The under-workings of the passions in the human heart, the movements and the progress of that central fire in the world of each man's breast--that fire which is never guessed at by the surface, except from some slight and often unobserved indications, or from some violent outburst, like the eruption of a volcano--the underworkings of the passions, I say, are generally far more worthy of the investigation of philosophy, if we would take the trouble, are far more replete with the tragic and the sublime, than all the external demonstrations to which we give so much attention. When sitting in the midst of a social circle, and often when gay looks and light jests abound, who is there shall say, what are the feelings really within the very bosoms that are next to us--what the passions that are gnawing the core of the hearts that seem all merriment?--the cankerworm of envy--the sharp tooth of hatred--the bitter grinding jaws of disappointment--the locusts of ill-requited love eating up all the green things of hope? Alas! Alas! too often in the world in which we live, if we could draw back the veil from the hearts of the most cheerful scene, there would be much weeping amongst us for the sorrows of others, or our own!
The drawing-room of Lady Malcolm was a pleasant and a cheerful room; and--though in the midst of London--she had contrived, by manifold flowers and shrubs, frequently renewed, to give it a certain degree of freshness, an air and a scent of the country, which were wonderfully refreshing to the London-tired senses at the end of a long season. In that drawing-room, with the windows open and the warm air of a summer's night stealing through the half-closed blinds, sat the good lady herself, together with Juliet Carr and Helen Barham, waiting for the arrival of Morley Ernstein. He was the only person invited, for Lady Malcolm not only wished Helen Barham to remain as quietly as might be in her house, but she also wished Morley and Juliet Carr to have as much of each other's society, uninterrupted, as possible.
As far as all the external circumstances of life could go, nothing could be happier for Helen Barham than the change which had occurred, and the situation in which she was now placed. Good Lady Malcolm was feeling and acting towards her as a mother. That worthy lady, after embracing Morley's proposal, as eagerly as we have seen her do, had for a little time been puzzled by the question of how she was to treat the person whom she had promised to protect, but she had wisely put off the consideration of it till she had seen Miss Barham with her own eyes. When she did see her, however, all doubt upon the matter vanished; the engaging charm which pervaded Helen's whole demeanour, whether in sorrow or joy, gloom or gaiety, affected instantly so very impressible a person as Lady Malcolm; and she had come away, declaring to Juliet as soon as she got into the street, that Helen was the sweetest creature she had ever seen in her life, and that she should not wonder, if properly brought out, and introduced into good society, were she to end by marrying a Duke. She consequently at once set Helen on a par with herself and Juliet, and treated her as her own child from the moment she entered her house, doing everything that motherly tenderness could do to remove any little sensation of shyness and dependence, and to make her perfectly at home and at ease in her new abode.
Juliet, though perhaps not quite so easily charmed as Lady Malcolm, had not only felt the fascination of Helen Barham's demeanour very strongly, but had been more deeply interested in her than Lady Malcolm herself, entering into all her sensations--perhaps almost divining her thoughts. On their very first interview she had watched her beauty with a curious and attentive eye, even while occupied in recalling her to herself after she had fainted; and when Helen recovered, Juliet remained meditative, if not sad, for some time. There is nothing like woman's heart for finding out woman's secrets, and Juliet--perhaps by questioning herself as to what would have been her own feelings had she been so situated with Morley Ernstein--in a great degree discovered those of Helen Barham.
When the conviction of what the poor girl's sentiments towards her deliverer must be, flashed upon Juliet's mind, her sensations were strange, and for a moment beyond all control. The first question she asked herself was, "Does Morley love her after all?--Can he help loving her--so beautiful, so interesting, so much to be pitied?" But the next moment she recollected all she knew of his character, every trait that she had remarked of his demeanour in regard to the very matter with which her thoughts were busied; and, though she had at first clasped her hand upon her heart to stop its insufferable beating, she now took it away relieved, saying in her own mind--"'Tis I whom he loves. Alas, poor Helen Barham!"
For an instant, for a single instant, Juliet Carr had felt the pangs of jealousy, but the moment after, when her feeling of security in Morley's love returned, she reproached herself bitterly for the joy she felt at that which must needs produce another's sorrow. The few hours' calm reflection which intervened between their visit to the fair object of their care, and her arrival at Lady Malcolm's house, calmed down and quieted Juliet's feelings, and enabled her to play her part towards Helen, when she did arrive, in the manner which might be expected from her character. AS a sort of atonement for loving Morley Ernstein, and being beloved by him, as well as from tenderness and interest, and kindness towards Helen, no sister could have shewn her more affectionate care and attention than were displayed by Juliet Carr. She sat with her in the room which had been assigned to her near her own; she aided her to arrange it with taste; she saw if anything was wanting, and had it instantly supplied; she talked with her of future prospects and bright hopes, and lavished on her all those little acts of gentle attention, which removed every feeling of strangeness, and made Helen feel that she had a friend upon whose bosom she could cast herself in danger, or sorrow, or temptation if it should come, and tell her all without fear or hesitation.
That conviction was in itself a relief, a mighty relief to the poor girl's heart; and though her mind still wandered to Morley Ernstein, and thought dwelt, in spite of all her efforts, upon the connexion between him and Juliet Carr, when she looked upon her lovely companion, marked her transcendent beauty, listened to her melodious voice, and experienced such tenderness and generous kindness, she could not refrain, even in Juliet's presence, from looking down with a sigh, and murmuring indistinctly with a melancholy movement of the head, "No wonder that he loves her."
The day passed over in this manner, but before night, Helen Barham was quite familiar with the house and its inhabitants. Everything that Lady Malcolm saw of her, led that lady to approve her conduct more and more. Her manners were so graceful, her whole demeanour so distinguished, that the good lady began to feel proud of her protégée, and looking from Helen to Juliet, as she sat at dinner, she could not help thinking, that seldom on the face of this earth, had two such beautiful beings sat side by side.
Helen was sad and thoughtful during the early part of the evening, but in consideration of those with whom she dwelt, she struggled against the gloom that oppressed her; sought her usual occupations, and followed her ordinary pursuits. Thus while Lady Malcolm herself fell quietly asleep over a purse that she was netting, and Juliet busied her fingers with embroidery, Helen went on sketching with a masterly hand, though with the carelessness of absent thoughts, a scene from Milton's Paradise Lost, representing the contention of the archangel and the fiend.
Juliet talked to her from time to time, and then came round to view her work. "Why, Helen!" she exclaimed, with the first impulse of surprise, as she looked over her shoulder; "you have drawn a friend of ours for the angel!"
Helen looked up in her face with her large lustrous eyes, but made no reply, and Juliet returned thoughtfully to her seat again. Helen added several more strokes to the other figure, and then pushed it gently across the table to her fair companion, saying, with a sad smile--
"You shall have it, for you are an angel too, I think. It is like him, I believe--though I did not intend it."
Juliet gazed for several minutes intently at the drawing, which was beautifully, though slightly executed, and while she was still thus employed, Sir Morley Ernstein was announced and entered the room.
Lady Malcolm started up out of her sleep; and not a little emotion was felt both by Helen Barham and Juliet Carr. Strange to say, however, Juliet shewed it most. She, who had usually so much command over herself, was now fluttered and agitated. It is true there were sensations in her bosom towards Morley Ernstein, which produced a thrill whenever she saw him; but in the most profound lakes the gushing of the fountains is hidden by the depth of the waters; and those feelings confined themselves to her heart, and did not at all appear on the surface. In the present instance it was the presence of Helen Barham that agitated her more than the coming of Morley Ernstein. She sympathized with the poor girl deeply, and by a power, which true benevolence really has, she placed herself in the situation of her fair companion so completely, as to feel all that she felt without losing the emotions natural to her own situation also. There was always a great abnegation of self in the character of Juliet Carr, and though she could not have sacrificed Morley's love for any consideration, yet she did wish that he would now speak to Helen first.
But Morley did not do so, and would not have done so for the world, even on Helen's own account. There had been something in her manner that morning which he would not suffer his mind to rest upon, the remembrance of which he had cast from him as an idle vanity, but which, nevertheless, influenced his conduct, making him feel that it would be better to mark at once his attachment to Juliet Carr as strongly as possible. After speaking for a moment, then, with Lady Malcolm, he turned to Juliet, and took her hand in his, with his face beaming with all the affection that was in his heart. He called her by her Christian name, too, as she had permitted him, and every look and every tone was calculated to leave no doubt on the mind of any one, as to what were his feelings towards her.
Juliet was only the more agitated; but Helen was less so than might have been expected. The marked conduct of Morley towards Juliet Carr did her good. She had previously made up her mind, and read her fate, and the only thing that could have shaken her greatly at that moment, would have been the renewal of doubt and hope. Thus, when Morley turned towards her, and spoke to her, as he had been accustomed to do, kindly, gently, tenderly--ay, tenderly!--for a slight inclination, which he detected in his own breast, to make his manner towards Helen a little less warm than it had been when they were alone together, caused him resolutely to resist such a feeling as dishonourable to her, to Juliet, and to himself--when he spoke to her, then, kindly, gently, and tenderly--as if, in short, he were a brother--she received him, not without emotion, indeed, but with a much greater appearance of calmness than she had previously hoped to obtain.
Morley congratulated her upon her change of abode, and upon the friendship of Lady Malcolm; for it was a part of his plan, and, indeed, was only consistent with his impetuous character, to go straightforward to every difficult or unpleasant point, and never to be satisfied till all was said that it might be necessary to say. Many people do great things by avoiding difficulties, but bolder minds love the task of overcoming them. He spoke at once, therefore, of the change which had taken place in Helen's situation, though he knew it might awaken unpleasant thoughts, feeling that as much must be referred to, and even discussed at different periods, concerning her past and her future fate, it would be better to touch upon the subject immediately, lest every hour of reserve should render it more difficult. He then added, in a rather lower voice--
"I have seen your brother, my dear Miss Barham, and we are to meet again to-morrow; when I hope all things will be settled to your satisfaction. In the meantime, I need not ask if you are comfortable and happy with these friends, for I know Lady Malcolm is all kindness, especially where she meets with undeserved sorrow. I think, too," he added, turning his eyes to Juliet, "that we might very well trust the happiness of any one to Miss Carr's tenderness."
"We have done what we could to soothe her, Morley," replied Juliet Carr, "but it is not to be expected that Miss Barham should yet be quite as cheerful as we will hope to see her. She can amuse herself, however, even now, and at the same time gratify her friends--Look here!"
"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Helen, trying to prevent Juliet from shewing the drawing; but ere she could stop her, it was in Morley's hand--
"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, as soon as he had cast his eyes upon it, "Why this is Lieberg!"
"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Helen again, "I did not mean it for anybody. Indeed, I never thought of what I was drawing!"
"But this cannot have been by accident, surely," said Morley; "the likeness is so striking. Did you ever see Count Lieberg, Miss Barham?"
"I saw him this morning," replied Helen, at once. "He called upon me--not long before Lady Malcolm came--to tell me, what you had told me before regarding my brother."
"And did he do anything to offend you?" asked Morley, looking at the drawing with a smile, as he marked the character in which she had depicted Lieberg.
"Oh, no!" replied Helen, "nothing; on the contrary, he was as kind as he could be; but I can assure you I meant nothing by that drawing, and had not an idea that I was sketching any one, till Miss Carr remarked one likeness; and now you have remarked another. If there be any, it is purely accidental, though, perhaps, without thinking of it, one naturally takes the features which one has lately seen, as I have remarked after reading a book, the thoughts come back to us as if they were our own. Will you give it to me," and taking it out of Morley's hand, she added, speaking to Juliet--"You must let me tear it, and I will draw you another.--You shall have the angel as before," she said, with a sad smile, and an earnest look into Juliet's eyes, "but I must change the face of the fiend; as it seems that I most unintentionally took that of one who has shewn himself anything but unkind to me and mine."
"Tear it--tear it, Helen!" said Juliet "I am sure you did not mean to give the portrait of any one in such a character."
"On my word I did not," replied Helen, and then, after putting her hand to her brow for an instant, she added--"Come, dear Miss Carr, to make up for destroying the drawing I gave you, if Sir Morley Ernstein will sit down on the sofa and talk to you, I will take his portrait. I am sure you will be glad to have it, for you said you had known him long. I can sketch very quickly, and I once thought of trying to make my bread by portrait-painting. But I took fright at the thought of all the people that might come to me, and gave up the idea."
Juliet Carr blushed at the proposal, partly with feelings of pleasure, but partly abashed; for the remembrance that Morley had not yet said one word which could justify her, or any one, in looking upon his attachment to her as certain, was still present to her mind. She answered not, then, but Lady Malcolm replied for her, eagerly--
"Do--pray do, my dear child--and then you shall copy it for me."
At the same time Morley took his seat upon the sofa by the side of Juliet Carr; Lady Malcolm rang for tea; and Helen, while she pursued her work, joined in the conversation, not only frequently, but gaily, as if the object on which she was employed had given her back her cheerfulness. Once, when Juliet was about to rise she exclaimed, quickly--
"Sit still--pray sit still--he will not remain in the same attitude if you move!" and, about ten minutes after, she beckoned to Lady Malcolm, asking her, "Will that do?"
"Oh, beautiful, beautiful!" exclaimed Lady Malcolm--"that is quite perfect!"
"Not yet," said Helen, and she added some touches more.
Juliet became impatient to see the sketch likewise, and, starting up playfully, she said--"I will be excluded no longer, Helen."
When she came round, however, her cheek took the colour of a rose. It was not alone Morley's portrait, but her own likewise, that Helen Barham had drawn; and, with a skill that nothing but intense feeling could have taught her, she had cast into the looks of both, as they seemed gazing upon each other, that expression of deep affection which she was but too sure was in their hearts.
Morley followed Juliet to Helen's side, almost at once, and gazing upon the picture, he first smiled with pleasure; but, the next instant, a thoughtful expression came over his countenance, and he looked down upon the beautiful head of Helen Barham--as she bent over it, resting her cheek upon her hand--with sensations that it would be difficult to describe. He asked himself hurriedly, what had been really her feelings? and then he would not suffer his heart to answer the question. He voluntarily suffered his ideas to remain confused; but in their vagueness was mingled not only much apprehension, lest there should be those things in the bosom of Helen which might affect her after-peace, but pity for her in every way, and a certain portion, if not of unmerited self-reproach, at least of regret, that it had not been possible for him to protect and support her from the beginning, through the medium of others.
Helen, however, seemed pleased with her work, she forced herself to be cheerful, and the evening passed over apparently brightly for all. The conversation, which had been diverted, for the time, from the subject of Count Lieberg's visit, returned to it ere long, and Helen recapitulated, in her own artless manner, all that had passed. At length she came to speak of his question in regard to calling upon her the following day, and she added--
"I was quite sure that I might tell him I was coming hither--"
Morley started, with a feeling of apprehension, but Helen instantly added--"However, as you had told me I was not to mention the fact to any one, I refrained, and merely said that I was seldom out, knowing that you could inform him of what you thought fit, afterwards."
"You did quite right, dear Miss Barham," replied Morley--"you did perfectly right. I entreated you to tell no one, and if I had wished any exception made, I would have said so."
Both Helen and Juliet gazed at Morley with some surprise; but Lady Malcolm instantly read a comment upon her young friend's reply, saying--"He is too gay a personage, Helen--this Count Lieberg--to be a very safe intimate for you. Not that I mean, my dear child, he would or could do you any harm; nor do I know, indeed, of any harm that he ever did do; but some men establish for themselves, by tolerating all vices, and associating intimately with persons of dissolute habits, the reputation of licentiousness, even when they do not deserve it. Now, I never in all my life heard the least harm of this Count Lieberg. I never saw his name in the papers, or anything of that kind; but, at the same time, he is a great deal with people who are notorious for dissipated habits, and consequently he is looked upon as one of the same class, though, perhaps, the best of the class. Nevertheless, Morley was quite right, Helen; there is no need at all of his knowing where you are, and, to say the truth, I think it better he should not."
Morley said nothing, but he was not a little obliged to Lady Malcolm for saving him the pain of an explanation; and, shortly after, he took his leave, promising to return the following day, and let Helen know what was the result of his second conference with her brother.
As soon as he was gone, Helen rose to retire to her room. A slight degree of paleness had come over her face, a look of exhaustion, which Juliet remarked, and very well understood. She came round, then, to where Helen stood, and putting her arm gently round her, she kissed her cheek, saying, in a low voice--"I think, Helen, you are more of an angel than any of us."
Helen pressed her hand gently in hers; and though not a word more was spoken on either part, each felt that she understood the other; and Helen Barham, with swimming eyes, retired to her chamber, and wept with very mingled feelings.
The interview between Morley Ernstein and William Barham was to take place at the hotel in Berkeley-square; and Morley had written to Lieberg, giving him notice that the young man would be there, and begging him, if possible, to meet him, as the draft was to be presented on the ensuing day, so that no time ought to be lost. Lieberg breakfasted an hour earlier than usual, but it was not with the object of being in time for the proposed meeting, as mid-day was the hour appointed; and as soon as he had done breakfast, he got into his cabriolet to drive to the house of Helen Barham.
When he reached the house, he got out and knocked himself, and his keen and marking eye at once perceived that it was not Helen's neat-looking maid who opened the door, but, on the contrary, a person bearing the look, which is very peculiar, of people that are put in to keep houses, which would otherwise be vacant.
In reply to his demand for Miss Barham, the woman said, in a short, quick tone--"She's not here, sir--she's gone."
"Pray, where is she gone to?" demanded Lieberg, in a quiet tone, as if the tidings did not surprise him in the least.
"I can't tell, sir," answered the woman. "Two ladies called for her, and took her away with them, but I don't know where, nor who they were."
"Ladies!" said Lieberg, with some emphasis; but the other replied immediately, with a toss of her head--"Yes, ladies, every inch of them; that I'll answer for; and so is she, too, poor thing, though she is not so rich as some; but as for their being ladies, the servant called his mistress 'My Lady' twice--that's all I know."
"And pray, who put you in here, to take care of the house?" said Lieberg.
"Why, the landlord, to be sure," replied the woman; "and he bade me, too, take great care of all Miss Barham's things, and to dust all that's in the drawing-room every day."
"So, then," said Lieberg, "Miss Barham has left some things behind her?"
"Oh, yes, a great many," replied the woman, who seemed not to be in the most respondent humour in the world; "but really, sir, I cannot stay answering questions all day. I have told you everything I know about the young lady, and that is little enough."
"It is so," replied Lieberg; and getting into his vehicle, without farther comment, he drove away.
As he was still a full hour and a half before his time, he sought for occupation, and to all appearance gave not a second thought to Helen Barham's place of residence. It was not so, however, in reality; and as he drove away, he repeated twice--"This is Ernstein's doing!" But he had now regained all that self-possession which Helen's beauty had for a time disturbed; and when--after attending a sale of pictures and bronzes, at Phillipps's Rooms, for about an hour--he proceeded to visit Morley Ernstein, his look was as calm and cheerful, his manner as unembarrassed and graceful, as ever. Not one word passed his lips in regard to his visit of that morning to the house of Helen Barham, though there was some meaning in the smile with which he shook hands with Morley on their meeting. To the call he had made on the preceding day, however, he referred at once, saying--"Well, Morley, I have seen this fair object of your benevolence, and must confess that her beauty, her grace, and her talent too, far exceed what I had expected. I cannot help thinking you a great fool, begging your pardon for so saying; but I suppose we shall never think alike upon these matters, and I shall give up attempting to convert you to my doctrines, for every man must seek happiness in his own way; and I do not see why a man's prejudices should not be considered as a part of his property which it is felony to rob him of, as well as anything else."
"Why, Lieberg," replied Morley, "prejudices, I should think, would be a sort of property of which, like paving-stones in a man's pocket, it would be kind to free him as soon as possible. But I rather think the dispute between you and me would be, as to which of my views are prejudices--which are principles. I do not mean to claim any outrageous morality, but in what I am doing now, I am quite sure I am right."
"I hope you are equally sure that you will be successful," replied Lieberg; "for my part, I think I shall soon leave the matter in your hands altogether, for I have some intention, ere the earth, and all it bears about with it, be a month older, of setting out for the Continent, and taking, what the people who travel and write books, call 'an autumn tour,' somewhere."
"Why, I thought," said Morley, "that you were going down to the house of Lord Medway for the season?"
"He invited me," answered Lieberg; "but I am not in a humour this year, either for stalking after partridges through a turnip-field, or for the beastly butchery of a battue. The last time I was at one, I felt myself like the dog that the man shewed about London some time ago--'Billy,' you know, that killed a hundred rats in a minute--and I determined never to go to such barn-door slaughter again. But here comes this good youth, I suppose," he added, seeing the door open; "do not tell him at first. We may see some of the workings of the passions, which is better sport than a battue."
Morley thought that it was as cruel sport, too; but the waiter announcing that a gentleman desired to speak with him, he directed him to be shewn in, and the moment after William Barham, with his pale, dissolute countenance, and his long light hair straggling as usual over his face, entered the room, but stopped suddenly short, on beholding Lieberg.
"Good morning, Mr. Barham," said Morley; "this gentleman is a friend of mine, who has promised me to do what he can to assist you. Take a seat, and let us talk over this affair."
"William Barham glanced first at Morley, and then at Lieberg, and then at the door, as if he would fain have made his escape; but finding that impossible, he sat down, and looked doggedly at the table. Morley turned to Lieberg, as if to ask him to begin the discussion; but certainly Lieberg did it in a way that Morley the least expected and approved.
"I find, Mr. Barham," he said, fixing his dark, piercing, intelligent eyes upon him, with a gaze that seemed to look into his very heart--"I find that you have committed a forgery, and are likely to be hanged."
William Barham started up from his seat, and stared at Lieberg and Morley with eyes full of the wild, wandering expression of terror.
"I have it from the best authority," said Lieberg, still bending upon him the same eagle glance. "Cousins, the Bow-street officer, who is watching for you, told me the whole story."
The lad sank down in the chair again, clasped his hands over his eyes, and sobbed aloud. Still Lieberg held him under his dark, firm gaze, and Morley, puzzled and surprised, did not know well whether to interfere, and endeavour to assuage the unnecessary suffering which his companion was inflicting upon the unhappy young man, or not. A pause of more than a minute ensued, and even a short pause, under such circumstances, is long. Perhaps Lieberg himself was in doubt how he should proceed.
"Is it not so?" he said, at length; and then, as the boy sat silent, he turned his eyes towards Morley Ernstein with a strange expression, which Morley did not well understand. There was a degree of unsated fierceness in it, and yet it seemed to ask--"Shall I rack him farther?--Will you abhor me, and interpose, if I do?"
Morley made a gesture, as if supplicating him to forbear, and in an instant the whole expression of Lieberg's countenance changed.
"Hark, young man!" he continued, speaking to young Barham, in a milder tone--"Do you know who I am?"
"No, sir," replied the unhappy youth; "I never saw you before, that I know of."
"And yet you have used my name for five hundred pounds!" said Lieberg.
The lad instantly sprang off his seat, and cast himself upon his knees at Lieberg's feet, exclaiming--"Forgive me--oh, forgive me!"
"I will forgive you," replied Lieberg, "upon one condition, which is, that you at once quit this country, and go to one of the Colonies--whichever I and my friend, Sir Morley Ernstein, may determine. You shall be furnished with money for your passage."
"But how shall I live when I am there?" exclaimed the youth. "I can but do as I have done here, and get into trouble again."
"There is no fear of that," interposed Morley; "some place or some occupation shall be found for you, which will put you above want, and if you behave well, means will be taken to procure your advancement."
"Besides," said Lieberg, "your sister will in all probability be able to do something for you. At all events, I and my friend, Sir Morley Ernstein, pledge ourselves that you shall be taken care of, if you conduct yourself properly. I must have no hesitation--this is your only chance of escaping the gallows, so choose quickly."
"Oh, I have chosen--I have chosen!" cried the young man, at once. "It would, of course, be far better for me to go and take my chance there, than stay here, and be hanged to a certainty."
"That is according to taste," answered Lieberg, who could not refrain from one of his bitter jests, even at that terrible moment; "however, if such be your opinion, come to me to-morrow at this same hour, and I will shew you the note you drew, paid by my banker."
"But," said the boy, gazing earnestly in his face, as if to discover what was passing in Lieberg's inmost thoughts, yet with a look of cunning fear also, both lest he should offend and lest he should be deceived: "but--but--suppose you should change your mind!"
"And hang you after ail!" rejoined Lieberg, with a contemptuous sneer: "it would be a very pleasant trick, young gentleman, for any of your present friends--such as Neville and others. But be so good as to recollect, that I have nothing to gain by hanging you: were I a surgeon, there might be some object, for I dare say you would make a very good subject for the anatomist's knife; but I am not a surgeon. Moreover, remember that if I wanted to send you to the gallows, I should have nothing to do this moment but to put my hand on your collar, call in the waiter, and send for an officer."
He took a step forward as he spoke, and the boy, in an agony of terror, started back, and looked behind him, as if he expected to see the whole array of Bow-street at the other side of the room.
"Now mark me, my good youth," said Lieberg, "and answer me straightforwardly; will you, or will you not come, as I have directed you?"
"I will, upon my honour, sir," replied the boy.
"Your honour!" exclaimed Lieberg; "but I have got a better hold upon you than your honour. Mark me, my good sir, if you do not come precisely to the minute, you will find yourself at the new drop before a month be over. The sessions are coming on, and we will make short work with you, for I will not be trifled with. Do not suppose, either, that you can escape, for you ought to know well enough, that every movement you make is known, and I could have taken you out of your bed last night, if I had thought right, for I knew quite well where you were."
"Where?" exclaimed the youth, with a shrewd look; "where?"
"Where you should not have been," replied Lieberg, sternly; "not many yards from ---- street, in the Strand."
The colour that comes up from agitation, not from shame--for alas, he was past that point--rose in the boy's countenance, and he only replied, "I will come--indeed I will."
Morley Ernstein had perceived from the first that Lieberg wished to conduct the whole business with William Barham himself, and although he might feel a suspicion, of which he was at the same time ashamed, regarding his companion's motives; yet he felt not only that he had no right, but also that it would be imprudent to interfere in a matter which entirely depended upon Lieberg himself. He had therefore abstained, as far as possible, from saying anything, but he now added a caution, which was totally independent of his friend's proceedings.
"If you will take my advice," he said, speaking to William Barham, "you will, in the meantime, that is to say, before you go to Colonel Lieberg's, avoid all your recent companions; and going home at once, remain quietly, without setting your foot beyond the doors till to-morrow."
Remarking that the boy hesitated, and answered nothing, and knowing what a hold evil habits have upon the mind, Morley resolved to try what fear would do, and for that purpose to make use of the information he had gained from Higgins. "I advise you alone for your own good," he said, "and to prevent you from missing the only chance of safety. You know quite well, that there are a number of other people engaged in this affair. Now those scoundrels will be glad enough to keep you here, in order to get your neck into the noose, instead of their own."
"I will peach against them all, if they do!" replied the youth, vehemently.
"That will not save you," replied Morley; "you are a principal, they are only accessories."
"I will not go near any of them," exclaimed the boy suddenly--"I will not go near any of them."
"Well, then, keep your resolution," rejoined Morley, "and you will do well. I pledge myself for your safety, as well as Colonel Lieberg, if you go to him to-morrow; but if you fail, I tell you as he has done, I abandon you from that moment, and will take no farther interest in you. Do you know where he lives?"
The young man replied in the affirmative, and took up his hat as if to depart, but then looked hesitatingly, first at Morley, and then at Lieberg, and then at Morley again. At length, however, he said, addressing the latter--"But I wanted to speak with you, Sir Morley--can't I have a word with you for a minute?"
Morley caught the quick eye of Lieberg glancing from the boy's face to his, and he replied at once: "If what you want to say refers to this business, it must be said to Colonel Lieberg, not to me, for upon him alone does your fate depend--or, at least, it must be said in his presence."
"It is not about that at all," answered the youth; "it is something which nobody has anything to do with, but you and I."
"Let him speak with you--let him speak with you, Morley," said Lieberg; "I am going to make a call on the other side of the square, and will be back with you again in ten minutes."
Thus saying, he left the room, and, the young man, after gazing in Morley's face for a few moments, demanded, abruptly--"Pray, where is my sister, sir?"
"Your sister is quite safe," replied Morley, in a calm tone, "and under the protection of those who will take care that no harm happens to her."
"That is to say, under yours, I suppose," said William Barham, looking at him with a keen and eager glance; "but I'll tell you what, sir, if such is the case, I think I have a right to ask, that you should settle something upon her, that she may not come to poverty too."
Morley grew angry. "You young scoundrel!" he said, "I have a great inclination to take you up, and throw you out of that window into the square. You have a right to ask, indeed! You, who would have sold your sister to a low and vagabond swindler--you, now to talk of having any right to meddle in her affairs!"
"You are wrong, sir," said the young man, boldly, and with a more straightforward tone than Morley had seen him yet assume; "you are wrong, sir; I would not have sold my sister. I would not have taken a penny for myself. Now that the truth must come out, I will tell you how it was--a man will do many things to save his life--what is there that he wont do, indeed?"
"Nothing dishonourable, if he be not a coward," answered Morley.
"Coward, or no coward!" rejoined the young man--"coward, or no coward, no man likes the gallows, and it was to save myself from that, that I did what I did; besides, I saw that, some day or another, she would not have bread to eat. She has been forced to sell almost everything, even now. Neville offered to settle five hundred a-year upon her, if I would consent, and to hang me if I didn't. So I had no choice; but I would not have taken a farthing from him myself, for all the world."
"You are not quite so bad as I thought you," replied Morley; "but, nevertheless, you are an atrocious scoundrel, and not a bit better for being a coward too. In regard to your sister, however, if you have really any feeling for her--and I can hardly think that such is the case with one who would prey upon her in the way that you have done--make your mind easy; she is no farther under my protection, than that I will see she is not subjected either to insult or annoyance. She is with two ladies who have taken an interest in her; one, a lady of high rank, and one, a young lady who is very dear to me. They will provide for and take care of her; but, as to your present demand, I should be wronging her and myself both, were I to do anything which, even in the eyes of the world, might cause it to be supposed there exists any other connexion between myself and her, than interest in her fate, and sorrow for her misfortunes."
"I suppose--" said the young man; but Morley stopped him at once.
"There is nothing more, sir, to be said upon the subject," he exclaimed. "I am very likely to be made angry in this matter; and, therefore, the less you speak, or suppose, the better."
"I was only going to say," replied the young man, "that I suppose, of course, as you know where she is, you'll have no objection to my seeing her."
"I certainly do know where she is," answered Morley; "but you will easily understand that, as she removed from her own house for the purpose of keeping at a distance from the influence you had so misused, and from the insulting solicitations which you had permitted and encouraged, there is not the slightest chance of your being permitted to see her. It was from yourself and your acquaintances that she fled; and, therefore, you will know nothing farther about her than you do know now, till you embark on board a vessel for one of the colonies. Your sister's address will then be furnished to you; you can write to her, if your wishes prompt you to do so, and she will answer you, informing you of her own situation, hopes, and prospects. This is all I have to say upon the subject, and you must expect nothing more."
The young man frowned upon him fiercely as he spoke; and after looking at him with a bitter and a disappointed glance, for a moment or two, he said--"God give you as hard a measure!"
"I hope he may give me just the same," replied Morley; "for I can call him to witness that I am acting as I judge best for the happiness both of yourself and her."
"Ay," said the young man, thoughtfully, "I may, some time or another, have the means of paying you this;" and without more ado, he quitted the room.
"He is a determined young villain!" was Morley's comment, as Helen's brother left him. "How strange it is that we sometimes see the gifts, both of mind and person, so unequally apportioned in the same family! Beauty, and talent, and virtue in one member of it, and vice, stupidity, and deformity in another. Who, even in look, would take that youth for Helen's brother?"
He had not long to consider the matter farther, for Lieberg soon came back, full of schemes of pleasure and amusement. He had a thousand things for Morley to see; he had a thousand things for Morley to do; and it was with difficulty that his friend, upon the excuse of other business, freed himself from him for an hour or two, in order that he might, as he had promised, convey to Helen Barham tidings of what had passed in regard to her brother. Perhaps it might have been a truer way of putting the matter, if we had said: in order to avail himself of the excuse he had made for visiting Juliet Carr. He promised, however, to join Lieberg in the park within two hours, and, certainly, those two hours were amongst the sweetest that ever he knew in life. He found Juliet Carr sitting with Lady Malcolm; Helen was in her own room; and after the elder lady had remained some short time, she rose, discreetly saying that she would send Miss Barham to hear what tidings he had brought. Juliet begged Lady Malcolm to let her go; and, I believe, that if one could have seen into her bosom, her heart would have been found beating terribly as she made the proposal. Lady Malcolm, however, replied--"I am going up for another pair of gloves, Juliet, and therefore I will tell her as I go."
Juliet and Morley were left alone. Strange to say, however, they both remained silent for several minutes. There was much that Morley desired to say, but yet the thought that Helen might come down every moment made him pause and hesitate, and lose even the time that he had. Juliet, on her part, divined something of what was passing in his breast, and she was afraid of speaking first, for she knew, whatever topic she chose, her voice would tremble so as to shew that her thoughts were busy with agitating subjects.
I do believe that seldom, if ever, has a declaration of love been made in this world without being managed in the most awkward way that it is possible to conceive. Indeed, though it may seem a contradiction in terms to say that imperfection is a part of perfection, yet I do believe that awkwardness is necessary to a proper declaration; for it is scarcely possible to believe two persons to be very much in love with each other, without being greatly agitated at that moment, and, consequently, not sufficiently master of their own thoughts to act with calmness and propriety.
Morley, however, at length discovered that the pause must not last any longer; and, as it was quite out of the question at that moment to talk of any indifferent subject, he went round the table, seated himself on the sofa by the side of Juliet, took her right hand, which lay idle in her lap, and pressing his lips upon it, added the small word "Juliet."
Juliet answered nothing, but sat with her beautiful eyes bent down, the colour glowing in her cheeks, her lip quivering, her bosom panting. Morley was beloved, and he felt it. "Juliet," he repeated--"Juliet, dear girl, after what I see, need I ask you any questions?"
"Oh, no, no!" murmured Juliet, turning her head slowly round, still bent so that he could scarcely see her glowing face for the rich hair that clustered over it; and, leaning her forehead and her eyes upon his shoulder, she repeated--"oh, no, no!"
The doors of Lady Malcolm's house were such as doors should always be, and opened noiselessly. Juliet's face was hid upon Morley's shoulder--her hand was clasped in his--his eyes were bent in tenderness upon her--his arm was thrown around her--when the door opened without their seeing it--closed again softly the moment after; and they remained alone for near an hour.
Alas! poor Helen Barham!