There are very few women on whom this stain is cast, who could, like the youthful Lady Glenmore, plead perfect innocence of intention; but she had been, almost at the outset of her marriage, thrown alone in the midst of the most dangerous class of the most dangerous society of London. She had not certainly to complain that Lord Glenmore had wilfully deserted or neglected her: his absence was a necessary consequence of the duties he had taken upon himself in his public career.
While, however, she acknowledged this, she could not but feel and mourn over his absence with childishsimplicity of tenderness: and when at last, partly from necessity, and partly from the various arts used to wean her from this innocent love, she felt, as it was natural she should feel, considering that no very strong principle of religion had been instilled into her mind, or given stability to her character, that there could be no impropriety in having recourse to the pleasures and pursuits of fashion—pleasures which pertained to her situation, and were not only sanctioned, but encouraged, by her husband—still, in doing this, it was not in her nature to aspire to any leading part, or to take any particular station, in the circle in which she moved. Had it been so,—had she been, in short, more worldly,—her conduct would have been more measured, more under the control of appearances; and though she would not have had so much real virtue, she would better have known how to preserve its semblance. But as it was, the object sought by her in the maze of pleasure was simply an indemnification for her husband's absence: and not possessing a mind stored by solid instruction, or gifted with strong judgment, amiable, pliant, and fond, she entered on this perilous career without one of those qualities which might have enabled her to steer her course with safety.
Thus exposed, she risked becoming the victim ofany designing persons who found it their amusement or their interest to render her the subject of licentious animadversion. Where almost every event, as in the kind of life described, bears some analogy, little variety occurs to mark the progress of time. One intrigue resembles another; one slander is like its neighbour; onesoiréeis a specimen of all: and unless, indeed, some defiance of morality more glaring than usual, some solecism in a marriage or a ball, a death or a breakfast, take place, there is little for the chronicler of the system to register in his page.
Ministers had looked forward to rest after the burthen of the session; the nobles had gone to their country seats to enjoy the beauties of the "sere and yellow leaf," there to renew the dissipations of the town. Hither, too, the invitedintriganthad followed the object of his present pursuit, to tell in shady bowers the tale, so often told before to others, of treacherous love; while the sportsman, with more open and more honest if not nobler aim, hied him to moors and highlands in pursuit of his ruling passion.
If, during the last moments of the waning season, nothing of stronger character had occurred, on Lady Glenmore's and Mr. Leslie Winyard's part, toattract the particular notice of the circle in which theirliaisonwas matter of conversation, still there was no relaxation ofhisattentions, or ofherapparent preference, to justify the belief that he had relinquished his pursuit, or that she had discarded him.
Lady Tilney, therefore, continually urged Lady Tenderden to the necessity of adopting the measures she had proposed; and the latter, having satisfied herself that no unpleasant responsibility was likely to attach to her, consented to fill her allotted part in the measure, and propose to Lady Glenmore to accompany her on a tour.
"What do you do with yourself this summer?" said Lady Tenderden to the latter, as she was sittingtête-à-têtewith her one morning.
"Indeed I do not in the least know what are Glenmore's plans; but I should hope we shall go to the country somewhere, for I begin to feel that my health suffers from the racket of a town life. But whateverhechooses I shall like best, for nothing would do me any good if he were not to be of the party."
"Oh! quelle enfantillage!Well! I hoped you had chased away that bad habit of being always in de leading-string. What!youa minister's wife, andsuppose that he is to follow you upstairand downstair en nourrissonall your life! My dear, how would de state be taken care of after this fashion?"
"True," said Lady Glenmore, sighing, "and I am now used to be alone." In fact Lady Tenderden knew that these words were uttered more from habit than from feeling them in the painful degree in which they would once have been spoken; and she replied,
"Well then, my dear ladi,il faut prendre son partie; and since it is impossible you should have him alwaysà vos trousses, what think you of making a little excursion with me toLes Eaux de Barèges, or to Spa, for two or three months in thebelle saison? This would, I should think, exactly suit you: it will refresh your beauty, refit yourtoilette, et vous reviendrez entièrement renouvellée. On se ressent de la fumée de Londres.It is quite necessary to go away; and avillegiaturain England is so dull!"
"What, go abroad!" said Lady Glenmore with unfeigned surprise.
"Vous êtes impayable," rejoined Lady Tenderden, "comme j'ai souvent eu l'honneur de vous dire. One would imagine you lived a hundred years ago, when people talked of going abroad asthey would of going to the moon;—but, now, abroad is at home.Allons!I will not allow you to hesitate. Leave me to settle the matter with Glenmore. I will arrange every thing; and he shall come and meet you, and bring you home, in case I choose to pass the winter at Paris."
Lady Glenmore had not the least idea that her husband would think of consenting to this proposal, but gave a sort of half acquiescence, more to escape from Lady Tenderden's persecuting entreaties, than from any wish to realize the scheme; and she was quite astonished, some days afterwards, to find Lord Glenmore of opinion that this plan would be the pleasantest thing in the world for her, the best adapted to recruit her health, and in all ways the most eligible. Half grieved at the thoughts of absence from him, half gratified at his eager desire to procure her a pleasure, and persuaded at length by his solicitations to try the remedy of change of air for the languor which had of late appeared to have affected her naturally good constitution,—the wish too of yielding implicit obedience to his will,—all combined to determine to consent; and she finally agreed to the proposed excursion, which was soon followed by preparations and arrangements for their departure to Barèges.
Whileevents thus intimately connected with Lady Glenmore's happiness were silently progressing, Lord Albert D'Esterre's mind was engrossed and torn by a thousand contending feelings of a nature wholly different, but not less fatally destructive of his peace. After recovering from the violence of the first shock which Lady Dunmelraise's sudden departure had occasioned, he had remained torpid and incapable of action: then again, inwardly harassed by the most lively anxiety, he had awaited, with an agony of suspense which none can know save those who have experienced how "hope deferred maketh the heart sick," the communication which he felt Lady Dunmelraise could not possibly long delay, relative to Lady Adeline.
During each of the four and twenty hours which had passed since the blow had fallen on him, Lord Albert had thus been the victim of one contradictory passion or other: but still, in the alternatestorm or lull of his emotions, he had mechanically sought the society of the only person in the world whom he now believed entered into his feelings, or took any real interest in his fate. It may be readily supposed that Lady Hamlet Vernon did not lose the advantage which this undivided share of his time afforded her; and she found means, even in the state of apathy in which Lord Albert seemed plunged, and during the lengthened silence to which, at intervals, he gave way even in her presence, to impress him, by a thousand attentions, with a sense of the deep sympathy she felt in all his sufferings. At the same time, she knew the wound that rankled at his heart was yet too recent to be rudely touched, and the paroxysm of his malady too violent to bear those remedies which, with the skilful and tender solicitude of one who watches a patient on the bed of sickness, she awaited a favourable moment to administer, but forced not injudiciously upon his acceptance.
With one exception only, no event occurred, no word was spoken, no circumstance had been alluded to, that could in the remotest degree bring forward the dreaded name of Lady Adeline. When, however, Lord Albert heard, accidentally, at Lady Hamlet Vernon's, that Mr. Foley had also left towna few days after Lady Dunmelraise, his feelings were roused to a pitch that nearly decided him on hastening to Dunmelraise in person. Nor is it probable, notwithstanding Lord Albert's former resolves, that he would longer have hesitated to take this step, had he not been assured, in the most pointed and positive manner, by Lady Hamlet herself (who foresaw and dreaded the effect of this natural impulse), that Mr. Foley hadnotfollowed Lady Adeline, but was gone on a visit to some other part of the country.
This intelligence again changed the current of his feelings, and for the moment he was lulled into a security, that while his rival appeared not in Adeline's presence, she would have leisure and freedom of mind to reflect and repent of the cruelty of her behaviour towards himself; and vainly imagined that there was better hope in leaving her to the workings of her own heart, than by giving way to any reproaches which he might have made.
Thus he lost the only chance that remained to him, of avoiding the blow which was so soon to annihilate all hope. It was a fortnight after Lady Adeline's leaving London, that the post brought him a letter, at sight of the well-known characters of which he trembled; for with one glance he recognizedthem to be the hand-writing of Lady Dunmelraise. He knew that that letter must be the arbiter of his fate, that it must lead to an explanation; and he felt that no explanations were likely to prove happy ones. For a few moments he held the letter in his hand, dreading to break the seal, for he was aware that it was the messenger which was either to condemn him to the loss of Adeline, or give him the power to seek her as his wife; and, of the latter, something within his breast forbade the hope. At length he slowly tore open the paper, and, with a gasping eagerness, read as follows:
"My dear Lord Albert D'Esterre,"The period which was to decide the fulfilment of the wishes entertained by Lord Tresyllian and the late Lord Dunmelraise respecting yourself and Lady Adeline has at length arrived. Wishes of this kind, however, are unfortunately too often subject to the same changes which attend on every thing earthly; and it would be weak, therefore, as well as wrong, to lament over them when unrealized: still less should we do so, when their accomplishment no longer appears to hold out that prospect of felicity which, in the present instance, I am certain, was the only motive for their first indulgence. Ineed not, my lord, enter upon the reasons which have induced my daughter to resign the honour of an alliance with your house: they will naturally suggest themselves to your own heart; and if they do not do this, I consider an explanation of them would be an intrusion on my part, of which I should be sorry to be guilty."I remain, my dear Lord Albert D'Esterre,"Your very faithful and obedient"Eliza Dunmelraise.""P. S. I forward a copy of my letter to Lord Tresyllian by this post."
"My dear Lord Albert D'Esterre,
"The period which was to decide the fulfilment of the wishes entertained by Lord Tresyllian and the late Lord Dunmelraise respecting yourself and Lady Adeline has at length arrived. Wishes of this kind, however, are unfortunately too often subject to the same changes which attend on every thing earthly; and it would be weak, therefore, as well as wrong, to lament over them when unrealized: still less should we do so, when their accomplishment no longer appears to hold out that prospect of felicity which, in the present instance, I am certain, was the only motive for their first indulgence. Ineed not, my lord, enter upon the reasons which have induced my daughter to resign the honour of an alliance with your house: they will naturally suggest themselves to your own heart; and if they do not do this, I consider an explanation of them would be an intrusion on my part, of which I should be sorry to be guilty.
"I remain, my dear Lord Albert D'Esterre,
"Your very faithful and obedient
"Eliza Dunmelraise."
"P. S. I forward a copy of my letter to Lord Tresyllian by this post."
"It is then as I thought," exclaimed Lord Albert. "Faithless, treacherous, cold-hearted Adeline! why did I ever love you? Why place my happiness on so frail, so unworthy a tenure? But it is well; it is better thus. Since I have now no cause to mourn your loss, I will not suffer grief for such an object to master me. It is well that you are lost to me. Lost!"—he started at the sound, as he repeated, "Yes, lost to me for ever!" and his lip trembled, while a sense of suffocation oppressed and overpowered him, and tears, burning tears, burst from his eyes. Not softly, not refreshingly, did they flow, but like the lava's flood, which scathes the pathdown which it courses. For two days and two nights Lord Albert remained in the most pitiable state of mind. He would see no one, for to whom could he unburthen his griefs? and not to speak of them was impossible: to whom would he deign to show his lacerated heart? yet to what other subject than that by which it was torn could he give utterance?
The necessity of replying to Lady Dunmelraise's letter was the first thing that aroused him from this lethargy of sorrow; but when he essayed the task, he found it one of no easy nature. He read andre-readthe letter; he endeavoured to extract from it some gleam of hope, some opening of possible change; but it was so calm, so cuttingly and despairingly reasonable, so dignified yet so decided in its tone, so meek yet so authoritative, that he felt it pronounced a verdict which admitted of no appeal.
"Be it so," he said, with the composure of despair; "but, at least, I too will speak my mind. Yet how? In a brief answer embody a world of thought? How can words convey the sense of a broken heart? No! language cannot do that. And if it could paint my feelings, why should I humble myself before those who have thus sportedwith and spurned them? why lay bare the weakness of my heart to those who have proved themselves incapable of compassion? What can I expect to gain by so doing? Nothing."
Blinded by this false reasoning, he felt, at that moment, that he would have rejected Lady Adeline's hand, could he have gained it; convinced, as he was, that her affections were no longer his own. Besides, who ever reclaimed or regained a heart by reproaches? And then again relapsing into tenderness, he mourned over the defalcation of that purity and truth which he had worshipped even more than her charms. All these, and more than these, were the thoughts which checked the flow of Lord Albert's pen as he wrote copy after copy in answer to the letter, and tore each, in despair of ever writing one which could in any degree comprise or convey his mixed and agonized feelings.
But again the necessity of some answer pressed upon him; and, although with the conviction that none which he could write at that moment would be adequate to express what he felt, or prove a faithful interpreter of the thousand tortures that possessed him, he finally traced and folded up a few brief sentences, sealing the envelope immediately, as if to preclude the possibility of further delay.Yet once more he hesitated, once more a wish arose to write altogether in a different tone and strain; but then he rapidly recalled to his aid all his late reasonings and feelings on the subject, and finally despatched the following letter:
"Dear Lady Dunmelraise,"It would be doing injustice to my own feelings, if I did not state that they alone have prevented my answering your letter sooner; the purpose and tenor of which made me too plainly feel, that any development of the sufferings called forth by its contents would be equally misplaced and obtrusive to you, as well as to Lady Adeline."To say that any emotion ofsurprisehas mingled with my sorrow would be contrary to truth, because I had felt the sudden and unexpected departure of your ladyship from London (not even communicated to me till your present letter) announced some decided change in your opinion and determinations in regard to myself. There is one point, however, for which, in the midst of all my sufferings, I must feel grateful: it is, that the letter which announces to me the forfeiture of that happiness which for years I have been taught to cherish and consider as my own, leaves me nodoubt that the future welfare of Lady Adeline now centres in some other object, in the attainment of which it will be more surely realized, than had it continued to rest on me. That that welfare may be realized in every sense of the word will ever be the prayer of,"Dear Lady Dunmelraise,"Your faithful and affectionate servant,"D'Esterre.""P. S. I shall of course communicate your letter, accompanied by my answer, to my father, Lord Tresyllian."
"Dear Lady Dunmelraise,
"It would be doing injustice to my own feelings, if I did not state that they alone have prevented my answering your letter sooner; the purpose and tenor of which made me too plainly feel, that any development of the sufferings called forth by its contents would be equally misplaced and obtrusive to you, as well as to Lady Adeline.
"To say that any emotion ofsurprisehas mingled with my sorrow would be contrary to truth, because I had felt the sudden and unexpected departure of your ladyship from London (not even communicated to me till your present letter) announced some decided change in your opinion and determinations in regard to myself. There is one point, however, for which, in the midst of all my sufferings, I must feel grateful: it is, that the letter which announces to me the forfeiture of that happiness which for years I have been taught to cherish and consider as my own, leaves me nodoubt that the future welfare of Lady Adeline now centres in some other object, in the attainment of which it will be more surely realized, than had it continued to rest on me. That that welfare may be realized in every sense of the word will ever be the prayer of,
"Dear Lady Dunmelraise,
"Your faithful and affectionate servant,
"D'Esterre."
"P. S. I shall of course communicate your letter, accompanied by my answer, to my father, Lord Tresyllian."
No sooner was this letter beyond the power of Lord Albert's recall, and actually on the way to Dunmelraise, than he would have given every thing he possessed could he have changed its tenor: but this was only one of those fluctuations of passion, of which he had of late been so cruelly the sport; and the impulse of the moment, had its object been attained, would as readily have given place to some other of a quite different tendency. When the mind is once suffered to float about without a guiding principle of action, it is a mercy and a miracle if the being thus actuated does not become the prey of destruction.
As Lord Albert perused over and over again the copy of his answer, he imagined he read in it sufficient ground to call forth an explanation, on the part of Lady Dunmelraise, of the causes which had led to her sudden abandonment of Lady Adeline's engagement with himself. But then he speculated upon objects which like a blind man he could not see; for never admitting, nor indeed feeling conscious, that it was his own errors which had wrought the change in Lady Adeline, he never could rightly apprehend the line of conduct which of necessity she must pursue. If he had done so, had he taken the beam from his own eye, then would he clearly have seen to take the mote from hers; and it would not have required a second perusal of his answer to Lady Dunmelraise to have acknowledged that it afforded no opening whatever, whether from its tone or its contents, to induce herself or Lady Adeline to swerve from the course they had adopted, or lead them to any other determination than that which they had already avowed.
He however endeavoured to make himself think otherwise, and in some degree he succeeded in this object; for what distortion will the imagination not assume when warped by passion? In this delusive hope he continued for some days, vainly expectingevery post to bring him some communication from Dunmelraise. How little he knew Lady Dunmelraise's feelings! how falsely he judged of his own! As soon as she perused his letter, she did not for a moment think of replying to it. She had indeed not doubted, for weeks past, that Lord Albert's heart and affections were totally alienated from her child; but the degree of cold indifference with which, in herreadingof his answer, he seemed to cast her off, exceeded what she could have thought possible. It may be that, in her interpretation of the letter, Lady Dunmelraise yielded in some degree to her previously-formed prejudices; and, as is ever the case when we yield to prejudice, saw through them as through a glass darkly, and pronounced the being who could thus coldly renounce such a treasure as Adeline wholly unworthy of further thought. Far from feeling, therefore, that Lord Albert's reply required any further notice, or that it contained any thing which could raise an after-regret if passed by in silence, or reanimate a dying spark of hope in Lady Adeline's breast, she considered it final and definitive, and without hesitation placed the letter in her daughter's hands.
Lady Adeline's sentiments, on having perusedit, were in accordance with Lady Dunmelraise's; but as soon as the first brief flush of indignation had passed away, the bitterness of sorrow that was rooted in her heart claimed its full power, andgrief, not anger, preyed like a canker on the bloom of her existence. Lady Dunmelraise watched, week after week, with an anxiety proportioned to its object, for a return of something like cheerfulness on the countenance of her dear child; but though resignation sat on Lady Adeline's pallid brow, and beamed in her angel smile, still there was a settled melancholy, a change of fearful import, impressed on her whole person. Even her very movements, once so gay and elastic, were now languid and measured, like one who was soon to pass to another sphere. Nothing of the vivacity of her age and temperament remained; and Lady Dunmelraise felt that she waited for the hoped-for change in vain.
It was therefore some relief to her, when a visit from Mr. Foley created a variety in the daily routine of their lives; and Lady Dunmelraise thought or fancied that the exertions which Lady Adeline made, in order to be agreeable to one for whom she had always entertained a maternal solicitude, seemed the only circumstance that at all dissipated the gloom in which her daughter was now habituallyinvolved. Mr Foley, however, while he remarked this favourable change, ascribed it to other motives; and with that self-love which predominated in his character, he saw in it a growing preference for himself, and waited only for a season in which he conceived the feelings of Lady Dunmelraise and her daughter would be sufficiently prepared to admit of a disclosure of his sentiments, to make an open avowal of them.
Meanwhile, Lord Albert, who was equally with Lady Adeline the victim of self-delusion and martyred affection, continued to drag through the heavy hours till even suspense itself became blunted. But Lord Albert continued to strengthen himself in what he deemed the duplicity and heartlessness of her conduct, and found a diversion to his sufferings in the idea that they were occasioned by an unworthy object, whom he was called upon by every rational principle to banish from his remembrance.
At length it likewise became known to him that Mr. Foley was actually an inmate of Dunmelraise, and this circumstance set the seal to the erroneous conviction which for so many months had been gaining on his deluded mind. Whilst thus discarded, as he imagined, by her whom he had, in fact, always loved dearer than the whole world beside;wounded in his tenderest feelings, and offended in his family pride; Lord Albert unhappily found himself supported in his mistaken apprehensions by his father, Lord Tresyllian, who, accustomed to refer most actions to love of aggrandisement and power, and having survived those softer affections which at one time bound him to Lord Dunmelraise, and made him anxiously wish for a union between their children, now only saw in Lady Dunmelraise's withdrawing from this engagement some concealed object of interest, which impelled him scornfully to resent her behaviour, and thus confirm the delusive views of his son.
From the time of Lord Albert's having come of age, the entire independence of his circumstances had (without violation, however, of any filial duty on his part) occasioned his intercourse with his father to be of rare occurrence; but when he communicated the purport of Lady Dunmelraise's letter to Lord Tresyllian, an identity of feelings seemed to arise between them; and in their offended pride a tie of sympathy was freshly formed, by which they mutually encouraged each other in an ill-founded and unjust resentment.
Lord Albert's heart, however, was far differently constituted from his father's, and in most otherrespects they felt not together. Still, therefore, he found himself alone, as it were, in the world, without one kindred breast on which to lean. Perhaps no sensation of pain is greater than this conscious loneliness of being. He had hitherto avoided all open confidence with Lady Hamlet Vernon on the subject of Lady Adeline; for though she was well acquainted with all that had passed, yet, from motives of delicacy, as well as from a secret mistrust even of her sympathy, he had remained silent. But when at length freed from the only tie which sealed his lips, the long-cherished and lingering hope of Lady Adeline's returning affection, it required no stimulus to make Lord Albert unburthen his heart and all its griefs to one, the only one, who, he thought, entered into them. The subject once commenced, the whole troubled tide of fears, belief, conviction, and subsequent indignation, was poured into her ear.
Too readily, and with too greedy delight, did she receive this confidence, as the sweet confirmation of all her long-nurtured and most ardent wishes; and the first step she took, in consequence, to heighten his resentment against Lady Adeline, was to avow a knowledge of Mr. Foley's long residence at Dunmelraise to be the result of his passionfor her; a passion approved, she said, by Lady Dunmelraise, as well as by her daughter, and which was soon to terminate in marriage; adding, at the same time, that she felt, as well as their mutual friends (meaning Lady Tilney and hercoterie), that it was matter of congratulation that an alliance so thoroughly destructive to his views and pursuits of life should thus be dissolved.
While in this manner Lady Hamlet Vernon fixed the dagger more firmly in Lord Albert's breast, she no longer hesitated to evince for him, in every word, and look, and action, her devotedness; and it was not in nature, that under such an influence he should be allowed to retrace his steps, even had he wished to do so, or to reflect on his own conduct; although, had he had recourse to self-examination, even in this stage of the business, he might still have retrieved his error.
Day after day, week after week, his diseased state of mind gained ground, till at length the whole moral man became corrupt, and Lord Albert was the slave of her whom he would have loathed, could he but have seen the snare she had so artfully drawn around him. It is true, the duties of his official situation employed him somehours every morning; and in the routine of these there was no analogy to any thing like feeling, so that they proved a temporary antidote to pain: but when they were over, he was in the society of Lady Hamlet Vernon, and of Lady Hamlet Vernon alone; for it was the nature of a mind like his to be wholly engrossed by one object.
The world, that in reality cares for no one's actions, except as affecting itself, looked on with indifference, and saw in Lord Albert's course only curious matter for speculation. Some pitied him as a fool, should he contemplate matrimony with Lady Hamlet Vernon; while others applauded the dexterity of the woman who could succeed in leading him captive, and secure to herself so great a prize. But one friend yet remained to Lord Albert, who would have sincerely lamented the circumstance, could he have believed such an event as marriage possible; because though Lady Hamlet Vernon was undoubtedly clever, handsome, fascinating, yet he saw in her no sound intrinsic qualities, nor was there attached to her rank or situation any of that preponderating family influence, which he could have wished should distinguish the wife of his friend. But Lord Glenmore was not one of those who doubted Lord Albert's goodsense or principles; and though he saw him involved in aliaisonwhich he was far from approving, still he looked upon it as one of those temporary attachments from which he hoped soon to see him liberated, and therefore discarded all serious fears for him. But Lord Glenmore was unfortunately mistaken. The entanglement in which Lord Albert was involved was not one easily to be broken through.
Lady Hamlet Vernon's object was advancing rapidly, and her victim nearly sacrificed. London was now almost empty. The only individuals of note remaining in it were some official persons, who were looking forward with anxiety to the moment of their departure. Lady Glenmore's arrangements for her visit to the continent had been finally adjusted; and she had at length quitted town with a heart divided between regret at leaving her husband, and that kind of anticipated pleasure which attends a first visit to a foreign country.
Whether any regret mingled with these sentiments, as she journeyed with Lady Tenderden to the point of embarkation, at the idea of being likely to lose in her absence the society of Mr. Leslie Winyard, it is difficult to say; and equally so whether the result of this absence wouldbreak through that intimacy with the latter, which hersoi-disantfriends considered to be of such perilous tendency. Mr. Leslie Winyard certainly did not leave town immediately on her departure.
In the midst of these final removals for the season, Lady Hamlet Vernon found it difficult to arrange her passing the approaching autumn in the society of Lord Albert. To propose to himself directly any project of the kind was, she thought, hazardous; and though feeling the importance of securing to herself his presence, she was obliged to trust to chance, and to the habitual influence which she knew she had obtained over him, in order to ensure his following her wherever she went.
"Where do you mean to pass your autumn, Lord Albert?" she said one day to him, speaking as if in an unpremeditated manner, and announcing at the same time her intention of going to Tunbridge. "Perhaps you will be induced, if you have no other plan in view, to pay me a visit there?"
"Yes," he replied, sighing, "I shall like it exceedingly. Where canIgo but where you are? Nobody else in the wide world, save yourself, cares for me;"—and a tender glance from Lady Hamlet Vernon gave back a confirmation of the latter part of this querulous speech.
Many days more did not elapse, when Lord Albert, although pressed by Lord Glenmore in the most friendly manner to accompany him to his country seat during the recess, misled by the unfortunate and false conviction that no one participated in his feelings save her who had in reality caused their bitterness, blindly yielded to the delusion of this hollow attachment, and found himself loitering round Lady Hamlet Vernon's footsteps on the furze-clad hills of Tunbridge.
Howeversmall the interest which Lady Tilney really took in preserving the purity of Lady Glenmore's characterintacte, still her wishes for the preservation of that outward decorum which she deemed necessary towards the maintenance of hercoterie's respectability were perfectly sincere. It will not, however, appear that in this instance her wishes were likely to be realized.
On landing on the continent, the point to which Lady Glenmore and Lady Tenderden directed their steps was Spa, having abandoned their previous intention of going to Barèges; a change in their plans, which they decided upon partly from the length of the journey, and partly from Lady Glenmore's not liking to be so very far from her husband. When they reached Spa, they found some few of their acquaintance already there, foreigners as well as English; and ten days had not elapsed from their arrival, before Mr. Leslie Winyard, accompanied by Lord Gascoigne, joined their circle.
Lady Tenderden had already made a selection of such as were to constitute her society, and of course these latter persons were admitted in the number. Allowing for change of place and difference of hours, the same desultory mode of life was pursued by them at Spa as in London, and at best the same vacuity of mind and intention became the result. This negative description of the passing hours, however, was not applicable to all. Of course, in the present instance, there could have been but one motive which induced Mr. Leslie Winyard to resign the pleasures of an English autumn for the waters of Spa; and this fact he seemed at no pains to conceal. Lady Glenmore was his avowed object.
There is something always unfavourable to virtuous happiness in thevoluntaryabsence of a wife from her husband, and especially if she has designedly or carelessly, from vanity ordésœuvrement, given encouragement to marked attentions from any other than her husband. Whatever may be alleged by some, that absence makes meeting sweeter, and renovates affection, it may be laid down as a rule well known to experience, that genuine wedded love is best maintained by that sweet habitude which renders each a part of the other, and whichfeels not that it can live separate from that dearer self; and happy, and only truly happy, are those married persons who, in an honest heart, feel that they can add to love virtue, and to virtue habit; so that, when long years have gone by as a tale that is told, they can look back upon their course with joy, and feel it dearer as they know it to have been hallowed by thelungo costumeand thedolce memorie.
Unnecessaryabsences, on the contrary, between married persons, are at best very dangerous experiments: they induce in women an independence of feeling inimical to tenderness, and incompatible with the duties of a wife; and encourage, on the part of others, an intimacy and a freedom of manner, to the abandonment of those forms which, in the presence of the husband, would perhaps be observed.
Thus it was in the case of Lady Glenmore. Mr. Leslie Winyard, already too much encouraged by her easy good-nature and affability, impelled by vanity to suppose himself irresistible when he chose to give himself the trouble of being so, and not wholly indifferent to her whom he now pursued, considered Lady Glenmore's absence from England as intended to afford an opportunity for the furtherance of their intimacy. The mode of life at Spa,and similar places on the continent, where the English congregate, however resembling the empty folly of London in its moral effect, differs in this respect, that it is more like living in a family circle, divested of the ceremonious restraints of societies in great cities. The daily routine of arrangements which threw all those who circled together into an unavoidable familiarity, the long excursions during the day, the repose under some shade after fatigue, the return at night, the supper, the dance that not unfrequently followed, proved all of them too favourable opportunities for a man of intrigue.
If, therefore, Lady Glenmore was in peril, when guarded by the forms of society, in the presence of a husband whom she loved, and feeling the wholesome moral check which, to a young mind entering on the snares of life, the consciousness of a supposed cognizance of parents and friends so usefully imposes,—if, under all these circumstances of protection, she had yielded to, or rather been entangled in, an indiscretion respecting her intimacy with Mr. Leslie Winyard,—how much more fearful was her present danger, when no restraints of the kind were at hand to guard or to warn her!
Had Lady Tilney's object been of that true and high nature which proposed no result but to saveLady Glenmore's virtue, she would not have intrusted her to the guardianship of such a person as Lady Tenderden, who united to the airy flightiness of a Frenchwoman the spirit of anintrigante, which is to be found in all nations. But Lady Tilney's object was merely worldly and prudential, namely, that of removing a probablefracasfrom her own circle in England; and this point carried, the other was of small importance. Lady Tenderden had drawn round her a society at Spa, quite in harmony with that which she had been accustomed to live in. There were several persons of thecoterieof London, who, from time to time, made their appearance among them, and kept up the tone of therassemblementto its own peculiar pitch. Mingled with these were foreigners of distinction and diplomatists of various nations, who, from forming a false estimate of English society, as most foreigners do, fall into a very natural mistake respecting the higher classes in England, of whom they judgeen masseby the limited specimen which they are taught to consider as the sample of our nobility, and who therefore, with this false view, circled round Lady Tenderden and her friends on the present occasion, as the centre of attraction and a model of English manners; a melancholy mistake, andone by which foreigners have been led into the greatest errors respecting our higher classes.
Although this remark did not at first apply personally to Lady Glenmore, yet, under the circumstances of the case, Lady Tenderden was not a fitting guardian in any respect for her; and in the end, during their residence at Spa, the permission of Leslie Winyard'sdévouementmade it attach to her with too much truth, and she became, consequently, as much the subject of animadversion and example as Lady Tenderden herself. In the life of dissipation thus followed, not even the seventh day was left for reflection or repose. The too often misapplied and dangerous adage, that "one must do at Rome as they do at Rome," was an excuse for entirely forgetting the Sabbath to keep it holy, an observance which is in some degree attended to amongst us (except by the most notoriously profligate); but it has been a just reproach of many thinking Roman Catholics on our nation, that, when abroad, we lay aside the religion we profess, at least its forms, while we laugh at those whichtheyfollow.
Of what religion are we, then? might be the natural question asked, and was one which applied certainly to Lady Glenmore, who had now learnt themost fatal of all lessons, that it is unnecessary to hallow the Sabbath day; and she went on to learn, that she could live and be happy without her husband. Letters came from him, breathing kindness and affection, and these were answered with something like a corresponding feeling, for still in her heart his image was enshrined, although her vanity betrayed her into the perilous error of being engrossed at the moment by the attentions and presence of another. Lord Glenmore's letters, however, contained no hope of his being able to join her at Spa; for government contemplated an earlier assembling of parliament than usual, and the presence of all the ministers was required at an unusually early period. This circumstance, however, affected Lady Glenmore but little, for her regret was waning into carelessness at his absence. Thus bound to England, Lord Glenmore expressed his wish that Lady Glenmore should leave Spa about the end of October or middle of November, and proceed by the way of Paris, where he still indulged a faint hope that he should be able to join her.
Notwithstanding much dissuasion on the part of Lady Tenderden and Mr. Leslie Winyard against obeying these injunctions, Lady Glenmore remained firm, and they shortly after were on their way toParis. Mr. Leslie Winyard, of course, took his route to Paris likewise; for though he began to feel that the affairtrainé en longueur, he was determined at least to enjoy therenomméeof adding another name to the list of his successes. At Paris the rumour of his attachment to Lady Glenmore found a wider range, and amongst the mixed, and larger aggregate of English, became the subject of more marked and varied observation. Here, therefore, in the same selfish spirit of worldly-mindedness which had induced Lady Tilney to send Lady Glenmore to the continent, Lady Tenderden saw the propriety of giving some admonitory hints to the latter: such as, "It was not well to stake all on one throw: that it was not ingood tasteto have but one cavalier always in attendance; and that thepréféréhimself would cease to be flattered by that preference, if he hadchamp librealways at command, without any competitors to dispute the honour with him. Besides, there is a certainretenueto be observed," she went on to say, "by women of fashion, who should never give the vulgar an advantage over them, by not having a ready reply to make, or be made, to any disadvantageous or impertinent observations: for example, if they should say, 'Mr. Leslie Winyard is always at Lady Glenmore'selbow,' it might be answered, 'And so is Prince Luttermanne, and Lord Gascoigne, and Lord Baskerville, and a thousand others.' A little address, my dear Lady Glenmore, sets all this sort of things to rights; only one must know how to conduct oneself."
"There is nothing wrong," replied the still innocent but somewhat perplexed Lady Glenmore, "and therefore there is nothing to set right."
"Non, assurément, nothing wrong," answered Lady Tenderden; adding in herdoucereuxvoice, with more of truth than was usual under herpatte de velours, "and that isjust the reasonwhy you are not sufficiently upon your guard."
These hints, however, appeared so indirect in their tendency, and of so little consequence in the eyes of her to whom they were addressed, that they were merely smiled at, and passed by unheeded.
In this state matters continued till far on in November. It was the very season when Paris was beginning to fill. A few weeks of protracted absence from home was again pleaded for by Lady Tenderden, even though Lord Glenmore, from press of business in the ministry, had been obliged to abandon all idea of joining them; and accordingly they lingered on from day to day at Paris.
The same cause which prevented Lord Glenmore from leaving London obliged Lord Albert D'Esterre to quit Brighton, whither he had accompanied Lady Hamlet Vernon. In returning to the subject of thisliaison, few particulars can be adduced which would not appear trite and stale. Like all intimacies of the same nature, it had during this interval gradually approached a climax. Nothing in this world is stationary: the world itself is passing swiftly away; but the use or abuse we make of existence remains. Lord Albert's intimacy with Lady Hamlet Vernon, must of necessity have either assumed a decided character, or have been totally broken off; and, unfortunately for him, she played too deep a stake to lose for one moment that vigilance and foresight for which she was so distinguished, and which alone had constituted the success of her designs. It may be readily imagined that she now redoubled all her care, to secure the prize which was so nearly within her grasp. During the last few weeks, in which Lord Albert and herself had continued isolated from all other society, with nothing to call his attention away from her, or to direct the current of his thoughts into any other channel, the result may be easily guessed.
Lord Albert made proposals of marriage; and itis unnecessary to add they were accepted with a transport of joy which Lady Hamlet Vernon could ill conceal within the bounds of prudence, but which, to his deluded view, appeared to be the effusion of a genuine and devoted passion. It is impossible for any generous nature not to feel gratified by the devotion of another; and Lord Albert was glad to mistake this gratitude for a tenderer and more spontaneous movement of the heart. Yet, as the moment approached for allying himself for ever to any other than her whose image, in despite of all his endeavours to the contrary, came back to him at intervals in the clouds of the air, in the shadows of the waters, or the dreams of the night, he sought for delay. Strange to say, too, some lingering doubt of Lady Adeline Seymour's becoming the wife of Mr. Foley at times crossed his fancy, for it was more like a vision of the fancy than a rational belief; but still he wished to think that she should be the first to bind herself to another; and with a feeling not amenable to the laws of reason, he looked anxiously in the newspapers every day to see the announcement of her nuptials.
Under these circumstances, and with this feeling, he was called to town to attend official business,with the hope, however, in a few days, of returning to Lady Hamlet Vernon. Arrived in London, he found himself, the first time for many months, absent from her, and robbed of the illusory charm of her society; a charm which he had taught himself to consider as necessary to him as the air he breathed. He now found, when official duties were over, that the hours hung heavily on his hands.
It had perhaps been owing to the idea of his having so long indulged in a selfish gratification, which must of necessity have drawn down observations derogatory to the character of Lady Hamlet Vernon, that had finally determined Lord Albert to make her the offer of his hand. But now, when away from her influence, he looked back upon the gulf over which he had passed, and contemplated it with somewhat different sensations; conscious that the step he had taken was irretrievable, he felt less than ever disposed to seek diversion from his own thoughts, or relief from them in any other quarter. He even avoided much intercourse with Lord Glenmore, as though he was afraid the latter should read his secret; for it was intended that his marriage should yet be kept profoundly secret; partly in compliance with his own feelings, which suggested that the world (and who can, or whoought to be totally reckless of the world's award?) might blame him for allying himself to a woman of Lady Hamlet Vernon's character, and partly at the instance of the latter, who, though she could not explain the cause of her apprehensions, yet dreaded lest the cup should be dashed from her lips by some unforeseen interference.
The time that Lord Albert did not pass literally in business, he employed in reading over Lady Hamlet Vernon's letters, which he received daily, or in answering them; and as those she wrote breathed the most impassioned language, his own contained enough of that reflected hue of tenderness in them to please, if not to satisfy, her to whom they were addressed. The time was past when solitude and reflection could avail Lord Albert; for he had decided his fate. It was his duty, therefore, now, as well as his interest, to encourage himself in the belief that he truly loved the present object to whom he devoted himself; and he carefully endeavoured to shut out all remembrances which might recall the thought of another. Lord Albert had been nearly three weeks absent from Lady Hamlet Vernon, when he hastened one morning at an earlier hour than usual to Downing-street, where his letters were always directed. He found one from her, aswas customary; but, in taking it eagerly in his hand, he was aware it did not consist, as usual, of many sheets, but was a single letter in an envelope.
Something, he knew not what, struck him with agitation on this recognition, and he paused on breaking the seal; then cast his eyes hurriedly over the open page, and looked in vain for the terms of endearment which were wont to be the first that courted his glance; and he grew sick and dizzy as he read the first few lines, which ran thus: "Grieved I am at heart, and stunned by this fatal blow, so unexpected, so subversive of all our hopes. Is it not possible that, in the dismay of the moment, you may have interpreted more severely the words of Lady Dunmelraise than they required?" Lord Albert started at the name of Dunmelraise, and held the letter from him, and gazed at it again. "Lady Dunmelraise!" he repeated aloud. "What can this allude to? And in Amelia's hand!" Again he looked at the letter, and turned over the page, and saw the signature. A death-like shudder seized him, and an icy chill ran through his heart. As his eye continued to run rapidly along the lines, it met the words, "dearest Mr. Foley." Again he paused. But he was not now in a state to reason on the propriety of reading through a letter evidentlynot addressed to himself, although he continued to do so; but, breathless with surprise, in vain essayed to read collectedly. At length, mastering the contending feelings which for a few moments overpowered him, he perused the letter consecutively.
"Grieved I am at heart, and stunned by this fatal blow, so unexpected, so subversive of all our hopes. Is it not possible that, in the dismay of the moment, you may have interpreted more severely the words of Lady Dunmelraise than they required? Yet when I return to the copy of her letter, which you enclose to me, I cannot but think with you that there is nothing to hope. Still, how strange that both she and Lady Adeline should have allowed those demonstrations of your passion, which they must have understood, for such a length of time, without expressing any explicit disapprobation! And then you say, too, that you are confident, from every circumstance, and every word, and every look, that has occurred, or fallen, either from Lady Dunmelraise or her daughter, that D'Esterre no longer holds any place either in their affections or their esteem; and the conversation you report to have heard between Lady Delamere and her sister wascertainly as conclusive as any thing could be of their utter rejection of the thought of any renewal of engagement with D'Esterre." (Lord Albert groaned aloud.)"I know not what advice to give you. I dare not urge upon you a perseverance in your suit, because that might eventually, if Lady Dunmelraise and her daughter are firmly decided against it, draw down an interference which would give publicity to the affair; a circumstance, on all accounts, decidedly to be avoided. Hitherto, I should suppose what has passed has been confined to their own breasts; for Lady Dunmelraise is too much acquainted with the world to make herself, or any one belonging to her, unnecessarily the subject of public remark. At present, you know, the secret is safe in our own keeping; and after many hours of painful reflection as to what you had best do, I think nothing remains but your going immediately abroad for a time, to avoid the singularity of your absence from Dunmelraise."In regard to the heavy pecuniary disappointment which you must have experienced, dearest Mr. Foley, by this defeat of our plans, I hope I shall soon be in a situation to make you ample recompense; for D'Esterre has at length so openly declaredhimself, that my marriage cannot long be delayed; and that once accomplished, you may depend on my most constant exertions for all connected with your interest. In the meanwhile, should you require any funds for your sudden departure, I enclose a draft for £200. I would not have you come by Brighton to embark, which perhaps you might be inclined to do, knowing me to be there; and I think it better, for the present, that you do not write to me on this subject; but let me have a few lines announcing your arrival on the continent."Again I repeat to you to count upon my most friendly assistance at all times. You may depend on my acquainting you, when the event on which now all depends shall have taken place;"And I am ever yours, affectionately,"Amelia Hamlet Vernon.""P.S.—I would not have you state your intention of going abroad to any person; and prevent, if possible, any announcement of your departure in the newspapers."
"Grieved I am at heart, and stunned by this fatal blow, so unexpected, so subversive of all our hopes. Is it not possible that, in the dismay of the moment, you may have interpreted more severely the words of Lady Dunmelraise than they required? Yet when I return to the copy of her letter, which you enclose to me, I cannot but think with you that there is nothing to hope. Still, how strange that both she and Lady Adeline should have allowed those demonstrations of your passion, which they must have understood, for such a length of time, without expressing any explicit disapprobation! And then you say, too, that you are confident, from every circumstance, and every word, and every look, that has occurred, or fallen, either from Lady Dunmelraise or her daughter, that D'Esterre no longer holds any place either in their affections or their esteem; and the conversation you report to have heard between Lady Delamere and her sister wascertainly as conclusive as any thing could be of their utter rejection of the thought of any renewal of engagement with D'Esterre." (Lord Albert groaned aloud.)
"I know not what advice to give you. I dare not urge upon you a perseverance in your suit, because that might eventually, if Lady Dunmelraise and her daughter are firmly decided against it, draw down an interference which would give publicity to the affair; a circumstance, on all accounts, decidedly to be avoided. Hitherto, I should suppose what has passed has been confined to their own breasts; for Lady Dunmelraise is too much acquainted with the world to make herself, or any one belonging to her, unnecessarily the subject of public remark. At present, you know, the secret is safe in our own keeping; and after many hours of painful reflection as to what you had best do, I think nothing remains but your going immediately abroad for a time, to avoid the singularity of your absence from Dunmelraise.
"In regard to the heavy pecuniary disappointment which you must have experienced, dearest Mr. Foley, by this defeat of our plans, I hope I shall soon be in a situation to make you ample recompense; for D'Esterre has at length so openly declaredhimself, that my marriage cannot long be delayed; and that once accomplished, you may depend on my most constant exertions for all connected with your interest. In the meanwhile, should you require any funds for your sudden departure, I enclose a draft for £200. I would not have you come by Brighton to embark, which perhaps you might be inclined to do, knowing me to be there; and I think it better, for the present, that you do not write to me on this subject; but let me have a few lines announcing your arrival on the continent.
"Again I repeat to you to count upon my most friendly assistance at all times. You may depend on my acquainting you, when the event on which now all depends shall have taken place;
"And I am ever yours, affectionately,
"Amelia Hamlet Vernon."
"P.S.—I would not have you state your intention of going abroad to any person; and prevent, if possible, any announcement of your departure in the newspapers."
No words can adequately convey an idea of Lord Albert's feelings as he finished the perusal of thisletter. It was plain, it was clear, that a conspiracy had existed between Lady Hamlet Vernon and Mr. Foley, of which he and Lady Adeline Seymour had become the victims. The detailed process of language cannot concentrate in one point the thousand varied feelings which combined in his bosom all the pangs of self-accusation with all the joy of believing that the precious being whom he had wronged was free from stain. Grief mingled with the conviction that he had again found his own transcendent Adeline, bright in all her purity, only to be convinced, at the same moment, that he had himself placed a wide gulf between them that could never be overpassed; and the knowledge that this was the case excited such overwhelming emotion in his breast as defies the power of language.
It would be wrong, however, in this instance, as in all others where reflection points a moral, not to observe the omnipotence of virtue, which, it may be truly said, is a light to lighten our darkness; for in the depth of Lord Albert's present sufferings there was a latent spring of consolation in his heart, the cause of which he could little understand or account for at the moment, and from which he was not prepared to derive the benefit it was intended afterwardsto convey; and this consolation was a sense of humble contrition, derived from the consciousness that the blow which had fallen upon him was righteously dealt, and that it was only retributive justice that he should meet his punishment from the very person for whom he had, in the indulgence of his vanity, played with the feelings of another till at length he sacrificed and lost her.
This sense of humility is ever the foundation of true repentance; and true repentance brings resignation; and resignation is the balm which soothes a wounded spirit. He soon felt that the merciful ways of Providence had forced him unwillingly to a knowledge of his own fault, and with a contrite heart he kissed the rod that smote him. He felt at once as though a heavy burden were lifted from his breast. None of the double-mindedness, none of the obscure uncertainty, by which of late he had been oppressed and involved, now darkened his path. He was like one who is brought from a prisoned cavern to rejoice in the wholesome air and light of heaven. He no longer hesitated in his course, or wavered how he should conduct himself, but determined to profit by the severe lesson he had received, and act once more uprightly. He felt, as it were, instantaneously, that he had never really loved LadyHamlet Vernon, and that vanity alone had betrayed him into her snare.
Had he loved her, would he not, even with the conscious proof before him of her perfidious conduct, have at least mourned over a knowledge of her baseness? As it was, he thought not of her, save in reference to his own erring conduct.
"Oh Adeline, Adeline!" he exclaimed in bitterness of heart, "is it for such a one as this that I have lost you, and deprived myself for ever, not only of your affection, but your esteem? Yet, though to retrieve the past is impossible, and to become what I once was in your eyes is as impossible as it is to recover mine own consciousness of desert, still I will live for you and you alone." The virtuous principle which had thus been restored to its rightful place in Lord Albert's breast gave him power to struggle with sorrow successfully in this his hour of need: and though at intervals he sunk into that despondency which, lost as he was to all his best affections and brightest hopes, could not but flow back upon him with an overwhelming tide, still the sense of returning virtue bore him up again, and fixed him on a rock from whence no tide of circumstances could hurl him.
In this situation he thought, for a time, thathe stood alone in the world, without one sympathising friend; yet, perhaps, there was one who still remained—Lord Glenmore. Should he open his heart to him? Should he seek succour and counsel from him? No. Counsel he needed not, for his mind was made uphowto act; and consolation could not, at the present moment, flow from any earthly source. As involuntarily he read over and over again Lady Hamlet Vernon's letter, a still renewing sense of the baseness of the writer flashed upon him. In every turn and phrase he thought he traced some clue to each individual circumstance which had occurred to poison his mind, and give birth to the unworthy suspicions he had entertained of his Adeline: every one of them, in turn, seemed to rise up, as it were, in judgment against him; and again he wondered how the artifices with which he had been deceived had not before been detected by him.
The whole of his intimacy with Lady Hamlet Vernon, from its commencement, was next reviewed. His mind went back to the first evening in which he met her; her praises of his Adeline; the seductive grace with which she expressed her hope, when he spoke of foreign intimacies, that he would find some objects worthy also of his regard andfriendship in his native land. He saw, as if at the moment, her downcast looks, and felt over again the surprise which her tone and manner caused him. He recalled their interview at the church at Restormel; her subsequent conversation, relative to Lady Adeline, before he left that place for London; and in all these, and in every other incident connected with his growing intimacy, he now beheld the wily stratagem of a preconceived plan to win away his heart and affection from one to whom this Circean destroyer of his peace was as widely opposed as darkness to light.
This probing of his wounds, this investigation of the circumstances which had involved him in error, was a wholesome though painful exercise to his mind; for he traced his misery to its rightful source—himself. He could not but dwell on the fearful and rapid change which had been produced in him by a life passed in a circle whose whole tendency was to undermine principle and destroy the understanding. He asked himself, what was he now, compared to what he had been eighteen months before? what action, during that period, could he recall without blushing for the misuse or waste of time? How had his pursuits been abandoned! his honourable views in life lost sight of! his studiesneglected! all the fruits of long and virtuous education scattered! and himself become an object of his own and of all good men's contempt!
In reflections such as these, the hours passed away, on the day of his receipt of the letter. He had hurried through his official business as quickly as possible, in order to seek the retirement of his own apartment; and there, with the picture of Adeline before him, he sat absorbed in harrowing contemplation. So entirely had the current of his affections been sent back to their proper channel by the revulsion which had shaken him, that with the exception of perusing Lady Hamlet Vernon's letter, for the purpose of bringing home more strongly the clear conviction of her infamy, he had not felt one regret on her account. Even the feeling of indignation, which conduct so base was calculated naturally to excite, had not for more than a moment occupied his heart; a heart which was as dead to any impression she could make upon it, as though he had never known her.
Midnight had already passed, and the idea that Lady Hamlet Vernon would be in ignorance the while of what had occurred had not struck him. He then felt the painful part which he was called upon to perform, in addressing the person whomhe had been on the verge of making his wife in language such as her conduct merited and his own reproaches might dictate. He at length resolved to let the night pass, and in the morning, if possible, to set himself to the task with a calmer mind.
He slept not, however, and arose feeling distracted and feverish. Finding himself unable to go out, he sent, therefore, to Downing-street for some official papers which were to be looked over. The messenger brought back with these his letters also: amongst them there was one from Lady Hamlet Vernon. His soul sickened at the sight, and he cast it from him with disgust. He resolved not to open it, for he must necessarily loathe the expressions of attachment with which he knew it would be filled; and he determined to return it unopened, together with his answer. This answer, in the course of the day, he despatched by express; feeling, the moment he had given vent to his indignation, that it was but justice to do so, both to himself, and to his injured and lost Adeline.
The tenor of his reply may be easily conceived. He kept the original of the letter which had so happily removed the veil of wickedness from his eyes, but he transcribed a copy; and having animadvertedon the baseness of the arts that had been practised on himself, and the fiend-like cruelty that had been exercised on the former cherished object of his affections, he avowed his determination never again to hold intercourse with her who had been the cause of so much misery and delusion. At the same time, with a feeling of that nice honour and noble generosity of soul which had never entirely left Lord Albert's breast, he informed Lady Hamlet Vernon that her infamy would remain a secret with him, unless her own future conduct towards himself should make it necessary, in self-defence, to do otherwise.
Before this answer reached Lady Hamlet Vernon, she had been in some degree prepared for the blow, for Mr. Foley, who was in town, on receiving the letter which had been intended for Lord Albert, instantly surmised the worst, and had proceeded with the utmost haste to Brighton.—There Lord Albert's answer found him and Lady Hamlet Vernon in all the dismay and terror which detection of so sinister an intrigue would naturally cause.
The arrival of Lord Albert was hourly looked for by them, as the sure consequence of what had taken place, in order to demand an explanation ofthe letter which had fallen into his hands; for Lady Hamlet Vernon was certain that she had written no other letter by that post except to himself and Mr. Foley, and felt, therefore, a conviction on the subject of his arrival, which was anticipated as a certainty: and although the necessity of the moment obliged Mr. Foley and Lady Hamlet Vernon to be in consultation together, a person was on the watch to apprise them of his approach, so that Mr. Foley's presence might not strengthen the suspicions already connected with his name.
Under these circumstances therefore, the arrival of a letter only was, at the moment, rather a relief; though it had been felt by the parties that there was more chance of Lord Albert's being still deceived, had he been exposed to the influence of Lady Hamlet Vernon's charms in a personal interview.—His letter was broken open in haste: the return of her own last unopened, which fell from the envelope, sufficiently foretold its purport. The messenger had departed after giving in the packet, with a brief announcement that there was no reply. It would be impossible to characterize all the feelings of disappointed passion, self-interest, hatred, and revenge, together with the mutual reproaches to which these gave birthbetween the detected actors of this infamous intrigue.
After giving way, however, to the first ebullitions of anger against each other, mutual recrimination, and all those scorpion-like feelings which are the consequences of a copartnery in guilt, the sense of necessity to secure self-preservation, and to shield themselves from public ignominy, made them both catch eagerly at the terms of secrecy implied in the latter sentence of Lord Albert's letter; and when Lady Hamlet was convinced that there was no hope of regaining him to her views, she felt the necessity of submission, and sheltering herself under such terms as the exigency of the case required. All love was banished from her breast by feelings of rage and shame at her detection; and with the heartlessness of anintrigante, she determined to putbonne mine à mauvais jeu, and boldly deny a guilt which she knew could be but covertly imputed to her. She wrote an answer, therefore, on the instant, to Lord Albert, couched in terms such as the offended feelings of a haughty woman would dictate. In her turn she cast off Lord Albert—"one for whose happiness she avowed that she had been ready to sacrifice every thing. But now she found that the very measures she had taken from pure devotion tohimself had been made matter of accusation against her; measures easily explained, if an explanation had been solicited. It was he who had sought her affections, not she his; and when he thus rudely rejected a heart which he had taken pains to win, she could not but feel that she had escaped from that irretrievable ruin which must have followed her union with him." Having thus endeavoured to turn the tide of recrimination against Lord Albert, the feeling which at the moment pressed most urgently upon her was, as in the case of all criminal confederacies, to rid herself of the insufferable presence of the partner of her crime; and therefore pressing upon him the draft which had been intended originally to remove him to the continent, she placed it in his hands for the same purpose now, and in a few hours afterwards he had embarked for Dieppe.
Lord Albert read Lady Hamlet Vernon's communication with calm indifference. His eyes were unsealed. He knew her character now too thoroughly to be surprised: still less was he to be shaken from his purpose; and was far more firmly resolved to pursue the right course than he had ever been to follow the wrong: and wretched as he was at heart, he found consolation in reflectingdeeply on the merciful interposition of a higher power than any earthly one, which had thus snatched him from misery. Wretched as he was at heart, he found consolation; and with this feeling commenced the arduous task of bringing back his mind and heart to former principles of uprightness and virtue.
Lady Hamlet Vernon, on her part, took a different course. Sensible that to betray any feeling on the event would only draw down further remark and observation, she again plunged into the society from which she had of late withdrawn; and prolonging her stay at Brighton, avoided all those unpleasant circumstances which, for a time at least, would have attended her meeting Lord Albert in public.
Lord Albert D'Esterre had formed his resolution on a principle of rectitude, and acted upon it with that degree of promptitude which is the sure test of sincerity in well-doing. When the moment's exertion, however, was over, his mind, enfeebled from the lengthened moral disease under which it so long had laboured, shrunk back in conscious weakness: and he became sensible, that however earnest the will may be, the difficulty is great to retrace our steps from error; and that it is still more difficult toregain firm footing in the path of virtue, when we have wandered from it for any length of time.
The painful recollection of the hours he had lost, or more than lost, the conviction of the misuse of his intellectual faculties, pressed upon him with a leaden weight that seemed to defy all his efforts to recover the power and energy of his mind. That solitude of the heart, too, which was now in prospect before him, shed a gloom around; for, for whom was he to live? was the natural question which now suggested itself, and one not likely to meet a wise reply at the moment.
After-reflection, indeed, might tell him, that there is a higher motive to live to virtue, than any which this world's affections can afford; but to this nobler impulse he had unfortunately for the present become insensible, and in having become so he had lost the surest means of happiness. Lord Albert was, however, notwithstanding this sense of destitution, unwilling, for many reasons, to throw himself on the only stay left him—the supporting friendship of Lord Glenmore: partly, perhaps, from that averseness to humble himself in the sight of another, however dear, or however honourable, the individual may be, which it is so common to human nature to feel; and also frommany mixed motives, alike of genuine good andspuriousquality, which affect the purposes of all at some times and in some degree.
Lord Glenmore had in part heard and part guessed Lord Albert's rupture with Lady Hamlet Vernon, and secretly rejoiced in the event: but with the delicacy and kindliness of feeling which was his particular characteristic, he tacitly entered into the unhappiness of his friend; and thought, as he always did when he saw another fall into temptation's snare, that hadhebeen tempted in as powerful a degree, he also might have fallen under the like condemnation.
Without, therefore, appearing to seek Lord Albert's confidence on the present occasion, Lord Glenmore showed him all the tender sympathy he entertained for him by a thousand nameless kind attentions; attentions which rekindled in Lord Albert's breast all his feelings of former friendship, and a sense of the value of that friend from whom of late he had been so entirely estranged. Gradually and imperceptibly they became once more reunited in their habits of intercourse, and Lord Albert's vacant hours were again devoted to Lord Glenmore's society. Little did the latter suspect that the time was drawing nigh, when he himselfshould require similar support and consolation to that which he was now affording Lord Albert. But thus it is:—we are all dependent beings one upon another; and they are wise who, by mutual good offices, lay up for themselves a store of kindness for the hours of perplexity and bereavement.
Several weeks had passed away, after Lord Glenmore's express wish for Lady Glenmore's return, before the latter quitted Paris. This delay arose not so much from a positive reluctance on her part to return home, as from that idle habit of living in the momentary excitement of frivolous pleasures which so much enervate the mind, and deaden the sense of virtuous affection. Lady Tenderden's character afforded no antidote to the bane of this growing evil; and Mr. Leslie Winyard, of course, still bent on the pursuit of Lady Glenmore, used all his endeavours to retard her stay in Paris as long as possible.
At length, however, the day of their departure came; and when she arrived in London, she was received in the arms of an affectionate and too confiding husband. Perhaps, on the first moment's reflection, brief as these moments were, Lady Glenmore felt in this cordial reception somewhat of self-reproof that her return had been so long unnecessarilydeferred: but it is one of the concomitant evils of such a mode of life as hers was, that it is utterly impossible reflection should have any permanent seat in the mind; so that the natural checks of conscience, which at intervals will force themselves into view in hearts not quite hardened, become gradually smothered and suppressed, till at length they are wholly discarded.