebrated lady, "three gentlemen in one;" namely, Acton, the gardener, Sir William Winslow's brother, and the prisoner upon trial for the murder of Mr. Roberts; and there was in the man's air and manner a mixture of all the expressions which those three personages were severally calculated to call up--there was familiarity, there was respect, there was consternation.
"Lord, Mr. Acton!" he exclaimed, "is that you? Well, I am very glad to see you, Sir; Lord 'a mercy! only to think!"
"Is General Tracy, at home?" asked Chandos, in a somewhat agitated tone.
"No, Sir," replied the man; "he has gone with Mr. Tracy to a meeting of the lawyers; but the young ladies are upstairs, and I am sure they will be glad to see you."
"Pray, tell them I am here," said Chandos: and the man went up to the drawing-room accordingly. In a minute after, he came half-way down, and, looking over, desired Chandos to walk up. With a quick step he did so, and was ushered into the drawing-room, where he found those two beautiful girls, both somewhat pale, and both somewhat agitated. Emily remained upon the sofa; but Rose, with her lip quivering, and tears in her eyes, advanced to meet him.
"Oh, I am so glad to see you," she said, holding out her hand. "This is very kind of you, indeed, to come so soon."
Chandos could not refrain; he pressed his lips upon the hand she gave him; and then turned his eyes for a moment to the face of Emily, to see if the act surprised her. She only smiled kindly. Chandos saw at once from her eyes, that the two sisters trusted each other; and a restraint was at once removed.
"I am very happy, indeed, to see you, Mr. Winslow," said Emily; "for till this morning we have been sadly anxious about you; and poor Rose nearly ill with apprehension."
She too gave him her hand, as she spoke; but Chandos did not kiss it. Yet Emily was quite satisfied.
It would be difficult to detail what followed; for it was but a confused crowd of questions and answers, in all of which appeared the deep interest which the parties took in each other.
Chandos found that they were already acquainted with all the details of the trial; for the whole family had devoured rather than read the report, which had appeared in the evening papers. They spoke not of the particulars, indeed; and, with them, Chandos was not inclined, to dwell upon the subject; but it was evident and gratifying to him, that not one of all Mr. Tracy's family had felt a doubt of his innocence. Yet whenever the matter was named, the conversation became strange and vague; so much so, indeed, that had any person unacquainted with them been a witness of what passed, he might have supposed, had it not been for the warmth of manner displayed, that a suspicion had existed and still lingered. There was a cloudy sort of doubt, indeed, which overshadowed the minds of both those fair girls, but a doubt which attached not in the least degree to Chandos Winslow. In the mind of Rose, that doubt amounted almost to a certainty; and some words which she had incautiously dropped in her agonizing suspense as to the result of the trial, had communicated suspicions to her sister, less defined, but more painful, than those which she herself entertained. With Chandos, of course, there was no doubt; he knew the truth too well; but all the horror of that truth seemed to present itself more strongly to his imagination, when he sat in the presence of poor Emily, and recollected the tie, imperfect as it was, which bound her to his brother.
At length, after about a quarter of an hour had passed, Emily rose, saying, with a smile, "I will leave you a little; for I know you must have much to say to each other. My father and my uncle will soon be back, and then I will join you again."
When she was gone, a few minutes were given to tenderness. Dark and sad events are skilful pioneers for love and confidence. They hew down in no time all the barriers of restraint and reserve, and leave the way free for heart to approach heart, unresisted.
But Chandos Winslow felt that in deep enjoyment they were losing moments precious for explanation: and at length he turned the conversation, somewhat abruptly, perhaps, to his own situation, in relation to herself.
"I see, dearest Rose," he said, "that you have made a confidant of your sister, and I am delighted that it is so; but I must not let my hopes carry me too far, and lead me to believe that the pain and anxiety which you must have suffered, have driven you to communicate all that is between us to your father and your uncle."
"I did not know that I might, Chandos," she answered: "in the dreadful state of suspense and anguish in which your trial placed me, I could not, indeed, refrain from sharing my thoughts with poor Emily. Thus much, however, I thought myself bound to tell my father--that I had known your real name from the moment you came to Northferry--that we had met before, and passed one long, happy day together; but that you had exacted from me a promise not to betray you, because you particularly wished your brother not to know where you were. My father asked but one question, which was, whether I believed I was myself in any degree the cause of your coming to Northferry? I replied, certainly not; for that I had every reason to believe you did not know that I was there, or was his daughter. This seemed to satisfy him perfectly; but indeed he has had so many painful things to think of, that I do not wonder at his giving no further attention to the subject. With my uncle, it is very different; for I am sure he suspects, if he does not know the whole. You have heard, of course, the sad change of fortune we have met with. My father is at liberty now, on what they call bail, I believe; but I tremble every moment, for what each ensuing day may produce. It is supposed, that the man who has carried away all the shares, and bonds, and papers of that kind, does not intend to sell them; as there would be difficulty and danger in so doing, even in a foreign country; but is likely to negociate with my father for the restitution, in consideration of a sum of money, and indemnity for the past. Nothing has been heard of him, however; and in the meantime it is ruin to my father."
"Has no part of his course been traced, dear Rose?" asked Chandos.
"It was at first supposed he had gone to the Continent," replied his fair companion; "but every inquiry has been made at the passport offices, and no trace of a person of his peculiar appearance can be found at any of those places. They now fear that he may have escaped to America."
"He is not a man to be mistaken," said Chandos: "I saw him once when I was travelling up to London in January; and in the public carriage itself he could not refrain from making use of your father's name to entrap others. He tempted even me, Rose, poor as I am: and those words bring me, dear girl, to matters which had better be spoken of at once--spoken of even between you and me, although, perhaps, it is strange to mention them to you at all--."
"Tempted you, Chandos!" exclaimed Rose Tracy. "Oh! I hope he did not succeed."
"Oh, no!" answered her lover; "but yet I was in a degree tempted. I was going to London, with my thoughts full of Rose Tracy, with my heart full of passionate attachment. I felt that under the will of my father, which had been proved, my means were far too small, without some great exertion on my own part, to justify me in pretending to her hand; and at the very moment when I was thinking of how I could mend my broken fortunes--by what effort, by what scheme, however bold, I could acquire a position which would give me even hope, this man crossed me with visioned promises of speedy wealth. But a moment's reflection on the means, a moment's examination of the man himself, dispelled the illusion. Now, however, dear Rose, it behoves me to put the same questions to myself which I then put. I am not richer, but poorer; all I have on earth is but a pittance, barely enough to maintain myself in the rank of a gentleman. What will your father, what will your uncle say, if I presume to tell them of my love, and ask for it their countenance and approbation?"
Rose leaned her head upon her hand, and her eyes filled with tears; but she answered at length, "You must tell them, at all events, Chandos. You cannot tell, you cannot imagine the pain--the agony of mind which the concealment I have already practised has brought upon me--innocent and justifiable as I thought it. Oh! Chandos, for my sake you must abandon all further disguise."
"For your sake, dear Rose, I would do anything," replied Chandos Winslow; "but of course you do not wish me to enter upon the subject to-night. To-morrow I must go into the city to sell out a part of my small portion, in order to pay the expenses of the late trial. I must also see my friend, Sir ----, who so nobly and ably defended me. He seems to entertain a belief--on which, however, I would not found the slightest hope--that a subsequent will of my father's may either be recovered, or the intention of it proved, or something of the kind--I really do not exactly know what; and that I may be thereby enabled to stop the sale of Winslow Abbey."
Rose started; but ere she could explain the effect which such a step, if it were practicable, might have upon the fortunes of her father, a carriage drew up to the house, and there was a footman's knock at the door. Emily immediately joined them, and it was evident that she had been weeping. Chandos knew not his strange position: but could he have seen into the hearts of those two fair girls, what would he have beheld?--That the one rejoiced at his acquittal of a crime she knew he had not committed, yet saw therein the prospect of misery to herself by the probable consequence of his brother's return to England; that the other, while she could not but hope that he might establish his rights, whatever they were, feared that her own father's utter ruin would be thereby consummated.
The next moment General Tracy and his brother entered the room. Mr. Tracy's face bore evident marks of the mental suffering he had endured and was enduring. The tranquil, well-satisfied, somewhat self-sufficient air was gone; and there was a look of sadness, bordering on the morose, in its place. No man likes to find himself a fool; and most men try to prevent others from discovering the same fact, or at all events to hide their own mental assent thereunto, by assuming a cold pride which will not bate a jot of its dignity. Thus, though he was shaken and evidently enfeebled in frame, he walked into the room with as stately a step as if he had never committed a folly in his life.
General Tracy, on the contrary, was unchanged either in person or demeanour. There was the stout, soldier-like, upright form; there was the warm, rosy complexion; there was the frank, straightforward bearing, and the warm, good-humoured smile, betokening the cheerful disposition, so charming in an old man. He walked straight up to Chandos Winslow and shook him heartily by the hand, saying, "Delighted to see you, my young friend. None have taken a deeper interest in late events than we have done in this small house; though it was impossible for any of us to be down at S----. None have more rejoiced that you have had fair play shown, and justice done you; for that was all we feared--that some of the quirks and quibbles of the law, some of the follies or obstinacies of jurymen, might make wrong seem right."
Mr. Tracy also held out his hand to his former gardener, but it was more coldly; and he only said, "I can assure you, Mr. Winslow, I never entertained the slightest doubt regarding you, and rejoice much that you have been able so fully to justify the opinion every one entertained of you; though why you thought fit to play gardener for so many months, I have not yet been able to divine."
"That will be easily explained, Mr. Tracy," replied Chandos; "and to explain it is one of the great objects of my coming here directly after the trial. The facts are simply these: I had long entertained a strong desire--a whim if you please to call it--to see the poorer classes nearer than a rich man can usually see them. A good many years ago, a very severe dispute occurred between my brother and myself, into the particulars of which I need not enter. Whoever was in fault, it left a coldness between us which never decreased. When my father's will was read, I found that he had made me a dependent on my brother, as far as it was in his power to do so. I was not disposed to be dependent upon any man, nor to be under any obligation to one with whom I was not on good terms. I expressed my determination--I trust, in no ungentlemanly manner--to receive nothing from my brother; and a sharp altercation ensued, which ended in my leaving a house that had become his. A small property had been left me some time before by a relation; my father had added by his will a very valuable library and some fine pictures. With these I might either have limited my ambition to what I had, or I might have opened for myself a new career; but I accidentally heard, immediately after I quitted my brother's house, that you were seeking a head-gardener. I had for four or five years taken upon myself the entire superintendence of the fine gardens at Elmsly, and my old whim of descending for a time from the station in which I was born, and mingling with the poorer classes of the people, as one of themselves, came back upon me. I had no knowledge that in your daughter I should meet one who had known me in a different rank of life; for the scenes where we had formerly met were so different from the quiet seclusion of Northferry, that the identity of the name of my fair acquaintance with that of the gentleman whose service I sought, never struck me. I feel, however, Mr. Tracy, that I owe you an apology for having deceived you as to who I was; but you will clearly see that I had no hope of carrying out my scheme with any one, unless my name and station were concealed."
"A curious whim, indeed," said General Tracy; "and one which has had very serious results. Nevertheless, I can perfectly understand the feelings in which it was conceived, my young friend; for it is a sort of thing I have often entertained an idea of myself, without having ever had the spirit to carry it out. I dreamed of it even as a boy, when reading the adventures of the disguised Haroun al Raschid."
"I never had such visions," said Mr. Tracy; "nor do I think that the enterprise would answer at all the object for which it was undertaken. A man who descends, either voluntarily or involuntarily, from a higher to a lower station in life, carries his own world of habits, thoughts, feelings, and prejudices with him; and sees through the same discoloured spectacles, though he may see a little nearer. But I cannot afford to discuss such things to-night; for, to say the truth, I am weary and harassed."
Chandos received the last words as a somewhat broad and not very civil hint to go, and accordingly rose and took his hat; but General Tracy stopped him, saying, "Stay a minute, stay a minute; I want to talk to you about two or three things, Winslow: first, I must know where you are to be found; next, when we shall see you again."
"I am, for to-night, the denizen of a very unfashionable part of the world," replied Chandos, "and under the auspices of a somewhat strange-looking monster, called the Swan with Two Necks, in Lad-lane; but to-morrow I shall be at the ---- Hotel, in Cork-street. A man who has been tried for murder will, of course, be an object of curiosity and remark for a few days; and I wish to get it over as soon as possible."
"You are right," said the General; "but come down into the dining-room, and let me talk to you about one or two things connected with that same trial. Arthur, I suppose you will be gone to bed before I come up. Good night!" and, taking up a light, the old officer led the way down.
Chandos bade adieu to the rest of the party, warmly in some cases, somewhat coolly in another, and followed. When they were below the General closed the door, and then shook his young companion by the hand again, saying, "I congratulate you from the heart at the issue of the trial, though that issue was brought about by means to me totally unexpected."
"Not more so to you than to myself, General," replied Chandos Winslow, frankly; "that is to say, if you mean the evidence of Mr. Fleming and his servant. Nor will I conceal from you for a moment, that the whole of that evidence was false--under an error, I am quite sure; but none the less false. I was not at Northferry at all that night after I returned to my own cottage. Mr. Fleming must have mistaken Lockwood, my half-brother, a natural son of my father's, for me. Indeed, the likeness, I believe, is very great."
"It is strange," said General Tracy, musing; and Chandos continued: "Most strange! That the evidence which saved my life should be as false as the accusation against me, is very curious indeed. Had I known what Mr. Fleming was called for before he appeared, I would not have suffered it; although I believe, had it not been for his testimony, I should have been condemned for an act of which I am as innocent as yourself; for, if you remark, there was but one circumstance which could raise a reasonable doubt in my favour: that of the servant lad, Michael Burwash, who saw some one return from the grounds into the house after poor Roberts had crossed the lawn."
"Do you know who that was?" asked General Tracy, quickly.
Chandos was silent; and the old officer added: "It was your own brother. You owe me that lad's evidence, Winslow; for, as soon as I returned to Northferry, after seeing you in prison, I examined all the servants myself, and sent word to your lawyer, that Burwash had acknowledged the important fact you have mentioned. I then gave up some time to an investigation of who the person could be who had come in so late, and by such an unusual entrance. My brother was at home at the time, I found. I was absent. None of the servants would think of entering by the Green-house. On inquiring of Emily, whose room was opposite to that where Sir William Winslow slept, I found that she recollected having heard his door shut sharply just before she rang for lights. Further, I found that he was very late down at dinner that day; that he was agitated and strange in his manner; complained of having over fatigued himself, and being unwell; and at length sent for old Woodyard, and was bled. Since then, however, Rose has acknowledged to me, that when speaking with you at the basin of gold-fish, she heard your brother's voice, in the grounds, raised loud. After that I had no doubt that Sir William was the person who returned in so curious a manner--more I am not justified in saying."
Still Chandos was silent, and sat with his eyes bent down upon the Turkey carpet; and after gazing at him for a moment, General Tracy turned abruptly to another part of the subject.
"That brings me," he said, "to a point which I have hitherto forgotten, Chandos, though it is one which should have been first remembered. I have not yet thanked you, my dear young man, for the delicacy and kindness you have shown in not calling Rose as a witness. She was prepared to do her duty firmly; and when she spoke to me upon the subject, I advised her to write to you and say so; but it is not necessary to tell you what a painful task it would have been for her. You must feel--indeed, you have shown you feel it; and I thank you deeply for your consideration in this matter."
"I would not have had her called for the world," answered Chandos; "I know what a frightful thing to a woman must be a cross-examination in a court of justice. If the opposite party called her, I could not, of course, help it; but then I could have ensured--at least, I trust so--that she was subject to no pain by the cross-examination of my own counsel; and that was something."
"Everything," answered the General; "and it seems strange to me that they did not call her."
"All things concerned with the trial were strange," said Chandos. "I suppose in this instance the lawyers were well aware that your niece's evidence was not likely to suit their purpose; for, I am sorry to say, it was but too evident that the object of the counsel for the prosecution was to get a verdict against me."
"I remarked it, I remarked it," said General Tracy; "and, I am sorry to say, I have seen the same very often in criminal cases. Man is a beastly animal, my young friend, and the cause of half his brutality is vanity, it was so here, and is so always. A counsel does not choose to be beaten; and he moves heaven and earth, not so much to hang the prisoner, as to triumph over his opponents. But it must all seem very strange to you now, sitting here quietly in this dining-room, to think that, only yesterday you were made the sport of circumstances which held your life continually in the balance."
"Like a dream," answered Chandos Winslow; "and by no means a pleasant one."
"Well, it is happy, at all events, that the dream has ended so well," rejoined the old officer; "you have come off with flying colours; and although we are in sad tribulation here just now, from circumstances which you have no doubt heard of, you must come and dine with me, and we will have a long chat upon other affairs, which must be spoken of before we have done. Can you come to-morrow?"
"I fear not," answered his young companion. "I shall be the greater part of the day in the city; and have, besides, to consult lawyers upon matters greatly affecting my interests, although I much fear that no good will result from our consultations."
"Don't plunge into law! don't plunge into law!" said the General, shaking his head ruefully. "I declare, I would rather lose all I have, than to get into a law-suit about it. The roguery and folly of the world, are the fields from which lawyers reap their harvests; and a plentiful crop they get. In England, at least, there is as much philosophy as charity in that passage of the Bible which says, 'If a man take your cloak, give him your coat also;' for if you go to law with him, hang me, if those human sharks, the lawyers, do not contrive to get your breeches into the bargain. But can you come the day after to-morrow then?"
Chandos assented, and, the hour being fixed at half-past seven, took his leave, and returned to his inn in the city. The chamber assigned to him was large and gloomy: the wainscoted walls were covered, besides the paint, with the smoke and dust of half a century; the bed in the far corner rose tall and ghastly, in curtains of brown moreen; and the hangings at the windows had acquired a hue which can only be given by long immersion in a London atmosphere. There was a feeling of foul misery about the whole, which fell depressing upon the spirit of Chandos Winslow. It was much more like poverty and wretchedness than the gardener's cottage at Northferry. He thought of Rose Tracy; he recalled her father's cold and repulsive manner; he inquired of his own heart if it were possible to ask her to share poverty with him; to expose her to all the ills of penury, the daily cares and grinding inconveniences of narrow means, and to bind down her free spirit, unaccustomed to a want unsatisfied, a wish unfulfilled, in the hard chain of straitened circumstances. Chandos Winslow would not answer the question; but his heart sunk as he propounded it to himself: and he went to bed weary of the working-day world and the battle of anxious thought.
The next was a busy day with Chandos Winslow. His first occupation was to sell out a sum sufficient to pay the costs of the late trial, as far as he was able to calculate them, from the rough data which he had received. He added thereunto, two hundred and fifty pounds, for his current expenses; and having arranged that affair, and placed the money in his banker's hands, he proceeded to seek the friend who had so ably pleaded his cause. From his house, he was sent to his chambers; from his chambers, to a court of law, where he found him, wigged and gowned, in the midst of a long and laborious argument, which seemed likely never to come to an end. After enduring full two hours, however, the speech was concluded; and Chandos, sending his card, obtained a moment's interview with his friend. Sir---- shook him warmly by the hand, saying rapidly, "Come to me at nine to-night, Winslow: I cannot stay with you now; for I must hear what the gentlemen opposite have to say. Don't eat much dinner; for I shall eat nothing till then."
"At your own house, or at your chambers?" asked Chandos.
"At chambers, at chambers," said the barrister, turning to go back into the court. "I shall not get home till two. Our lives are not easy ones."
It was now about four o'clock; and, with feelings difficult to describe, but to which he was resolved not to yield, Chandos Winslow proceeded to call upon several of his most intimate acquaintances. It required an effort to knock at the first door. The feeling of having stood in the felon's dock, was strong upon him. The uncertainty of the reception he should meet with; the knowledge that, with a mind which: has the slightest tincture of vulgarity--that is to say, with nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine persons out of every million--an accusation, however false, leaves some stain; he felt irritable and impatient beforehand, at the idea of being treated coldly at a moment when he felt that society owed him something, for having inflicted on him undeserved hardships.
Luckily he had chosen well in the person whom he had selected for his first visit. She was the widow of a nobleman who had been distinguished for many virtues himself; and she was mild, kind, and charitable, though not without a certain degree of dignified stateliness, which showed that she felt her high station, without the slightest touch of pride. She received her young visitor almost as if nothing had happened. I say, almost, because there was the least possible difference in the warmth of her reception. It was more cordial, less tranquil, than it might have been under ordinary circumstances. She rose from her seat more quickly, held out her hand, and said, "Oh, Mr. Winslow, is that really you? Well, this is very kind of you, to call upon me so soon. Now sit down, pray, and tell me all about yourself, and what you are going to do; how long you are to be in London, and all."
Chandos was soon at his ease; and he thought, "With some few friends such as this, I can afford to set the general world at nought." About twenty minutes passed very pleasantly; and then he rose to proceed to another house. His reception there was very different: the whole family was cold; and he stayed not ten minutes. Then again, at the next place, he heard the owner of the house, even after he had been admitted to the drawing-room, tell the servant from a neighbouring chamber to say that he had made a mistake, and that his master was out. When the man re-entered to utter the prescribed lie Chandos had his hat on his head, and was walking towards the door: "You may spare yourself, my good man," he said, bowing his head haughtily, "I have heard the whole," and he walked out of the house, never to enter it again.
He made one other call. The lady of the house was at home, and delighted to see him. She talked to him incessantly of his trial, declared that it was the funniest and most delightful thing that had ever happened; and invited him to a ball, where all the great people in London were to be present.
Chandos had no inclination to be exhibited as a felon-lion; and did not promise to go.
At nine o'clock precisely, Chandos was at his friend's chambers, and found him alone, with a table spread for two, in a little dull room. A note-book and some stray papers lay on one side of the table; and the moment after the young gentleman had entered, a servant brought in a tray, with soup and several other dishes upon it, sent from some neighbouring hotel.
"Now, Winslow, sit down," said the barrister, "and we will talk as we eat; for I can afford but one hour for repose and refreshment to-day." The servant uncovered the dishes, and instantly disappeared. The barrister took his place, helped his guest and himself to soup; and between each spoonful, looked at the papers and notes beside him, without apology. As soon as the soup was done, he rang a bell, which was tied by a string to his chair; and while the servant took away the plates, and handed some cutlets to his master's guest, the great lawyer rubbed his temple with one finger, in a profound reverie. The servant then disappeared, without venturing to disturb his master's meditations by presenting the dish; and the next moment the barrister roused himself, saying, "Come, Winslow, a glass of wine, and then I will tell you what you must do. I think you must take a solicitor with you, and go down very quietly into the neighbourhood of Winslow Abbey. The first person you had better see is your good friend, Lockwood. Let him dictate to the solicitor everything he knows regarding certain papers found by Mr. Roberts, at the Abbey. He will do it willingly enough, I am sure. Then you must get hold of a young gentleman, whose relationship to yourself, or connexion with your family, I do not know; but his name is--let me see--Faber."
"Oh! poor Faber," said Chandos; "he is a good young man, but weak; and as to his relationship with me, I believe it is very much the same as Lockwood's."
He spoke with a faint smile, and his friend laughed, saying, "Well then, you must exercise your brotherly influence over him, for the purpose of inducing him to give a full, true, and particular account of all he knows concerning these papers, and of a will, made five years posterior to the one proved, but which has not yet appeared."
Chandos mused for a moment, and the barrister took another glass of wine. "I am afraid," said the former, at length, "that Faber will not be easily induced to speak. He certainly loves me better than he does my brother. He has been with me more, is kind and well disposed; but still his is one of those characters on which the stern and determined work easily, and which may be led to wrong those whom they love best, for the sake of those whom they fear. I have seen him actually shake in my brother's presence; and I do not think he dare utter a word which would offend Sir William Winslow, even if he were at a thousand miles' distance."
"If he is only to be moved by sternness and determination, you must be stern and determined, too," said his friend; "you can be so when you like, I know, Winslow."
"But Faber will never believe I shall prove so to him," answered Chandos: "I may threaten; but he will trust to my regard for him to render my threats of no avail."
"At all events, you must try every means to make him speak," rejoined Sir ----; "for his testimony might be very important. He was present, it seems, when Mr. Roberts found, in a drawer of the library, a memorandum, in your father's handwriting, of his having given the last will, which he made about five years ago, into the keeping of your brother."
"Indeed!" said Chandos. "This is new to me. But if we have not the will itself, I suppose the memorandum will be of little avail."
"Unsupported, of course, it will be of none at all," replied his friend; "but I find that when the memorandum was discovered, Faber showed so much agitation, that those who witnessed it were led to suspect that he knew more of what had become of the will than he chose to acknowledge. At all events, you must try every means with him; and having got all the information you can from those two sources, I would advise you to cross the country to see Mr. Roberts's executor, and endeavour to obtain an inspection of his papers. If amongst them there should be found a copy of a will of that date, though not signed, or a sketch of one in your father's handwriting, and if you can prove that the other will has been lately destroyed, I think--mind, I speak doubtingly--but I think we might do something, by one means or another."
"A law-suit with a brother," said Chandos, musing, "based on an accusation of his having destroyed his father's will, and wronged his brother! It would be a terrible thing!"
"It would, indeed!" replied Sir ----; "but my hope is, Chandos, that we may not be driven to a law-suit, if we can accumulate sufficient proofs to alarm the opposite party. Take some of that Sillery, and do not let what I am going to say startle you. Mark me well, however. You have your brother's life in your hands. As soon as he has time to think, he will perceive, from the course of defence pursued on your trial, that such is the case--that a foundation is already laid, indeed, for building up a truth that would destroy him--that you have nothing to do but to say in the ear of Justice, 'I would not let my counsel defend me at the expense of a brother's life,' and to prove that Lockwood was mistaken for you, in order to render your evidence conclusive against him. These are terrible weapons, it is true; and I would not have you use them even in menace, unless it be established to your full conviction that your brother has destroyed your father's last will, or has concealed it. Then, I think, you will be justified in demanding that right be done you, in terms which cannot be mistaken. But I do not think he has destroyed the will. Men seldom dare to commit great crimes unless under the influence of hasty passion--when lesser ones will serve their purpose. I think the will is concealed; and if we can prove the clauses distinctly, I doubt not, under all the circumstances, a search will be made for it, and it will be found. Look here at a train of evidence that would not be pleasant for your brother to have brought forward in a court, even though you used no menace in reference to the terrible facts within your own knowledge. I am already prepared to prove that Mr. Roberts came over to Northferry to inform you of his having found the memorandum I have mentioned; that your brother was at Mr. Tracy's house at the time; that some one, hearing the appearance of a gentleman, entered the house by the most private entrance, immediately after the murder; that it was not yourself, Mr. Tracy, or his brother; that the only person who could be injured by the tale Mr. Roberts had to tell was Sir William Winslow. Do you not think, Chandos, that he must have a consciousness that there are a thousand circumstances likely to be brought out in any trial, which would render the train of evidence complete against him, and bring the heavy hand of justice on his head, even if you should remain silent? Depend upon it, if he have not destroyed the will, he will speedily find it, as soon as you have collected all the proofs of its having existed, and been in his possession; and if he have destroyed it, and you can show what were its provisions, that he will concede them all, rather than incur a suit which must entail disclosures tending to consequences more fatal. It is on this account that I advise you to go down at once, while he is still absent, and collect all the information you can get. But, in the very first place, you must enter a protest against the sale of Winslow Abbey."
"I understood that it was already sold, and the money paid," replied Chandos.
"Two-thirds of the money have been paid, I hear," replied the barrister, "upon an undertaking, under Sir William's hand, to complete the transfer within a given time. But still the transfer is incomplete; and you must show, by a caveat, that you are not a consenting party, so as to guard against even the semblance of laches on your side. Get your protest drawn up in due form by a solicitor to-morrow, have it laid before counsel for an opinion, and furnish bothvendorandemptorwith a copy; then set out again upon your voyage of discovery, and let me know the result. Linger not here, fond youth, by the side of beauty; but away, in search of that which, in the present day alone, can unchain Andromeda from the rock. Depend upon it, my dear Winslow, that pretty fable of the lady upon the sea-shore, and the Gorgon-slaying Perseus, has a very unpoetic interpretation. Andromeda is the representative of a fashionable young lady; the rock, the hard state of single blessedness to which her parents chain her, in default of a suitable match; the sea-monster destined to devour her, old maidenism; and Perseus, a rich East-Indian, very bilious, who, with the sword of wealth, slays the monster, and frees the damsel from her chains, to marry her himself. And now let us empty that bottle of Sillery, and have another; for alas! in the life that I lead, I am forced to combat corporal weakness with that which saps corporal strength; and wine versus weariness is the cause I am trying every day."
Chandos Winslow remained till a few minutes after ten, and then proceeded, not to the inn which he had tenanted the night before, but to his new abode in Cork Street. What a contrast! Damask curtains, gay coloured carpets, polished mahogany, shining fire-irons, clean walls, and a bright fire! But the contrast was not greater than between his own mood that night and the mood of the night preceding. The words of his friend had relighted the lamp of Hope, of which the everlasting fire of Vesta was but a faint image.
How many fruitless beatings of the heart there are in the world! Whether it be from fear, anxiety, agitation, hope, anger, love, hatred, that beating of the heart is one of the most vain and useless operations which any part of the human frame performs. The heart of Chandos Winslow beat very idly at the door of General Tracy's house, in Green-street. He fancied that in about a minute and a half he would be in the presence of Rose Tracy, he painted to himself her looks, he seemed to hear her words; but when he found himself in the drawing-room, the General was there alone; and the very simple words, "Bring dinner," which were uttered as soon as he entered, showed him as plainly as if the General had spoken an oration, that he and his host were to dine tête-à-tête. He felt a good deal disappointed; but he did not suffer his mortification to appear; and in about ten minutes he was seated at the hospitable board and partaking of a very excellent, though plain dinner. The wines were all exceedingly good, though not very various; and Sherry, of the best vintage, Madeira, which had twice seen the Cape, with Oporto, which had lived as wine in part of two centuries, supplied well the place of Champagne, of Claret, and of Burgundy.
The General suffered the meal to pass by, and also the two first glasses of wine after dinner, without touching upon anything which had a business tone in it. Chandos found that Rose, Emily, and Mr. Tracy had moved during the preceding day to that gentleman's house, in Berkeley-square.
"There is a great deal to be done there," said General Tracy; "and it is well that they should be on the spot."
Some short time after dinner, came one of those pauses which are generally produced by a slight feeling of embarrassment on both parts. Chandos was not sure whether General Tracy expected him to begin upon the subject nearest his heart, or not; and the General himself, though a very brave and determined man in most matters, shrunk a little from the commencement of a conversation, in the course of which he felt that pain might be given to one whom he liked and esteemed.
At length he forced himself to the task; and, after putting over the decanter to his guest, and rubbing his right temple for a moment, he said, "Your friend, Sir ----, made an admirable defence for you, Winslow. I could only have wished that he had omitted a few words about my pretty niece, Rose. I think it was unnecessary, and not altogether judicious."
"Had I possessed any power of stopping him," replied Chandos Winslow; "those words should never have been spoken, my dear Sir. But I very well understand the motives on which Sir ---- acted. He only thought of his client's defence; and judged it was necessary to assign or hint some reason for not calling Miss Tracy on my part, as it had already appeared that she was the last person with whom I spoke before the murder. I am exceedingly grieved, however, that the slightest pain should have been inflicted upon her for my sake."
"No, no," said General Tracy; "do not vex yourself about that. I am not inclined to think that Rose has felt any pain on that account. The reason why I feel sorry, is, that what he said must force forward explanations, my young friend, which might have been better delayed. No one can accuse you, Chandos, of having acted in any way but with the most perfect delicacy, except, perhaps, in having induced Rose to conceal from her family your real rank and name, while playing gardener at Northferry."
"I trust, General Tracy," replied Chandos, "that you and your brother are both perfectly well aware, I had no notion whatever, when I came to Northferry, that my London acquaintance, Miss Tracy, was a daughter of the master of the house. Had I been informed of the fact, I give you my word of honour, I should not have played gardener there at all. When I had once applied for the place, however, if I had not bound her to secrecy, of course, I must have abandoned my whole scheme."
"That certainly makes a difference," said General Tracy, with a smile; "and would make a greater difference still, if there had not been a little bit of love in the case, my young friend."
"There was none when I came there," exclaimed Chandos, eagerly; "I had but seen Miss Tracy once. I admired her, as all who see her must admire her; but I can assure you there was nothing more: though I do not mean to deny that longer acquaintance, and the circumstances in which we have been placed with regard to each other, have changed what was then mere admiration into the most sincere and devoted attachment."
"Well, well," said General Tracy, "we will not dwell upon the past, Chandos, but rather turn to consider the future. I must enter into explanations with you, my young friend, painful for me to give, and which, in their deductions, may be painful, I fear, to you also."
"Do not tell me not to hope, General Tracy," replied Chandos, in a gloomy tone; "for that would take all power from the efforts which I am called upon to make to change a bad situation into a good one."
"Such is not at all my intention," said the old officer. "But it is necessary that your position with my sweet niece should be exactly defined; and as my brother was not willing to enter upon any explanation, I have taken it upon myself: so listen patiently. You must have heard, at least, I will take it for granted you are aware, that grave embarrassments have most suddenly and unexpectedly fallen upon Rose's father. In short, he has acted like a great fool; and has only for his excuse, that the madness is epidemic just now. The Northferry estate was engaged for its full value, or very nearly so, to meet the first pressing difficulty some time ago. A further debt, to the amount of more than one hundred thousand pounds remained to be paid; but to meet that, he had shares which at their then value would have covered the sum within a few thousand pounds. Some of the shares fell in value; and I saw that there would be a necessity for my stepping in to his aid. I exacted from him authority, however, to sell the whole of the rubbish on which he had been spending his fortune, in order to realize as much as possible; but when I came to inquire, I found that the shares were in the hands of a broker; and two days after I discovered that this broker has absconded, carrying all with him. A reaction is taking place--several of the lines have risen much in the market. If my brother had possession of the papers, all could be cleared in an hour. But the man's retreat is not to be discovered; and though he cannot sell them himself without great danger, he has taken no steps as yet to negociate for the restitution of the property to my brother, as we supposed might be the rascal's course. In the mean while my brother was arrested and brought to London, where the action was bailed; but a threat has been held out to make him a bankrupt as a dealer--a thing most disgraceful to a gentleman. I have always been anxious to spare my brother Arthur all unnecessary pain on the subject, and willing to make any personal sacrifices for him; and, after due consideration, I yesterday made a proposal to the creditors to the following effect:--To sell my own estate; and, with the reservation of ten thousand pounds for each of the girls, and ten thousand more to buy an annuity for my own and my brother's lives, to make over to them all the proceeds, upon their giving him a release, and forbearing to strike a docket against him, with a covenant, that if the papers respecting the shares are ever recovered, the whole shall be sold to pay off what debt may remain. It is estimated by competent persons, that what I offer, together with the proceeds of the sale of his house in town, the books, pictures, &c., will afford a dividend of about seventy per cent., and I think they will accept it. My brother will then be saved from the disgrace of a bankruptcy court; but you will remark that Rose's portion will be but ten thousand pounds."
"I think I need hardly tell you, General Tracy," replied Chandos; "that Miss Tracy's fortune was never for one moment a consideration with me. Little or great, my attachment is the same, and would remain so if she had nought but her hand to bestow."
General Tracy smiled. "You are too impetuous," he said. "I can easily conceive that her fortune was noinducement, young gentleman; but a matter of consideration it must be both with you and me. Could I divide all I have at this moment between my two nieces, and give Rose a portion which would enable you to live at ease, I should have no hesitation, no care; but such is not the case. She has but a small dower; you, if I mistake not, have not much more, and the amount that you could together supply would not be sufficient to maintain you in the station of life in which you have both been born. You have at present no profession, Chandos; no means of increasing your income. You must seek one--you must choose some course which will give a reasonable hope of securing competence; and then, claim the dear girl's hand if you will. I am not ambitious for my niece--I seek for her neither high nor wealthy alliance; but I have lived long enough to learn that, after health, competence is the best blessing of God. The days of love in a cottage have long passed by; and as my brother has fully authorized me to deal with this matter as I think fit, I say thus shall it be--apply yourself to find some honourable means of supporting a lady by your own abilities in the station of a lady, and Rose Tracy's friends will oppose no obstacle; but till then, no sworn vows or solemn engagements. If you cannot trust to her affection, her affection is not worth having. If she cannot rely upon your honour, she is better without yourself."
Chandos took his hand and pressed it warmly. "So be it," he said; "but two questions more, General Tracy. What will you think sufficient to justify us in marrying?"
"I have thought of no particular income," replied the old officer. "A pursuit that may lead to one, is the first thing. As to the rest, say five hundred a year more than you already possess together. Now for the second question."
"It is, whether you intend to refuse me her society till such a point be obtained," was Chandos Winslow's reply.
"Nay, Heaven forbid!" cried the old officer; "that were to inflict unnecessary pain, and to take from you the best encouragement to exertion. No! I trust entirely to your honour, my young friend, that you do not pursue your suit beyond the bounds agreed upon; and, with that understanding, when she becomes the inmate of my dwelling, as will most likely soon be the case, you may see her when you please--with due moderation, Chandos--with due moderation, remember."
"You thought that what you had to say would give me pain, my dear General," answered Chandos; "but it is all I could wish or expect. I have now an object in life, now a hope to lead me on; and energetic efforts under such circumstances will not fail of success, I am sure. I have, however, other tasks before me, which I must execute in the first place, although I anticipate little success. If therefore, you have any commands for Northferry, I am ready to perform them, as I shall be down in that neighbourhood for a fortnight to come."
"I have none," replied the General. "Northferry and ourselves will soon, I suppose, have to part for ever; and I should have thought your connexion with that pleasant place was already severed. Alas! that it should be so. I have come to that time of life, Chandos, when the mind's food is memory. Hope is the pabulum of youth, my young friend; recollection the diet of old age: and we cling to everything that recalls pleasant memories, as one of your London diner's-out attaches himself to a giver of good dinners. But what, I wonder, takes you to Northferry?"
"A wild goose chase, I believe," answered Chandos; "I would fain encourage expectation of some good resulting from it; but the hopes fade away as soon as they are born; and I go more because a good and a wise friend advises me, than from any conviction on my own part. Neither do I exactly go to Northferry; but very near it I shall certainly be, if you have any commands."
"Few, few," replied the General. "One thing, indeed, you may do, if you will; namely, bring the little boy, Tim, to London with you. I must put him to a school in the neighbourhood; for even misfortune must not make me forget my given word."
Chandos promised to take all care of the boy; and the conversation turned to other subjects.