A month passed in Naples, and Morley strove to drown recollection, to drown thought, to drown the ringing echo of the tempter's words, to quell, by any means, the struggle that still went on in his heart--the longing, eager, ardent desire to fly to Juliet Carr, to tell her, with all the impetuous madness of intense passion, that he loved her still, to shew her that she had destroyed his peace for ever, and to leave her to decide, whether he were to live with her or to die by his own hand. He knew that it was frenzy--he knew that it was crime. With as much courage as any ancient warrior ever strove, he fought against the host of dark temptations that beset him, in the vain hope that time would mitigate the intensity of his feelings; but time brought no balm--his heart knew no relief. The gay and gabbling crowd in the ball-room, the palace, and the theatre, distracted not his attention for a moment. With difficulty, even for a few minutes, did he fix his attention upon all the objects of ancient art, which formerly would have amused his fancy. The political strife of various parties which at that time convulsed all Europe, scarcely roused his mind from the bitter memories that were in his heart to give it even a thought; and Morley's sole delight soon became to sail over the deep blue sea of the bay, gazing in melancholy listlessness upon the waters, and longing for a quiet abode beneath the rolling of those sunshiny waves.
It soon, however, grew a weariness and a pain to him, to be forced, even during a part of the day, to see and hear the merry multitudes of the siren city. The coarse and glaring vice, the utter moral degradation of almost all classes, the miserable laziness and destitution of the lower orders, the frivolous wickedness of the higher, all became an offence to his eyes; and he determined, at length, to get rid of the whole and to remove to some distance from Naples, although there was one employment for a part of his day, which could not be, without difficulty, obtained anywhere but in the city. It may seem strange that this his sole occupation was the examination of almost all the principal London journals. But there was only one part of those journals into which he looked--only one name that he sought for. It was the name of Lord Clavering. From time to time, he found it amongst those of the most diligent attendants upon parliamentary duties. Morley read no more that day when he had once seen the name. He perused not the speech to which it was attached, nor examined the nature of the petition which the earl presented. He could not hate him more than he did, and he did not wish to hate him less; but still, to know that he was afar, that he was not in the same land with Juliet Carr, was something.
He resolved, at length, as I have said, to quit the city, and take up his abode at such a distance that he could continually send into Naples for intelligence, without setting his foot within the walls itself. The generous though just act of Helen Barham having removed the necessity for economy, Morley could indulge at ease whatever fancies suited his humour best at the time; and, rowing along the shores of the bay towards Sorrento, he pitched upon a solitary villa, not far from that place, towards Castellamare as the house be should like to hire. It was seated upon the high rocky ground, and was visible from the sea; but on enquiring at the latter town, he found that there was no road to it but a mule-path, and that it was inhabited by the Italian family to whom it belonged. The latter difficulty, however, was speedily removed; gold was an object to the Italians, and none to Morley; and, while he had his boat, he needed no other road but the waves.
In this new abode, then, was he soon fixed, and certainly a lovelier scene never soothed the disappointed heart. The view over the bay was beyond description; a deep indentation of the shore brought the profound waters up to the very foot of the rock under the villa, and one of those arching caves, of which there are so many on the Sorrentine shores, admitted the sea still farther, so that a sight of steps from the house itself, similar to those near thevilla Cocumella, led down by a subterranean passage to the verge of the bay; and Morley's boat could be brought in under the very crag on which his dwelling stood. A little farther on, however, a winding path, ornamented by some tall cypresses, led down to the shore, which was strewed at that spot with ruins of various ancient buildings, and covered almost to the edge of the sea with all the wild flowers and rich creeping plants of that climate, while here and there the gigantic aloe had planted itself, giving a peculiar character to the picture, produced by no other European plant. High hills lay up behind; and, along the shore on both sides, appeared all that variety of rock, and precipice, and smooth descent, and soft sloping bank, which every one who has rounded that headland must remember. We will not dwell farther upon a description of the place, but will only add, that the usual drawback to all Italian scenery was found not far off, as one approached Sorrento, in numerous stone walls and narrow roads, forming a sort of labyrinth, which required some degree of knowledge and experience to escape from, in the attempt to find freer space upon the mountain tops beyond.
Here Morley dwelt in comparative peace for about a fortnight, with his establishment restored to its former scale, and moreover increased by six rowers for his boat, to whom one of the cottages in the vineyard was assigned as an abode. Although so grave and sad, he had contrived to make himself loved even by the light-hearted Neapolitans in his service. There are few people more really sensible of dignified and graceful manners than the lower classes; and as we have already shown, there was a peculiar charm in the young Englishman's deportment, which only derived a greater interest from the gloom that had fallen over him. He was kind-hearted, and generous, too, and the only efforts that now seemed to interest him strongly, were those tending to increase the comfort and happiness of the people about him. He taught them to obey him promptly, to attend, even in their lightness, to his smallest sign or word, but he taught them also to respect, admire, and love him.
Old Adam Gray, too--though, to say sooth, he was not liking the Italians--was a favourite amongst them, and they were always ready to shew him his way hither and thither, keeping up with him as he went along--partly by signs, partly by words--long conversations, of which neither party understood one third.
It was thus one day, while his master was out sailing in the bay, that the old man had found his way to Sorrento, accompanied by one of the Neapolitan servants, named Giacchino, who understood somewhat more of English than the rest. He had gazed about upon the houses and villas, had gone down to see the remains of antiquity that protrude in some places from the cliffs, and had bought a basket of fruit from one of the old women of the town, when suddenly--while he was yet counting out the interminable small pieces of coin, which seem invented, in several of the Italian States, for the torment of the passing traveller--he dropped a whole handful of them, exclaiming--"Good heavens, Mrs. Martin!--is that you? What could bring you to Italy?"
The person he addressed was a very pretty young woman, dressed in mourning, and her reply was simple enough, that she had followed her husband thither.
"Oh, I understand--I understand!" replied Adam Gray; "though how he got out of York Castle I do not comprehend."
"No, you do not understand it at all," said Jane. "My husband got out of York Castle by being pronounced innocent. But if you will come up to the villa just upon the hill, he will tell you the whole story himself. He came here out of Germany with dear Miss Helen, and I think he would like to see you, for we told him how kind you had been."
Without more ado, Adam Gray picked up the fallen money, and followed the young Englishwoman, leaving his Italian companion Giacchino talking with a number of men in pointed hats, and somewhat Calabrese attire, who had come in with the apparent purpose of selling fruit and small birds. When Giacchino joined them, however, they were engaged in gossiping away the time with a man in the habit of a courier, whom Adam Gray had seen more than once before loitering about the doors of their inn at Rome, where he had filled the post of occasionalvalet de place.
We need not pause upon the interview between Adam Gray and the party at the villa to which he was conducted; but he found that Harry Martin was still in attendance upon Helen Barham, not being able, he said, to make up his mind to leave her, always fancying that some mischief would happen, if he were not near to take care of her.
"It's a strange whim of mine," he said, "but I can't get rid of it. However, I know that Miss Helen sent a note to your master at Naples, yesterday, and when I can see her with plenty of kind friends about her I shall be content, and think her safe."
Adam Gray remained for a full hour at the villa, and, before he went, begged to pay his respects to Helen herself, who sent a message by him to Morley, telling him where she was, and adding that she had something of importance to communicate to him, if he could call upon her the next day.
On returning to the spot where he had left his companion, the old man found the Neapolitan still laughing and chattering with the rest, and they proceeded on their way homeward together, both somewhat thoughtful, though the natural buoyancy of the Italian's spirit would not suffer him to bear the silence quite so long as the native of a more taciturn land.
"Those fellows will do some mischief before they are out of Sorrento," he said; "and that devil of a courier will lead them into no good."
"Ha!" cried Adam Gray, "do you know those people, then, Giacchino? Pray who may they be who are so mischievously disposed?"
"Why, that tall, good-looking fellow," replied the man, "was the head of the banditti that used to rob about Nocera and Salerno, and sometimes almost up to Portici on the other side. He gave it up of his own accord when the bands were put down, and is now a very good gardener. The rest are friends of his," he added, with a shrewd gesticulation, which conveyed the full sense of what he meant.
"And the courier?" demanded Adam Gray. "Pray who is he?"
"Oh, he has come with some Englishman," replied Giacchino--"a count something or another, which would break an Italian's teeth to speak."
"There you are mistaken," exclaimed Adam Gray. "We have no counts in England, Master Giacchino, though there are viscounts enough in all conscience. But pray what was he doing with the banditti?--going to sell his master to them?"
"No, no," replied Giacchino; "he said his master would like to see them, and talk to them. It seems that he is fond of such fishes."
In such conversation they plodded on their way, till they reached the dwelling of the young Englishman, and the old man, leaving his companion below, proceeded through all the open doors and corridors of an Italian house, till he reached the room where Morley usually sat. He entered without ceremony, but was not a little surprised to find that his master was not alone.
Morley was standing with his hand leaning on the back of a chair, his brow knit, and his teeth closed, while Lieberg appeared within three or four paces, with his arms folded on his chest, his head erect, and his dark eyes flashing like a thunder-cloud. What had previously taken place, no one ever heard, but it was clear that angry words had already passed between them.
"Your language, Sir Morley Ernstein," said Lieberg, "is well nigh insulting, and must not be repeated."
"I have told you, Count Lieberg," replied Morley, "the plain truth, for which truth you pressed me. Having to thank you for some kindness, nothing can be farther from my wish than to insult you; but, at the same time, you must not urge me too far. Your advice I relish not; and though I do not, as you insinuate, pretend to anything like perfect purity of thought, word, or action--God forbid that I should be such a hypocrite!--and though I may yield to temptation, when it comes upon me, as weakly as any man, yet I will never calmly and deliberately lay out a plan for seducing a woman from that faith to which she has sworn at the altar. When I said that I should consider myself a villain if I did so, I had a reference to my own feelings and my own principles, in direct opposition to which I have no right to act. You see the matter in a different light, and I pretend not to criticise or to censure your views or your actions. The temptation may come, and I may fall, as you say; I fear it might be so--I am sure it might be so; but I will never seek the temptation myself."
"You will repent;" replied Lieberg, still frowning on him--"you will repent your language towards me this night.--I am better as a friend than an enemy."
"You drive me, sir, to say harsh things," answered Morley sternly; "but I fear you less as the latter than the former. One word more, Count Lieberg, before you go," he added, as Lieberg turned towards the door. "I have this morning received a letter from a lady, whom I find you have seen oftener than I believed. I do not understand all that she means; but Miss Barham places the name of Count Lieberg so close to the term--'a man who persecutes me,' that, as we part apparently not soon to meet again, it may be as well to say, I look upon that lady as a sister, will protect her as such, and will treat any man who insults or injures her, as I would one who wronged my nearest relation."
Lieberg's lip curled with a sarcastic smile. "Your knight-errantry, Sir Morley," he said, "may lead you into scrapes; but you are a very wise and prudent young man, and doubtless will extricate yourself delicately from all embarrassments. As you have added a word to me, however, I must add one to you. It shall be a short one, for the evening sky is beginning to turn grey, and I must seek a more hospitable roof. It is this--do not cross my path, or I will blast you like a withered leaf; and so, good night!"
With his usual calm, firm step, Lieberg descended the stairs, and quitted the villa. Morley's eyes flashed; but old Adam Gray hastened to interpose telling his master all that he had seen and heard during that afternoon.
"This is very strange!" said Morley, musing. "Send the man, Giacchino, to me--or, stay, ask him yourself, if the courier mentioned was that of Count Lieberg. He may be meditating some harm to that poor girl, and yet I must not--dare not go to Sorrento myself. Go, good Adam, and enquire. It is all very strange!--That Juliet should come to Sorrento, when she knows that I am so near!--It seems as if it were my fate to be doomed to do wrong, even when I labour to avoid it.--I will not go!"
Old Adam Gray came back in a moment, saying that Giacchino was quite sure that the name of Count Lieberg was the one he had heard; and Morley seriously alarmed instantly took means to warn Helen of the vague but not unfounded apprehensions which he entertained. He sent the peasant who farmed the estate attached to the villa, and two of his own servants, over to Sorrento, with orders to stay with the young lady, and give her protection during the night; and after explaining his motives for this step, in a short note, he added--"I would have come myself at once, but that you tell me Juliet and her party from Sicily are about to join you this day at Sorrento. Dear Helen, I must never see her more, for I dare not trust myself. I am tempted in a way that you cannot divine; and I must fly from that temptation, lest even greater misfortunes fall upon her and me. Keep the men I send, with you till Juliet comes, after that, her servants, added to your own, will, I trust, ensure your safety."
"Now dispatch the people quickly, good Adam," said Morley, giving him the note; "but, above all things, bid them keep a horse saddled, and let me know if anything important occurs at Sorrento. They can be over here in less than ten minutes. Have all our men prepared for whatever may occur; and see if there be not some more horses to be procured in the neighbourhood. If so let them be brought in. We might have to ride over in haste."
Lieberg had not said true when he declared that the evening sky was beginning to turn grey. It was purple that it grew, that intense deep purple which is only to be seen in southern skies, where the sunshine seems to infuse a tint of gold into the azure of the heaven, rendering it like the lazuli stone in which the sparks of the metal may be seen through the fine hue of the gem. More and more red was every moment mingled with the blue, till the western horizon, where it lay upon the waters, glowed as if with intense fire, which seemed to catch the waves themselves and all the distant sea was in a flame. The splendour of the hour, however, was unseen by the eyes of Morley Ernstein--but I use, perhaps, a wrong expression, it was not altogether unseen; and, though I am so near the end of my history, where events press for attention rather than scenes or sensations, I must still pause for a moment to show how he saw without seeing, and felt without perceiving.
When Lieberg had left him, and his orders had been given, he went forth from the house with his heart full of strong emotions. He stood upon the promontory over the cave, and gazed, or seemed to gaze, across the wide world of waters, lighted by the setting sun. Though he had heard many things that day to interest and occupy him--though he had learned that Veronica had abandoned the world and taken the veil, and that Juliet was once more drawing near,--his mind was fixed upon himself, and upon the act he had just done, an act as great and important to him and to his future fate as if he had conquered a kingdom. He had broken a tie, bound round him by circumstances with such close and intimate folds, that it had appeared as if it could never be totally dissevered. He had cast off a fatal companionship for ever, which had endured already too long. By a strong effort of determination, he had repudiated a society which seemed destined to corrupt all the pure current of his blood, like the envenomed garment of Alcides, though happily for himself he had thrown it from him before it had entered into his flesh.
He stood, then, upon that promontory with his head erect, and his arms folded on his broad chest; feeling that he had done a right and a great act, that he had executed a strong and high determination, and deriving from the very fact the conscious dignity which the powerful performance of a wise resolution always imparts to the human mind. He marked not the sunset and its splendour--he marked not the illuminated ocean, or the classic shores in their purple shadows--he marked not the fire of the western sky, or the clouds glowing into a blaze above, but the whole sank into his spirit through the eye, and seemed to elevate his own sensations more and more by the harmonious tone of every thing around. He felt that it was in such a scene, in such a climate, in such an hour, that man might well do deeds worthy of his immortal soul. That under the eye of Heaven, and with the brightest of Heaven's works on every side, he might well purify his heart of its dross, and cast from him every baser thing. It was not unseen, then, all the loveliness that surrounded him; it was not unfelt; but in the busy turmoil of his own thoughts, it was unmarked.
Ere the sun had quite gone down, however, his mind became more calm, he recollected where he stood, he ran his eye along the line of coast, he raised it to the sky above, he gazed pensively at the sea below his feet, and marked the long, bow-like sails that skimmed across the waters towards the resting-place for the night.
The whole bay and the sea beyond it were alive with boats, and Morley Ernstein thought: "Amongst all those is probably one that bears to the same shore with myself; her who, I once believed was to be my leading star to every high act and noble purpose; but who has left me in darkness and despair. Over those waters, her bark is steering, and, perhaps, her mind, no longer with the eye of memory, sees him whom she once loved any more than her corporeal eye beholds me here. How calm everything is, how tranquil; and that small cloud, catching the last rays of the sun, glows like the conscious cheek of love. I wonder why all the boats are hurrying into Naples. This seems to me the very hour for lingering on the sea. I will go out and sail again;" and as he thus thought, he beckoned one of his boatmen, whom he saw on the beach below, to come up by the steps in the rock and speak with him. Ere the man could reach him, however, a change had come over the whole scene. The waves in the bay became crested with white foam--a sudden rushing sound was heard. Then came a light breath of air; and then a number of orange trees and large oleanders, which were ranged upon the terrace of the villa, were levelled with the ground in a moment by a violent gust of wind. Morley himself, strong and powerful as he was, was obliged to catch at a great ilex for support.[2]Leaves and branches were torn up and whirled away, and a thin, dusty film was carried suddenly over sea and land, not sufficient to intercept the sight, but to render all the lately glowing features of the scene grey and sad. Whistling and screaming through the branches of the trees, over the rocks and stones; and through the windows and porticos the storm rushed on, and the Neapolitan servants ran hither and thither, closing the windows and increasing the din and confusion by their shouts, and outcries, and gesticulations. As soon as he had somewhat recovered himself, Morley placed his back against the tree, the large branches of which were waving to and fro like reeds, and gazed out upon the sea. When he had last looked in that direction he had seen a vessel, apparently steering from Capri, and sailing gallantly on towards Sorrento. He had then regarded it with that indefinite feeling of interest which often attaches to one particular thing amongst many similar ones, we cannot tell why or wherefore. Perhaps it was a thought which casually struck him that Juliet might be on board of that polacca, which caused him to look at the vessel I have mentioned more intently than any of the rest. But whatever it might be she had formed a beautiful object in the view, with all sails set, and the last red light of the sun dying her canvas with bright crimson. When he turned his eyes towards her again, however, now that the squall was raging with such fury; he could hardly believe she was the same ship. One of her masts was gone, and seemed to lay over the side, only attached to the vessel by the cordage. It was evident that the crew were taking in sail, and endeavouring to ease her in every way; but while Morley still gazed, the other mast went overboard, and she lay a complete log on the water, with the gale still blowing tremendously and dead upon the shore and the night coming rapidly on.
Climbing slowly up the stairs in the rock, the boatman, to whom Morley had beckoned, now approached him with difficulty, and the young Englishman, pointing to the vessel in distress, asked if he knew what she was. He replied that she was some Sicilian polacca, and that he had seen her lying off Capri while they were out sailing in the morning.
"She'll not see another day rise," added the man. "Many a poor sinner has gone to purgatory already to-night. Did you see that felucca upset and go down, sir, just as she was getting round the point?"
"No," answered Morley, "no; but we must not leave that ship to perish. You must get out the boat--I will go off to her."
The man laughed at the very idea. It is true, the wind was blowing dead upon the land, the sea running tremendously high, the gale scarcely abated at all of its fury, and the night coming on dark and stormy, the heavens looking totally unlike the pure, clear, starlit skies that had hung above them for the last six weeks. While he was still arguing with his master, however, a faint, distant flash, and the booming roar of a gun from the polacca, appealed to the heart of the young Englishman for help; and assuming a somewhat sterner tone, he bade the man gather together his companions and prepare the boat, in the language of command. He obeyed so far as collecting together the rest of the boatmen went, but no progress was made in getting the boat ready, and they remained drawn into a knot, talking eagerly and gesticulating violently, screaming, shouting, grinning, laughing, and almost weeping, in a manner that can only be seen in Italy.
Morley waited for a minute or two with some impatience, and then approaching them, used every means that the reader may conceive to induce them to accompany him. He succeeded so far, at length, that one of the younger men yielded, and declared he would go, if thepadrone< br> would but stay a quarter of an hour to let the wind go down. Such a squall, he said, never lasted long, and at all events it would be more moderate. The consent of one soon brought that of the rest, and Morley ordered them, in the meantime, to make every preparation. Hoping perhaps that he would change his purpose, they contrived to extend the quarter of an hour to nearly double that time, notwithstanding all their master's impatience and reiterated commands, while the darkness increased, and gun after gun told the dangerous situation of the vessel, and each showed, by the greater brightness of the flash and loudness of the sound, that she was driving rapidly upon the rocky coast.
At length, however, an effort was made; the boat was pushed out of the cove, and rowed through the calmer water of the little bay. A tremendous sea was still running beyond, although the violence of wind had certainly somewhat diminished, and old Adam Gray, who, without a word, had watched the proceedings of his master, knowing too well that attempt to restrain him would be in vain, now, from the top of the rock, gazed at the boat rushing out into the waves, and kept his eyes upon it till it was lost to his sight amidst the dark struggling waters. He tried to catch it again, but in vain; all was dim upon the face of the sea; and then turning his eyes towards the spot where the signals of distress, from time to time, showed the position of the polacca, he remained with his grey hair floating in the wind, and his heart full of sad and anxious apprehensions.
After a time the firing ceased, and the old man muttered to himself--"They have either reached her, or she has gone down." Then came the longest and most terrible space of expectation. Everything was darkness around; the only sound that interrupted the silence was the fierce rushing of the wind, which still continued to blow with awful fury; the sky at the same time was covered with clouds, so that no light fell upon the waters, and the only sight that met the eyes of old Adam Gray, as he gazed down from above, was the white foaming tops of the waves, which seemed boiling as in a cauldron.
"I wonder," he thought, "if I were to pile up a beacon here, whether he would understand what it meant? At all events it would shew him the villa and the rocks, so as to enable him to steer. I will try it at all risks;" and calling to several of the other servants, who were down below looking out as well as himself, he made them gather together a quantity of old wood which had been left in a corner of the vineyard, and with one or two decayed olive-trees, which had just been cut down, a fire was soon lighted on the extreme verge of the rock, and in about ten minutes spread its red glare far and wide.
Perhaps the good man expected that, besides giving light to any one who might be wandering over the surface of the waters, it would enable him also to see what was passing on the waves below; but in this he was mistaken, and for a quarter of an hour longer he watched in vain. During that time the wind subsided still more, and at length Adam Gray thought he heard his master's voice raised loudly. A moment after, a slight flash, like that of a pistol, was seen in the little bay, and the rocks around echoed with the report.
"Quick! light the torches--light the torches," cried the old man; and taking one of the flambeaux which he had brought out, he ran down the steps through the rock, to the place where the boat was usually hauled up. The other servants followed, but before they reached the shore the grating sound of her keel was heard, and the first sight presented to the eyes of Adam Gray was his master, pale and dripping, carrying across the narrow ledge of rock the form of a lady, whose face rested on his shoulder, while her arms were clasped tightly round him.
The blaze of the torches seemed to rouse her, or else it was some words that Morley whispered, for she raised her head, exclaiming--"Now, now, Morley, set me down! There are others need your care."
"Not yet," said Morley; "not till you are under shelter. This, at least, I have a right to do. Light us up the rocks, good Adam; the rest stay here till you have got out the other women. Captain," he added, speaking in Italian to a tall, athletic man, who had sprung to the shore after him--"take care of your own people, and follow us to the villa. Are you sure the other boat went down?"
"I saw it sink," replied the man, in a sad tone; and hurrying on up the steps, with Juliet in his arms, Morley paused not till he had laid her on a sofa in the saloon; then bending down his head he kissed her cheek, saying--"Thank God!" After gazing on her for a moment, he added--"Now I will see to your cousin. I fear she is much worse. Here, my good women," he continued, speaking to the wife of the contadino and her daughters, who had followed him into the house, "there is a lady below who will much want your care. Come with me."
In a few minutes he returned, bearing Lady Malcolm in his arms, apparently lifeless. She was soon carried to his own bedroom, and every means were employed to restore her that the experience of any of the party could suggest. Juliet forgot herself and all she had suffered in her anxiety for her cousin; but ere long, she had the happiness to hear her utter a few words of thanks to them for all they had done.
"Now leave her with me and her woman," said the wife of the contadino, who had shown skill as well as tenderness in her care of the sufferer; "a few hours' sleep will do more for her than anything else. Go with that lady, girls," she continued, speaking to her own daughters; "and find her some clothes, for she is very wet."
Morley led Juliet forth, and then, in the same grave tone in which he had hitherto spoken, besought her to change her dress, and take some refreshment and repose. "I must go myself," he added, "to make sure that there is assistance at hand, in case of any of the poor wretches in the other boat reaching the shore. Though they abandoned you and their companions, we must not abandon them. Farewell; then, for to-night. Lie down to rest. We shall meet again to-morrow--Juliet."
Juliet gazed on him in silence and sadness, but made no reply, and Morley left her.
About an hour was spent by the young Englishman in sending people with lights along the rocks, but without any result. The boat, with which some of the seamen had left the ship, had, as the master of the vessel said, gone down almost immediately, and the bodies of those that it contained were not found for several days.
With a slow and thoughtful step while the moon began to struggle with the clouds, Morley Ernstein returned to his own dwelling, passed along the corridor, gave some orders to Adam Gray, and entered the saloon. To his surprise, on raising his eyes, he beheld Juliet standing as if watching for his return. Morley paused for a moment, gazed at her with a look full of emotions that could not be spoken; then closed the door, and, advancing, threw his arms around her, and pressed her to his heart. Juliet strove not to withdraw herself, but leaned her face upon his bosom, and wept.
"Juliet," he said, in a low voice, as he felt her heart throbbing against his--"Juliet, we must never part! It is no longer happiness or misery with me, Juliet--it is life or death. You are mine, or no other sun ever rises for me again. Choose, Juliet--choose! The words of fate are upon your lips. If you love me, you are mine--if you love me not, I am nothing!"
"I do--I do," cried Juliet, throwing her own arms around him, and speaking with a vehemence that he had never known her use; "I do love you, Morley--I always have loved you--I never loved any but you. Think not you have suffered alone, Morley,--oh, I have endured more than it is possible for human language to declare! Can you doubt that I love you? if you do, tell me how you will have me prove my love, and I am ready to do it, even though the breaking of my vow should break my heart, and destroy me here, as well as bring wrath upon my head hereafter. Speak, Morley--speak!--Love you? Oh, yes! better than any thing on earth--better, I fear, than heaven!"
Morley clasped her closer to his heart, and pressed his lips again and again upon her brow and cheek; they burned, as if with fire. She had asked him what he would have her do, and now he told her, with all the eloquent words of passion. He saw her gaze wildly upon him: he thought that she hesitated. Then all the fell words with which Lieberg had urged him came back to his memory, and he was about to employ their power upon her also--from the tempted to become the tempter! But happily--oh most happily for both, Juliet replied before he had blasted her esteem.
"Say no more, Morley," she said--"say no more--I am yours for ever;" and she put her hand in his. "Oh, Lord God!" she added, "if I sin in breaking the solemn vow I made to those who first gave me life, forgive me in thy mercy! But for him, on whose account I break it, that life which they gave would now be at an end. His is the existence that I henceforth possess, and surely it can be no crime to dedicate it all to him! I will try, Morley," she continued--"I will try to forget that vow that I have made to those who are dead, or to think that I am now exempt from its obligation; yet I fear it will often return to make your Juliet sad, and that my peace of mind will always be disturbed by the thought of a parent's curse."
Morley cast down his eyes as one bewildered. He gazed thoughtfully on the ground for several moments. He trembled at the feeling of a great escape; and then he murmured--"Here has been some mistake--here has been some mistake!--Tell me, Juliet, what was this vow? It cannot be binding on you now, but yet I must hear it."
"Hear it, Morley, and decide for me," said Juliet, with a melancholy look; "the vow is a double one. My mother, Morley, on her death-bed--after a life of grief and sorrow for having disobeyed her own parent--exacted from me a solemn pledge that I would never become the wife of any man to whom my father forbade me to give my hand. Morley, he did forbid me to unite myself to you. He demanded from me a vow that I would not, on my duty as his child, and his last words were the bitterest--the-most awful curse upon my head if I disobeyed."
There was a step in the room, which caused Juliet to turn her head, while Morley, whose face was towards the door, made an impetuous sign to the person who had entered to retire; but old Adam Gray came in with a respectful, but a determined countenance, and Juliet, with a glowing cheek, withdrew herself from Morley's arm.
"I beg your pardon, Sir Morley," cried the old man; "but what I have to say must be said--I can keep it down no longer; I care not whether it offends or not! I have loved you from a boy, sir, and will tell you the truth, even though it make you angry. The young lady that you are talking to--I do not mean to say anything against her--though she has made you unhappy enough, I'm sure."
"Quit the room, Adam Gray!" exclaimed Morley sternly.
"Not till I've told you, sir," replied the old servant "I've heard it's her father's will makes her do all this; but she is no more what she fancies herself than I am. Your father always said, sir, that she was not old Carr's daughter, and wished Lady Malcolm--that is, Lady Clavering, as I ought to call her now--to try it with him. That was the cause of the quarrel; for your father said he was a swindler; and, you know, all Mrs. Carr's property went to Lady Malcolm, if she had not a child; and so, when their baby died, he got this young lady up from Sergeant More's wife, who had it to nurse; but the cheat was as plain as possible, for this baby was six weeks old, and the other but a day or two; but as poor Mrs. Carr was so ill that she knew nothing about it, and the baby was brought up by hand, nobody could prove it then, except the nurse and Mrs. More. I can prove it now, however, and that I will, too, let come of it what may."
The old man paused to take breath, for he had spoken with all the eager rapidity of one who, having broken through habitual respect, is fearful lest the impulse which gave him courage to do so should fail him. The effect produced upon Morley and Juliet, however, was very different from what he expected. At first both seemed bewildered; but then a look of joy and satisfaction inexpressible came upon his master's countenance, and casting his arms round her he loved, Morley exclaimed--"Mine--mine, Juliet!--you are mine, without a fear and without a regret, without one cloud to shadow the sunshine of our love!"
"Oh, is it--can it be true?" cried Juliet. "Tell me--tell me," she continued, disengaging herself from Morley's embrace, and laying her hand upon the old man's arm--"can you prove it?--can you shew, beyond a doubt, that I am not his child? I would give anything--I would give everything--but, alas!" she added, suddenly recollecting herself, "if it be as you say, Adam Grey, I shall have nothing to give--I shall be a beggar, Morley.--Will you value your Juliet less?"
"A thousand-fold more, dearest!" replied her lover. "There was an internal conviction of the truth in my heart, from the very first. I was sure that old man could not be your father--that the same blood never ran in his veins and in yours."
"And whose then is the blood that runs in mine?" said Juliet, thoughtfully. "It is strange, Morley--very strange!--and yet I own that I am most thankful to God it is as it is; for amongst many painful things that I have endured through life, one of the most painful has been, a conviction that I was not really an affectionate and tender daughter--that I could not love my father as natural impulse would prompt one to do. Often have I struggled with myself, often have I wept over my own sensations, and have thought that, though he was unkind, and cold, and bitter towards me, if I had really the feelings which a child ought to have, I should forget every sort of harsh and chilling act in filial love. But, oh! I do regret my mother--I do regret my poor mother!--she was always gentle and affectionate, and fond of me."
"Because shethoughtyou were her child; and heknewyou were not his," replied Adam Gray--"that was the cause of the difference, Miss Juliet; and though I can't understand how you and Sir Morley have settled matters, so as to seem very happy at what I feared might make you otherwise, I hope you will forgive me; and as to proving it, I have got Mrs. More's declaration myself, signed with her own hand, and her daughter has got all the papers which the old woman left at her death. I promised not to say a word till she was dead, and should not, indeed, have told it now, but that I thought you were ill using my poor master, Miss Juliet."
"I hope I have not done so," said Juliet, with a sad smile at the old man's bluntness. "One may sometimes be obliged to make those they love unhappy, without ill using them. Adam Gray, I think you should have known me better. But, however, perhaps now I may have the power of rendering him happy instead. Morley, you seem sad."
"No," answered Morley, "I am not, my beloved; but even in intense joy itself, such as I now experience, there may be a melancholy, Juliet--at all events a pensiveness--as there must be, indeed, as long as man feels in his own heart that he is utterly unworthy of the goodness and mercy of God. Together with the sensation of relief and blessing which was given me by the tidings of this night, and the knowledge that you are mine without one shade of regret hanging over our union, came the recollection of how little I had merited such joy, how I had repined and struggled, how many evil acts I had actually been guilty of under the influence of despair, how many more I might have been tempted to commit, how many I was upon the very eve of plunging into. I must not tell you, Juliet--I cannot tell you all that my words to you this very night implied, before I found what were really the ties that bound you."
"Say not a word, dear Morley--say not a word," replied Juliet, sadly but tenderly; "it has been bitter enough to know that I have been making you wretched as well as myself. What would it be to think that I had plunged you into any evil?"
"It is past, Juliet--it is past!" said Morley; "and though the last year will ever remain upon my memory as one dark and gloomy spot, yet, dear girl, it may be no disadvantage to me to be a humbler man for the rest of my life, from sad experience of my own weakness.--But hark!" he exclaimed, hearing a sound unusual in that remote place, "there is the galloping of a horse's feet. I hope no bad news from Sorrento. Run down and see, good Adam, and bring me word quickly."
Morley Ernstein had not been alone in watching with eager terror the progress of the storm, and the wreck of the Sicilian polacca, on the night, with the events of which, we have lately been busy. Helen Barham, also, had seen the first effects of the squall, with terror the more intense, because she knew, not only that Juliet must be at that very time upon the waters, but also because she was aware that she must be within a few leagues of the shore of Sorrento, upon which the wind was blowing with such dreadful vehemence. Juliet had written her a note from Capri, where they had paused for an hour or two to see the island, and had even so accurately described the vessel, that Helen had seen and recognised it before the storm began. Each howl of the gale, when it first commenced, made her heart sink with apprehension; and though there be some people in the world, unfortunately, who may dream that thoughts would come across Helen's mind to check if not to mitigate her anxiety for her friend, yet be it said, most truly, that Helen only remembered Juliet at that moment as one who had ever been tender and kind, who had been a sister to her when the ties of kindred failed, who had loved her with disinterested love, and soothed her in the time of sorrow and mourning.
As soon it was possible, notwithstanding the fury of the wind, she went out to the highest point of the coast, though it required all the strength of Harry Martin, and another strong man, to steady her steps. But Helen could not resolve to remain within, while one whom she so dearly loved was perishing amidst the waves; and on the top of the promontory she found a number of Italians, gazing out likewise, with their eyes all fixed upon that vessel--now mastless and abandoned to the fury of the waters--which was growing dimmer and more dim to their sight, as the beams of day were fading away from the sky. Then came the signals of distress, and all those terrible moments, ere the polacca was totally hidden by the night. But Helen, though powerless, remained not inactive; she endeavoured, though in vain, to induce the fishermen to put off a boat; she enquired fruitlessly for any persons more venturous than the rest; she offered sums that seemed of incredible magnitude to the poor Sorrentines, for any one who would go forth to give aid to the vessel in distress. None would undertake it; and as the night went on, one by one the people who had been assembled dropped away, and left her standing there, still gazing out into the darkness, but unable to tear herself from the spot.
At length, the same idea struck Harry Martin, which had occurred to old Adam Gray. "In half an hour from this time, madam," he said, "that ship will be upon these rocks. Will it not be better to get a number of men, with torches, all ready to help and save as many of the crew as possible?"
"Oh, yes, yes!" cried Helen; "fly, by all means, fly, and collect as many as possible. Pay them well, and promise a large reward for every life that is saved. Go quick, my good friend, go quick! I will return to the villa with the courier. I fear I can do no good here. Never mind me, Martin, but gather the people together, as fast as possible."
According to her orders, Harry Martin left her; and after remaining for about ten minutes more, Helen was turning to go back to her own dwelling, when one of the servants of the villa came up seeking for her in the darkness to tell her that some people had been sent over to Sorrento by Sir Morley Ernstein, who entertained some apprehensions regarding her safety. Scarcely had the man spoken, when the dim forms of two or three other persons were seen sauntering up the rocky road, and Helen, somewhat alarmed at what she heard, and not liking their appearance, hastened her steps. She passed another and another, without being able in the obscurity to discern their faces; and the sound of footfalls following, made her heart beat strangely. At length four men presented themselves, linked arm in arm, and at the same moment a loud whistle was heard from those behind. At that signal an immediate rush was made upon Helen, and those who were with her. The two men were knocked down in an instant; and Helen, caught up by arms which it was in vain to resist, was borne away, shrieking, and calling for help in vain.
"This way, Eccellenza, this way!" cried a voice, in Italian, while the speaker apparently ran on before; "round by this wall, and the back of the houses, or we shall be stopped. Once on the road to Vico, and we are safe. The house you bade us get, is that way--the other men will take care we are not pursued. Here, round to the right, sir."
Helen ceased not, however, to cry for help, as long as strength remained, but it was in vain, and for two miles the man who carried her bore her on with a rapidity that made his own breath come thick and hard. At length as they were entering what seemed a wilder, and less cultivated part of the country, where the walls of the vineyards and gardens had ceased, and nothing was before them but the hills covered with their odoriferous plants, he paused, saying--"I must stop for a minute. Bid the men make a circle round us."
"Oh!" cried Helen; "for pity's sake let me go. What have I done to injure you? If you will let me go, you shall have any ransom that you name."
"Ransom!" he replied, speaking in English and in a voice too well known; "half a world should not ransom you, till you become a thing that you yourself loathe and hate. You scorned my love in England, you scorned it still more bitterly at Rome, but now I have you amongst these wild hills, and the God that delivers you, will be a God indeed! Come on, my men, come on;" he continued, "see, the moon is breaking through the clouds, and the wind is going down, we are still too near the houses.--Come on, quick, I say; I think I hear a horse's feet."
Helen heard the same sound, and shrieked aloud for aid, but help did not come; they hurried her on: the echo of the horse's feet died away, and Lieberg said, in a bitter tone--"He hears not the sweet music; or, like the deaf adder, he stoppeth his ear to the song of the charmer. Your mode of journeying is unpleasant, perhaps; it will soon be over, lady, so content yourself for a time."
When he had gone about a quarter of a mile farther, however, a distant noise met the ears of the whole party, not like the noise of one horse's feet, but as if there were many, coming up at the full gallop by the same path which they were pursuing. Helen found her persecutor's arms clasped more tightly round her, while his pace grew still more rapid; and, confirmed by these signs in the faint hope she entertained of assistance being near, she again called aloud for help.
"Tie this over her mouth," cried one of the men, giving Lieberg a handkerchief; "they cannot trace us here, unless her screams bring them up."
"That accursed moon will betray us," exclaimed Lieberg. "Cannot we get down into the hollow way?"
"They will hem us in there," cried the man. "By the body of Bacchus, they have got round, and are before us! Bend down, Eccellenza, bend down!--Curse that screaming! I will drive my knife into her!"
"Here, take her," cried Lieberg. "We shall have to fight them.--Call up some of the men from behind.--Tie her, and keep her here; they cannot be so many as we are. We will soon disperse them.--Here come three, right down upon us--call up some of the men from behind, I say!"
The man to whom he spoke uttered the same loud whistle that Helen had heard before, but at that moment were heard two or three shots from the ground which they had just passed over, and then a whole volley, while the three horsemen, who had galloped on and intercepted Lieberg's farther progress, caught sight of him, by the clear moonlight and were coming down at full speed.
"Huzza! we have them--we have them!" cried the voice of Harry Martin.--"In God's name, leave him to me, Sir Morley.--You look to the lady."
But as he spoke, two of Lieberg's hired ruffians rushed up, in that picturesque, and never-to-be-mistaken costume which the Italian bandits have affected, with the ribands on their hats floating wildly in the gale, and their long guns carried easily in their hands.
"We cannot help you," they cried--"we cannot help you, they are too many for us. Bertolo is down, and so is Marino."
"But strike one stroke," exclaimed Lieberg, furiously; "here are but three before us."
"But there are twenty behind," answered one of the men. "However, here goes;" and raising his gun to his shoulder, he fired.
His companion followed his example the very moment after, and instantly one of their opponents went down, horse and man together. Another horse reared and plunged, but darted forward again with a staggering pace, and the horseman finding that the beast was wounded, sprang to the ground, and cast away the rein. The other man, who had fallen also, started up, and two of Lieberg's companions each taking a separate way, turned and fled. The man who still remained mounted, was turning his rein to pursue them, but the voice of Morley Ernstein stopped him, exclaiming--"This way--this way! There stands the villain himself. I know him but too well."
"This for you, Sir Morley Ernstein," shouted Lieberg, levelling a pistol, and firing at the same moment.
Morley staggered back, but the ball, discharged from too great a distance, only hurt him slightly, and the next moment he darted forward again.
"Shall I kill her?" cried the Italian, who stood beside Lieberg.
His master paused for a single instant, then caught Helen up again in his arms, asking "The cliff is near, is it not?" and without waiting a reply, he ran with the swiftness of lightning up the side of the hill. The moon was now shining clear, as I have said, and the whole party beheld and followed him. The man on horseback contrived to turn him once, as a greyhound does a hare, but neither Morley nor Harry Martin, though by their companion's manœuvre they gained upon him considerably, dared to fire for fear of hitting Helen.
At length Lieberg paused, but it was only on the very verge of the rock overlooking the sea; and there he stood, laughing aloud with the peculiar mocking laugh, which always marked that he thought he had won the day. His tall, magnificent form was seen clear and distinct by the moonlight, and Morley and those who were with him, not three paces distant, could even distinguish his features and the look of dark and savage triumph by which they were animated.
"Keep back, Sir Morley Ernstein," he cried, "and hear a word or two! When first we met, I felt that the fate of one of us depended on the other. You have me at bay, but I have my advantage too. If you drive me over this precipice, you not only destroy a woman who loves you, but you kill your own brother--Ay! your father's son, Sir Morley, by a lady of higher rank than your own low-born dame. Have you any scruples of paternal tenderness?--I have none!" and at the same moment he clasped Helen tightly round the waist with his left arm, and stretched out his right with a second pistol in the act to fire.
Ere he could draw the trigger, however, with a bound, which cleared the intervening space in an instant, Harry Martin was upon him. One powerful arm was cast round Helen tearing her from her persecutor; the other pressed a pistol right into Lieberg's ear. The cock fell--there was a flash and a report; and, reeling back, with Helen in his arms, from the edge of the precipice over which he had nearly fallen in his effort to rescue her, the hardy Englishman exclaimed--"I have saved you--by God, I have saved you!"
And where was Lieberg? He had disappeared; and though Sir Morley Ernstein caused long and diligent search to be made for his body under the cliffs upon the following morning, it was nowhere to be found. The sea did not approach near enough to have washed it away; none of the peasants or fishermen had seen or heard of it; and the only thing that could give any indication of his fate, was a drop or two of blood on the spot where he had stood.