BOOK VIII. O Fate! O Heaven!--what have ye then decreed? SOPHOCLES: _OEd. Tyr. _ 738. "Insolent pride . . . . . . . . . The topmost crag of the great precipice Surmounts--to rush to ruin. " _Ibid. _ 874. CHAPTER I. . . . SHE is young, wise, fair, In these to Nature she's immediate heir. . . . . . . . . . Honours best thrive When rather from our acts we them derive Than our foregoers!--_All's Well that Ends Well_. LETTER FROM ERNEST MALTRAVERS TO THE HON. FREDERICK CLEVELAND. EVELYN is free; she is in Paris; I have seen her, --I see her daily! How true it is that we cannot make a philosophy of indifference! Theaffections are stronger than all our reasonings. We must take them intoour alliance, or they will destroy all our theories of self-government. Such fools of fate are we, passing from system to system, from scheme toscheme, vainly seeking to shut out passion and sorrow-forgetting thatthey are born within us--and return to the soul as the seasons to theearth! Yet, --years, many years ago, when I first looked gravely into myown nature and being here, when I first awakened to the dignity andsolemn responsibilities of human life, I had resolved to tame and curbmyself into a thing of rule and measure. Bearing within me the woundscarred over but never healed, the consciousness of wrong to the heartthat had leaned upon me, haunted by the memory of my lost Alice, Ishuddered at new affections bequeathing new griefs. Wrapped in a haughtyegotism, I wished not to extend my empire over a wider circuit than myown intellect and passions. I turned from the trader-covetousness ofbliss, that would freight the wealth of life upon barks exposed to everywind upon the seas of Fate; I was contented with the hope to pass lifealone, honoured, though unloved. Slowly and reluctantly I yielded to thefascinations of Florence Lascelles. The hour that sealed the compactbetween us was one of regret and alarm. In vain I sought to deceivemyself, --I felt that I did not love. And then I imagined that Love wasno longer in my nature, --that I had exhausted its treasures before mytime, and left my heart a bankrupt. Not till the last--not till thatglorious soul broke out in all its brightness the nearer it approachedthe source to which it has returned--did I feel of what tenderness shewas worthy and I was capable. She died, and the world was darkened!Energy, ambition, my former aims and objects, were all sacrificed at hertomb. But amidst ruins and through the darkness, my soul yet supportedme; I could no longer hope, but I could endure. I was resolved that Iwould not be subdued, and that the world should not hear me groan. Amidst strange and far-distant scenes, amidst hordes to whom my verylanguage was unknown, in wastes and forests, which the step of civilizedman, with his sorrows and his dreams, had never trodden, I wrestled withmy soul, as the patriarch of old wrestled with the angel, --and the angelwas at last the victor! You do not mistake me: you know that it was notthe death of Florence alone that worked in me that awful revolution; butwith that death the last glory fled from the face of things that hadseemed to me beautiful of old. Hers was a love that accompanied anddignified the schemes and aspirations of manhood, --a love that was anincarnation of ambition itself; and all the evils and disappointmentsthat belong to ambition seemed to crowd around my heart like vultures toa feast allured and invited by the dead. But this at length was over;the barbarous state restored me to the civilized. I returned to myequals, prepared no more to be an actor in the strife, but a calmspectator of the turbulent arena. I once more laid my head beneath theroof of my fathers; and if without any clear and definite object, I atleast hoped to find amidst "my old hereditary trees" the charm ofcontemplation and repose. And scarce--in the first hours of myarrival--had I indulged that dream, when a fair face, a sweet voice, thathad once before left deep and unobliterated impressions on my heart, scattered all my philosophy to the winds. I saw Evelyn! and if everthere was love at first sight, it was that which I felt for her: I livedin her presence, and forgot the Future! Or, rather, I was with thePast, --in the bowers of my springtide of life and hope! It was anafter-birth of youth--my love for that young heart! It is, indeed, only in maturity that we know how lovely were our earliestyears! What depth of wisdom in the old Greek myth, that allotted Hebe asthe prize to the god who had been the arch-labourer of life! and whom thesatiety of all that results from experience had made enamoured of allthat belongs to the Hopeful and the New! This enchanting child, this delightful Evelyn, this ray of undreamed ofsunshine, smiled away all my palaces of ice. I loved, Cleveland, --Iloved more ardently, more passionately, more wildly than ever I did ofold! But suddenly I learned that she was affianced to another, and feltthat it was not for me to question, to seek the annulment of the bond. Ihad been unworthy to love Evelyn if I had not loved honour more! I fledfrom her presence, honestly and resolutely; I sought to conquer aforbidden passion; I believed that I had not won affection in return; Ibelieved, from certain expressions that I overheard Evelyn utter toanother, that her heart as well as her hand was given to Vargrave. Icame hither; you know how sternly and resolutely I strove to eradicate aweakness that seemed without even the justification of hope! If Isuffered, I betrayed it not. Suddenly Evelyn appeared again beforeme!--and suddenly I learned that she was free! Oh, the rapture of thatmoment! Could you have seen her bright face, her enchanting smile, whenwe met again! Her ingenuous innocence did not conceal her gladness atseeing me! What hopes broke upon me! Despite the difference of ouryears, I think she loves me! that in that love I am about at last tolearn what blessings there are in life. Evelyn has the simplicity, the tenderness, of Alice, with the refinementand culture of Florence herself; not the genius, not the daring spirit, not the almost fearful brilliancy of that ill-fated being, --but with ataste as true to the Beautiful, with a soul as sensitive to the Sublime!In Evelyn's presence I feel a sense of peace, of security, of home!Happy! thrice happy! he who will take her to his breast! Of late she hasassumed a new charm in my eyes, --a certain pensiveness and abstractionhave succeeded to her wonted gayety. Ah, Love is pensive, --is it not, Cleveland? How often I ask myself that question! And yet, amidst all myhopes, there are hours when I tremble and despond! How can that innocentand joyous spirit sympathize with all that mine has endured and known?How, even though her imagination be dazzled by some prestige around myname, how can I believe that I have awakened her heart to that deep andreal love of which it is capable, and which youth excites in youth? Whenwe meet at her home, or amidst the quiet yet brilliant society which isgathered round Madame de Ventadour or the Montaignes, with whom she is anespecial favourite; when we converse; when I sit by her, and her softeyes meet mine, --I feel not the disparity of years; my heart speaks toher, and _that_ is youthful still! But in the more gay and crowdedhaunts to which her presence allures me, when I see that fairy formsurrounded by those who have not outlived the pleasures that so naturallydazzle and captivate her, then, indeed, I feel that my tastes, my habits, my pursuits, belong to another season of life, and ask myself anxiouslyif my nature and my years are those that can make _her_ happy? Then, indeed, I recognize the wide interval that time and trial place betweenone whom the world has wearied, and one for whom the world is new. Ifshe should discover hereafter that youth should love only youth, mybitterest anguish would be that of remorse! I know how deeply I love byknowing how immeasurably dearer her happiness is than my own! I willwait, then, yet a while, I will examine, I will watch well that I do notdeceive myself. As yet I think that I have no rivals whom I need fear:surrounded as she is by the youngest and the gayest, she still turns withevident pleasure to me, whom she calls her friend. She will forego theamusements she most loves for society in which we can converse more atease. You remember, for instance, young Legard? He is here; and, beforeI met Evelyn, was much at Lady Doltimore's house. I cannot be blind tohis superior advantages of youth and person; and there is somethingstriking and prepossessing in the gentle yet manly frankness of hismanner, --and yet no fear of his rivalship ever haunts me. True, that oflate he has been little in Evelyn's society; nor do I think, in thefrivolity of his pursuits, he can have educated his mind to appreciateEvelyn, or be possessed of those qualities which would render him worthyof her. But there is something good in the young man, despite hisfoibles, --something that wins upon me; and you will smile to learn, thathe has even surprised from _me_--usually so reserved on such matters--theconfession of my attachment and hopes! Evelyn often talks to me of hermother, and describes her in colours so glowing that I feel the greatestinterest in one who has helped to form so beautiful and pure a mind. Canyou learn who Lady Vargrave was? There is evidently some mystery thrownover her birth and connections; and, from what I can hear, this arisesfrom their lowliness. You know that, though I have been accused offamily pride, it is a pride of a peculiar sort. I am proud, not of thelength of a mouldering pedigree, but of some historical quarterings in myescutcheon, --of some blood of scholars and of heroes that rolls in myveins; it is the same kind of pride that an Englishman may feel inbelonging to a country that has produced Shakspeare and Bacon. I havenever, I hope, felt the vulgar pride that disdains want of birth inothers; and I care not three straws whether my friend or my wife bedescended from a king or a peasant. It is myself, and not myconnections, who alone can disgrace my lineage; therefore, however humbleLady Vargrave's parentage, do not scruple to inform me, should you learnany intelligence that bears upon it. I had a conversation last night with Evelyn that delighted me. By someaccident we spoke of Lord Vargrave; and she told me, with an enchantingcandour, of the position in which she stood with him, and theconscientious and noble scruples she felt as to the enjoyment of afortune, which her benefactor and stepfather had evidently intended to beshared with his nearest relative. In these scruples I cordiallyconcurred; and if I marry Evelyn, my first care will be to carry theminto effect, --by securing to Vargrave, as far as the law may permit, thelarger part of the income; I should like to say all, --at least tillEvelyn's children would have the right to claim it: a right not to beenforced during her own, and, therefore, probably not during Vargrave'slife. I own that this would be no sacrifice, for I am proud enough torecoil from the thought of being indebted for fortune to the woman Ilove. It was that kind of pride which gave coldness and constraint to myregard for Florence; and for the rest, my own property (much increased bythe simplicity of my habits of life for the last few years) will sufficefor all Evelyn or myself could require. Ah, madman that I am! Icalculate already on marriage, even while I have so much cause foranxiety as to love. But my heart beats, --my heart has grown a dial thatkeeps the account of time; by its movements I calculate the moments--inan hour I shall see her! Oh, never, never, in my wildest and earliest visions, could I havefancied that I should love as I love now! Adieu, my oldest and kindestfriend! If I am happy at last, it will be something to feel that at lastI shall have satisfied your expectations of my youth. Affectionately yours, E. MALTRAVERS. RUE DE -----, PARIS, January --, 18--. CHAPTER II. IN her youth There is a prone and speechless dialect-- Such as moves men. --_Measure for Measure_. _Abbess_. Haply in private-- _Adriana_. And in assemblies too. --_Comedy of Errors_. IT was true, as Maltravers had stated, that Legard had of late beenlittle at Lady Doltimore's, or in the same society as Evelyn. With thevehemence of an ardent and passionate nature, he yielded to the jealousrage and grief that devoured him. He saw too clearly, and from thefirst, that Maltravers adored Evelyn; and in her familiar kindness ofmanner towards him, in the unlimited veneration in which she appeared tohold his gifts and qualities, he thought that that love might becomereciprocal. He became gloomy and almost morose; he shunned Evelyn, heforbore to enter into the lists against his rival. Perhaps theintellectual superiority of Maltravers, the extraordinary conversationalbrilliancy that he could display when he pleased, the commanding dignityof his manners, even the matured authority of his reputation and years, might have served to awe the hopes, as well as to wound the vanity, of aman accustomed himself to be the oracle of a circle. These might havestrongly influenced Legard in withdrawing himself from Evelyn's society;but there was one circumstance, connected with motives much moregenerous, that mainly determined his conduct. It happened thatMaltravers, shortly after his first interview with Evelyn, was ridingalone one day in the more sequestered part of the Bois de Boulogne, whenhe encountered Legard, also alone, and on horseback. The latter, onsucceeding to his uncle's fortune, had taken care to repay his debt toMaltravers; he had done so in a short but feeling and grateful letter, which had been forwarded to Maltravers at Paris, and which pleased andtouched him. Since that time he had taken a liking to the young man, andnow, meeting him at Paris, he sought, to a certain extent, Legard's moreintimate acquaintance. Maltravers was in that happy mood when we areinclined to be friends with all men. It is true, however, that, thoughunknown to himself, that pride of bearing, which often gave to the veryvirtues of Maltravers an unamiable aspect, occasionally irritated one whofelt he had incurred to him an obligation of honour and of life never tobe effaced; it made the sense of this obligation more intolerable toLegard; it made him more desirous to acquit himself of the charge. Buton this day there was so much cordiality in the greeting of Maltravers, and he pressed Legard in so friendly a manner to join him in his ride, that the young man's heart was softened, and they rode together, conversing familiarly on such topics as were in common between them. Atlast the conversation fell on Lord and Lady Doltimore; and thenceMaltravers, whose soul was full of one thought, turned it indirectlytowards Evelyn. "Did you ever see Lady Vargrave?" "Never, " replied Legard, looking another way; "but Lady Doltimore saysshe is as beautiful as Evelyn herself, if that be possible; and still soyoung in form and countenance, that she looks rather like her sister thanher mother!" "How I should like to know her!" said Maltravers, with a sudden energy. Legard changed the subject. He spoke of the Carnival, of balls, ofmasquerades, of operas, of reigning beauties! "Ah, " said Maltravers, with a half sigh, "yours is the age for thosedazzling pleasures; to me they are 'the twice-told tale. '" Maltravers meant it not, but this remark chafed Legard. He thought itconveyed a sarcasm on the childishness of his own mind or the levity ofhis pursuits; his colour mounted, as he replied, -- "It is not, I fear, the slight difference of years between us, --it is thedifference of intellect you would insinuate; but you should remember allmen have not your resources; all men cannot pretend to genius!" "My dear Legard, " said Maltravers, kindly, "do not fancy that I couldhave designed any insinuation half so presumptuous and impertinent. Believe me, I envy you, sincerely and sadly, all those faculties ofenjoyment which I have worn away. Oh, how I envy you! for, were theystill mine, then--then, indeed, I might hope to mould myself into greatercongeniality with the beautiful and the young!" Maltravers paused a moment, and resumed, with a grave smile: "I trust, Legard, that you will be wiser than I have been; that you will gatheryour roses while it is yet May: and that you will not live to thirty-six, pining for happiness and home, a disappointed and desolate man; till, when your ideal is at last found, you shrink back appalled, to discoverthat you have lost none of the tendencies to love, but many of the gracesby which love is to be allured!" There was so much serious and earnest feeling in these words that theywent home at once to Legard's sympathies. He felt irresistibly impelledto learn the worst. "Maltravers, " said he, in a hurried tone, "it would be an idle complimentto say that you are not likely to love in vain; perhaps it is indelicatein me to apply a general remark; and yet--yet I cannot but fancy that Ihave discovered your secret, and that you are not insensible to thecharms of Miss Cameron!" "Legard!" said Maltravers, --and so strong was his fervent attachment toEvelyn, that it swept away all his natural coldness and reserve, --"I tellyou plainly and frankly that in my love for Evelyn Cameron lie the lasthopes I have in life. I have no thought, no ambition, no sentiment thatis not vowed to her. If my love should be unreturned, I may strive toendure the blow, I may mix with the world, I may seem to occupy myself inthe aims of others; but my heart will be broken! Let us talk of this nomore; you have surprised my secret, though it must have betrayed itself. Learn from me how preternaturally strong, how generally fatal is lovedeferred to that day when--in the stern growth of all the feelings--lovewrites itself on granite!" Maltravers, as if impatient of his own weakness, put spurs to his horse, and they rode on rapidly for some time without speaking. That silence was employed by Legard in meditating over all he had heardand witnessed, in recalling all that he owed to Maltravers; and beforethat silence was broken the young man nobly resolved not even to attempt, not even to hope, a rivalry with Maltravers; to forego all theexpectations he had so fondly nursed, to absent himself from the companyof Evelyn, to requite faithfully and firmly that act of generosity towhich he owed the preservation of his life, --the redemption of hishonour. Agreeably to this determination, he abstained from visiting those hauntsin which Evelyn shone; and if accident brought them together, his mannerwas embarrassed and abrupt. She wondered, --at last, perhaps sheresented, --it may be that she grieved; for certain it is that Maltraverswas right in thinking that her manner had lost the gayety thatdistinguished it at Merton Rectory. But still it may be doubted whetherEvelyn had seen enough of Legard, and whether her fancy and romance werestill sufficiently free from the magical influences of the genius thatcalled them forth in the eloquent homage of Maltravers, to trace, herself, to any causes connected with her younger lover the listlessmelancholy that crept over her. In very young women--new alike to theworld and the knowledge of themselves--many vague and undefined feelingsherald the dawn of Love; shade after shade and light upon light succeedsbefore the sun breaks forth, and the earth awakens to his presence. It was one evening that Legard had suffered himself to be led into aparty at the ----- ambassador's; and there, as he stood by the door, hesaw at a little distance Maltravers conversing with Evelyn. Again hewrithed beneath the tortures of his jealous anguish; and there, as hegazed and suffered, he resolved (as Maltravers had done before him) tofly from the place that had a little while ago seemed to him Elysium! Hewould quit Paris, he would travel, he would not see Evelyn again till theirrevocable barrier was passed, and she was the wife of Maltravers! Inthe first heat of this determination, he turned towards some young menstanding near him, one of whom was about to visit Vienna. He gaylyproposed to join him, --a proposal readily accepted, and began conversingon the journey, the city, its splendid and proud society, with all thatcruel exhilaration which the forced spirits of a stricken heart can alonedisplay, when Evelyn (whose conference with Maltravers was ended) passedclose by him. She was leaning on Lady Doltimore's arm, and the admiringmurmur of his companions caused Legard to turn suddenly round. "You are not dancing to-night, Colonel Legard, " said Caroline, glancingtowards Evelyn. "The more the season for balls advances, the moreindolent you become. " Legard muttered a confused reply, one half of which seemed petulant, while the other half was inaudible. "Not so indolent as you suppose, " said his friend. "Legard meditates anexcursion sufficient, I hope, to redeem his character in your eyes. Itis a long journey, and, what is worse, a very cold journey, to Vienna. " "Vienna! do you think of going to Vienna?" cried Caroline. "Yes, " said Legard. "I hate Paris; any place better than this odiouscity!" and he moved away. Evelyn's eyes followed him sadly and gravely. She remained by LadyDoltimore's side, abstracted and silent for several minutes. Meanwhile Caroline, turning to Lord Devonport (the friend who hadproposed the Viennese excursion), said, "It is cruel in you to go toVienna, --it is doubly cruel to rob Lord Doltimore of his best friend andParis of its best waltzer. " "Oh, it is a voluntary offer of Legard's, Lady Doltimore, --believe me, Ihave used no persuasive arts. But the fact is, that we have been talkingof a fair widow, the beauty of Austria, and as proud and as unassailableas Ehrenbreitstein itself. Legard's vanity is piqued; and so--as aprofessed lady-killer--he intends to see what can be effected by thehandsomest Englishman of his time. " Caroline laughed, and new claimants on her notice succeeded to LordDevonport. It was not till the ladies were waiting their carriage in theshawl-room that Lady Doltimore noticed the paleness and thoughtful browof Evelyn. "Are you fatigued or unwell, dear?" she said. "No, " answered Evelyn, forcing a smile; and at that moment they werejoined by Maltravers, with the intelligence that it would be some minutesbefore the carriage could draw up. Caroline amused herself in theinterval by shrewd criticisms on the dresses and characters of hervarious friends. Caroline had grown an amazing prude in her judgment ofothers! "What a turban!--prudent for Mrs. A----- to wear, --bright red; it putsout her face, as the sun puts out the fire. Mr. Maltravers, do observeLady B----- with that _very_ young gentleman. After all her experiencein angling, it is odd that she should still only throw in for small fish. Pray, why is the marriage between Lady C----- D----- and Mr. F-----broken off? Is it true that he is so much in debt, and is so very--veryprofligate? They say she is heartbroken. " "Really, Lady Doltimore, " said Maltravers, smiling, "I am but a badscandal-monger. But poor F----- is not, I believe, much worse thanothers. How do we know whose fault it is when a marriage is broken off?Lady C----- D----- heartbroken! what an idea! Nowadays there is neverany affection in compacts of that sort; and the chain that binds thefrivolous nature is but a gossamer thread! Fine gentlemen and fineladies, their loves and their marriages-- "'May flourish and may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made. ' "Never believe that a heart long accustomed to beat only in good societycan be broken, --it is rarely ever touched!" Evelyn listened attentively, and seemed struck. She sighed, and said ina very low voice, as to herself, "It is true--how could I thinkotherwise?" For the next few days Evelyn was unwell, and did not quit her room. Maltravers was in despair. The flowers, the books, the music he sent;his anxious inquiries, his earnest and respectful notes, touched withthat ineffable charm which Heart and Intellect breathe into the mosttrifling coinage from their mint, --all affected Evelyn sensibly. Perhapsshe contrasted them with Legard's indifference and apparent caprice;perhaps in that contrast Maltravers gained more than by all his brilliantqualities. Meanwhile, without visit, without message, withoutfarewell, --unconscious, it is true, of Evelyn's illness, --Legard departedfor Vienna. CHAPTER III. A PLEASING land . . . Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye, And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, Forever flashing round a summer sky. --THOMSON. DAILY, hourly, increased the influence of Evelyn over Maltravers. Oh, what a dupe is a man's pride! what a fool his wisdom! That a girl, amere child, one who scarce knew her own heart, beautiful as itwas, --whose deeper feelings still lay coiled up in their sweetbuds, --that she should thus master this proud, wise man! But asthou--our universal teacher--as thou, O Shakspeare! haply speaking fromthe hints of thine own experience, hast declared-- "None are so truly caught, when they are catched, As wit turned fool; folly in wisdom hatched, Hath wisdom's warrant. " Still, methinks that, in that surpassing and dangerously indulgedaffection which levelled thee, Maltravers, with the weakest, whichoverturned all thy fine philosophy of Stoicism, and made thee the veriestslave of the "Rose Garden, "--still, Maltravers, thou mightest at leasthave seen that thou hast lost forever all right to pride, all privilegeto disdain the herd! But thou wert proud of thine own infirmity! Andfar sharper must be that lesson which can teach thee that Pride--thineangel--is ever pre-doomed to fall. What a mistake to suppose that the passions are strongest in youth! Thepassions are not stronger, but the control over them is weaker. They aremore easily excited, they are more violent and more apparent; but theyhave less energy, less durability, less intense and concentrated power, than in maturer life. In youth, passion succeeds to passion, and onebreaks upon the other, as waves upon a rock, till the heart frets itselfto repose. In manhood, the great deep flows on, more calm, but moreprofound; its serenity is the proof of the might and terror of itscourse, were the wind to blow and the storm to rise. A young man's ambition is but vanity, --it has no definite aim, it playswith a thousand toys. As with one passion, so with the rest. In youth, Love is ever on the wing, but, like the birds in April, it hath not yetbuilt its nest. With so long a career of summer and hope before it, thedisappointment of to-day is succeeded by the novelty of to-morrow, andthe sun that advances to the noon but dries up its fervent tears. Butwhen we have arrived at that epoch of life, --when, if the light fail us, if the last rose wither, we feel that the loss cannot be retrieved, andthat the frost and the darkness are at hand, Love becomes to us atreasure that we watch over and hoard with a miser's care. Ouryoungest-born affection is our darling and our idol, the fondest pledgeof the Past, the most cherished of our hopes for the Future. A certainmelancholy that mingles with our joy at the possession only enhances itscharm. We feel ourselves so dependent on it for all that is yet to come. Our other barks--our gay galleys of pleasure, our stately argosies ofpride--have been swallowed up by the remorseless wave. On this lastvessel we freight our all, to its frail tenement we commit ourselves. The star that guides it is our guide, and in the tempest that menaces webehold our own doom! Still Maltravers shrank from the confession that trembled on his lips;still he adhered to the course he had prescribed to himself. If ever (ashe had implied in his letter to Cleveland)--if ever Evelyn shoulddiscover they were not suited to each other! The possibility of such anaffliction impressed his judgment, the dread of it chilled his heart. With all his pride, there was a certain humility in Maltravers that wasperhaps one cause of his reserve. He knew what a beautiful possession isyouth, --its sanguine hopes, its elastic spirit, its inexhaustibleresources! What to the eyes of woman were the acquisitions which manhoodhad brought him, --the vast but the sad experience, the arid wisdom, thephilosophy based on disappointment? He might be loved but for the vainglitter of name and reputation, --and love might vanish as custom dimmedthe illusion. Men of strong affections are jealous of their own genius. They know how separate a thing from the household character genius oftenis, --they fear lest they should be loved for a quality, not forthemselves. Thus communed he with himself; thus, as the path had become clear to hishopes, did new fears arise; and thus did love bring, as it ever does, inits burning wake, -- "The pang, the agony, the doubt!" Maltravers then confirmed himself in the resolution he had formed: hewould cautiously examine Evelyn and himself; he would weigh in thebalance every straw that the wind should turn up; he would not aspire tothe treasure, unless he could feel secure that the coffer could preservethe gem. This was not only a prudent, it was a just and a generousdetermination. It was one which we all ought to form if the fervour ofour passions will permit us. We have no right to sacrifice years tomoments, and to melt the pearl that has no price in a single draught!But can Maltravers adhere to his wise precautions? The truth must bespoken, --it was, perhaps, the first time in his life that Maltravers hadbeen really in love. As the reader will remember, he had not been inlove with the haughty Florence; admiration, gratitude, --the affection ofthe head, not that of the feelings, --had been the links that bound him tothe enthusiastic correspondent revealed in the gifted beauty; and thegloomy circumstances connected with her early fate had left deep furrowsin his memory. Time and vicissitude had effaced the wounds, and theLight of the Beautiful dawned once more in the face of Evelyn. Valeriede Ventadour had been but the fancy of a roving breast. Alice, the sweetAlice!--her, indeed, in the first flower of youth, he had loved with aboy's romance. He had loved her deeply, fondly, --but perhaps he hadnever been in love with her; he had mourned her loss foryears, --insensibly to himself her loss had altered his character and casta melancholy gloom over all the colours of his life. But she whose rangeof ideas was so confined, she who had but broke into knowledge, as thechrysalis into the butterfly--how much in that prodigal and giftednature, bounding onwards into the broad plains of life, must the peasantgirl have failed to fill! They had had nothing in common but their youthand their love. It was a dream that had hovered over the poet-boy in themorning twilight, --a dream he had often wished to recall, a dream thathad haunted him in the noon-day, --but had, as all boyish visions everhave done, left the heart unexhausted, and the passions unconsumed!Years, long years, since then had rolled away, and yet, perhaps, oneunconscious attraction that drew Maltravers so suddenly towards Evelynwas a something indistinct and undefinable that reminded him of Alice. There was no similarity in their features; but at times a tone inEvelyn's voice, a "trick of the manner, " an air, a gesture, recalled him, over the gulfs of Time, to Poetry, and Hope, and Alice. In the youth of each--the absent and the present one--there wasresemblance, --resemblance in their simplicity, their grace. PerhapsAlice, of the two, had in her nature more real depth, more ardour offeeling, more sublimity of sentiment, than Evelyn. But in her primitiveignorance half her noblest qualities were embedded and unknown. AndEvelyn--his equal in rank; Evelyn, well cultivated; Evelyn, so longcourted, so deeply studied--had such advantages over the poor peasantgirl! Still the poor peasant girl often seemed to smile on him from thatfair face; and in Evelyn he half loved Alice again! So these two persons now met daily; their intercourse was even morefamiliar than before, their several minds grew hourly more developed andtransparent to each other. But of love Maltravers still forbore tospeak; they were friends, --no more; such friends as the disparity oftheir years and their experience might warrant them to be. And in thatyoung and innocent nature--with its rectitude, its enthusiasm, and itspious and cheerful tendencies--Maltravers found freshness in the desert, as the camel-driver lingering at the well. Insensibly his heart warmedagain to his kind; and as the harp of David to the ear of Saul, was thesoft voice that lulled remembrance and awakened hope in the lonely man. Meanwhile, what was the effect that the presence, the attentions, ofMaltravers produced on Evelyn? Perhaps it was of that kind which mostflatters us and most deceives. She never dreamed of comparing him withothers. To her thoughts he stood aloof and alone from all his kind. Itmay seem a paradox, but it might be that she admired and venerated himalmost too much for love. Still her pleasure in his society was soevident and unequivocal, her deference to his opinion so marked, shesympathized in so many of his objects, she had so much blindness orforbearance for his faults (and he never sought to mask them), that themost diffident of men might have drawn from so many symptoms hopes themost auspicious. Since the departure of Legard, the gayeties of Parislost their charm for Evelyn, and more than ever she could appreciate thesociety of her friend. He thus gradually lost his earlier fears of herforming too keen an attachment to the great world; and as nothing couldbe more apparent than Evelyn's indifference to the crowd of flatterersand suitors that hovered round her, Maltravers no longer dreaded a rival. He began to feel assured that they had both gone through the ordeal; andthat he might ask for love without a doubt of its immutability and faith. At this period they were both invited, with the Doltimores, to spend afew days at the villa of De Montaigne, near St. Cloud. And there it wasthat Maltravers determined to know his fate! CHAPTER IV. CHAOS of Thought and Passion all confused. --POPE. IT is to the contemplation of a very different scene that the course ofour story now conducts us. Between St. Cloud and Versailles there was at that time--perhaps therestill is--a lone and melancholy house, appropriated to theinsane, --melancholy, not from its site, but the purpose to which it isdevoted. Placed on an eminence, the windows of the mansioncommand--beyond the gloomy walls that gird the garden ground--one ofthose enchanting prospects which win for France her title to _La Belle_. There the glorious Seine is seen in the distance, broad and windingthrough the varied plains, and beside the gleaming villages and villas. There, too, beneath the clear blue sky of France, the forest-lands ofVersailles and St. Germains stretch in dark luxuriance around and afar. There you may see sleeping on the verge of the landscape the mightycity, --crowned with the thousand spires from which, proud above the rest, rises the eyry of Napoleon's eagle, the pinnacle of Notre Dame. Remote, sequestered, the place still commands the survey of the turbulentworld below; and Madness gazes upon prospects that might well charm thethoughtful eyes of Imagination or of Wisdom! In one of the rooms of thishouse sat Castruccio Cesarini. The apartment was furnished even withelegance; a variety of books strewed the table; nothing for comfort orfor solace that the care and providence of affection could dictate wasomitted. Cesarini was alone: leaning his cheek upon his hand, he gazedon the beautiful and tranquil view we have described. "And am I never toset a free foot on that soil again?" he muttered indignantly, as he brokefrom his revery. The door opened, and the keeper of the sad abode (a surgeon of humanityand eminence) entered, followed by De Montaigne. Cesarini turned roundand scowled upon the latter; the surgeon, after a few words ofsalutation, withdrew to a corner of the room, and appeared absorbed in abook. De Montaigne approached his brother-in-law, --"I have brought yousome poems just published at Milan, my dear Castruccio, --they will pleaseyou. " "Give me my liberty!" cried Cesarini, clenching his hands. "Why am I tobe detained here? Why are my nights to be broken by the groans ofmaniacs, and my days devoured in a solitude that loathes the aspect ofthings around me? Am I mad? You know I am not! It is an old trick tosay that poets are mad, --you mistake our agonies for insanity. See, I amcalm; I can reason: give me any test of sound mind--no matter howrigid--I will pass it; I am not mad, --I swear I am not!" "No, my dear Castruccio, " said De Montaigne, soothingly; "but you arestill unwell, --you still have fever; when next I see you perhaps you maybe recovered sufficiently to dismiss the doctor and change the air. Meanwhile is there anything you would have added or altered?" Cesarini had listened to this speech with a mocking sarcasm on his lip, but an expression of such hopeless wretchedness in his eyes, as theyalone can comprehend who have witnessed madness in its lucid intervals. He sank down, and his head drooped gloomily on his breast. "No, " saidhe; "I want nothing but free air or death, --no matter which. " De Montaigne stayed some time with the unhappy man, and sought to soothehim; but it was in vain. Yet when he rose to depart, Cesarini startedup, and fixing on him his large wistful eyes, exclaimed, "Ah! do notleave me yet. It is so dreadful to be alone with the dead and the worsethan dead!" The Frenchman turned aside to wipe his eyes, and stifle the rising at hisheart; and again he sat, and again he sought to soothe. At lengthCesarini, seemingly more calm, gave him leave to depart. "Go, " said he, "go; tell Teresa I am better, that I love her tenderly, that I shall liveto tell her children not to be poets. Stay, you asked if there was aughtI wished changed: yes, this room; it is too still: I hear my own pulsebeat so loudly in the silence, it is horrible! There is a room below, bythe window of which there is a tree, and the winds rock its boughs to andfro, and it sighs and groans like a living thing; it will be pleasant tolook at that tree, and see the birds come home to it, --yet that tree iswintry and blasted too! It will be pleasant to hear it fret and chafe inthe stormy nights; it will be a friend to me, that old tree! let me havethat room. Nay, look not at each other, --it is not so high as this; butthe window is barred, --I cannot escape!" And Cesarini smiled. "Certainly, " said the surgeon, "if you prefer that room; but it has notso fine a view. " "I hate the view of the world that has cast me off. When may I change?" "This very evening. " "Thank you; it will be a great revolution in my life. " And Cesarini's eyes brightened, and he looked happy. De Montaigne, thoroughly unmanned, tore himself away. The promise was kept, and Cesarini was transferred that night to thechamber he had selected. As soon as it was deep night, the last visit of the keeper paid, and, save now and then, by some sharp cry in the more distant quarter of thehouse, all was still, Cesarini rose from his bed; a partial light camefrom the stars that streamed through the frosty and keen air, and cast asickly gleam through the heavy bars of the casement. It was then thatCesarini drew from under his pillow a long-cherished andcarefully-concealed treasure. Oh, with what rapture had he firstpossessed himself of it! with what anxiety had it been watched andguarded! how many cunning stratagems and profound inventions had gonetowards the baffling, the jealous search of the keeper and his myrmidons!The abandoned and wandering mother never clasped her child more fondly toher bosom, nor gazed upon his features with more passionate visions forthe future. And what had so enchanted the poor prisoner, so deluded thepoor maniac? A large nail! He had found it accidentally in the garden;he had hoarded it for weeks, --it had inspired him with the hope ofliberty. Often, in the days far gone, he had read of the wonders thathad been effected, of the stones removed, and the bars filed, by theself-same kind of implement. He remembered that the most celebrated ofthose bold unfortunates who live a life against the law, had said, "Choose my prison, and give me but a rusty nail, and I laugh at yourjailers and your walls!" He crept to the window; he examined his relicby the dim starlight; he kissed it passionately, and the tears stood inhis eyes. Ah, who shall determine the worth of things? No king that night soprized his crown as the madman prized that rusty inch of wire, --theproper prey of the rubbish-cart and dunghill. Little didst thou think, old blacksmith, when thou drewest the dull metal from the fire, of whatprecious price it was to become! Cesarini, with the astuteness of his malady, had long marked out thischamber for the scene of his operations; he had observed that theframework in which the bars were set seemed old and worm-eaten; that thewindow was but a few feet from the ground; that the noise made in thewinter nights by the sighing branches of the old tree without woulddeaden the sound of the lone workman. Now, then, his hopes were to becrowned. Poor fool! and even _thou_ hast hope still! All that night hetoiled and toiled, and sought to work his iron into a file; now he triedthe bars, and now the framework. Alas! he had not learned the skill insuch tools, possessed by his renowned model and inspirer; the flesh wasworn from his fingers, the cold drops stood on his brow; and morningsurprised him, advanced not a hair-breadth in his labour. He crept back to bed, and again hid the useless implement, and at last heslept. And, night after night, the same task, the same results! But at length, one day, when Cesarini returned from his moody walk in the gardens(_pleasure_-grounds they were called by the owner), he found betterworkmen than he at the window; they were repairing the framework, theywere strengthening the bars, --all hope was now gone! The unfortunatesaid nothing; too cunning to show his despair he eyed them silently, andcursed them; but the old tree was left still, and that wassomething, --company and music. A day or two after this barbarous counterplot, Cesarini was walking inthe gardens towards the latter part of the afternoon (just when in theshort days the darkness begins to steal apace over the chill and westernsun), when he was accosted by a fellow-captive, who had often beforesought his acquaintance; for they try to have friends, --those poorpeople! Even _we_ do the same; though _we_ say we are _not_ mad! Thisman had been a warrior, had served with Napoleon, had received honoursand ribbons, --might, for aught we know, have dreamed of being a marshal!But the demon smote him in the hour of his pride. It was his disease tofancy himself a monarch. He believed, for he forgot chronology, that hewas at once the Iron Mask, and the true sovereign of France and Navarre, confined in state by the usurpers of his crown. On other points he wasgenerally sane; a tall, strong man, with fierce features, and sternlines, wherein could be read many a bloody tale of violence and wrong, oflawless passions, of terrible excesses, to which madness might be at oncethe consummation and the curse. This man had taken a fancy to Cesarini;and, in some hours Cesarini had shunned him less than others, --for theycould alike rail against all living things. The lunatic approachedCesarini with an air of dignity and condescension. "It is a cold night, sir, --and there will be no moon. Has it neveroccurred to you that the winter is the season for escape?" Cesarini started; the ex-officer continued, -- "Ay, I see by your manner that you, too, chafe at our ignominiousconfinement. I think that together we might brave the worst. Youprobably are confined on some state offence. I give you full pardon, ifyou assist me. For myself I have but to appear in my capital; old Louisle Grand must be near his last hour. " "This madman my best companion!" thought Cesarini, revolting at his owninfirmity, as Gulliver started from the Yahoo. "No matter, he talks ofescape. "And how think you, " said the Italian, aloud, --"how think you, that wehave any chance of deliverance?" "Hush, speak lower, " said the soldier. "In the inner garden, I haveobserved for the last two days that a gardener is employed in nailingsome fig-trees and vines to the wall. Between that garden and thesegrounds there is but a paling, which we can easily scale. He works tilldusk; at the latest hour we can, let us climb noiselessly over thepaling, and creep along the vegetable beds till we reach the man. Heuses a ladder for his purpose; the rest is clear, --we must fell and gaghim, --twist his neck if necessary, --I have twisted a neck before, " quoththe maniac, with a horrid smile. "The ladder will help us over the wall, and the night soon grows dark at this season. " Cesarini listened, and his heart beat quick. "Will it be too late to tryto-night?" said he in a whisper. "Perhaps not, " said the soldier, who retained all his military acuteness. "But are you prepared, --don't you require time to man yourself?" "No--no, --I have had time enough!--I am ready. " "Well, then, --hist!---we are watched--one of the jailers! Talk easily, smile, laugh. This way. " They passed by one of the watch of the place, and just as they were inhis hearing, the soldier turned to Cesarini, "Sir, will you favour mewith your snuff-box?" "I have none. " "None? what a pity! My good friend, " and he turned to the scout, "may Irequest you to look in my room for my snuff-box? It is on thechimney-piece, --it will not take you a minute. " The soldier was one of those whose insanity was deemed most harmless, andhis relations, who were rich and wellborn, had requested every indulgenceto be shown to him. The watch suspected nothing, and repaired to thehouse. As soon as the trees hid him, --"Now, " said the soldier, "stoopalmost on all fours, and run quick. " So saying the maniac crouched low, and glided along with a rapidity whichdid not distance Cesarini. They reached the paling that separated thevegetable garden from the pleasure-ground; the soldier vaulted over itwith ease, Cesarini with more difficulty followed. They crept along; theherbs and vegetable beds, with their long bare stalks, concealed theirmovements; the man was still on the ladder. "_La bonne Esperance_" saidthe soldier through his ground teeth, muttering some old watchword of thewars, and (while Cesarini, below, held the ladder steadfast) he rushed upthe steps, and with a sudden effort of his muscular arm, hurled thegardener to the ground. The man, surprised, half stunned, and whollyterrified, did not attempt to wrestle with the two madmen, he utteredloud cries for help! But help came too late; these strange and fearfulcomrades had already scaled the wall, had dropped on the other side, andwere fast making across the dusky fields to the neighbouring forest. CHAPTER V. HOPES and Fears Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge Look down: on what?--a fathomless abyss!--YOUNG. MIDNIGHT--and intense frost! There they were--houseless andbreadless--the two fugitives, in the heart of that beautiful forest whichhas rung to the horns of many a royal chase. The soldier, whose youthhad been inured to hardships, and to the conquests which our mother-witwrings from the stepdame Nature, had made a fire by the friction of twopieces of dry wood; such wood was hard to be found, for the snow whitenedthe level ground, and lay deep in the hollows; and when it wasdiscovered, the fuel was slow to burn; however, the fire blazed red atlast. On a little mound, shaded by a semicircle of huge trees, sat theOutlaws of Human Reason. They cowered over the blaze opposite to eachother, and the glare crimsoned their features. And each in his heartlonged to rid himself of his mad neighbour; and each felt the awe ofsolitude, --the dread of sleep beside a comrade whose soul had lost God'slight! "Ho!" said the warrior, breaking a silence that had been long kept, "thisis cold work at the best, and hunger pinches me; I almost regret theprison. " "I do not feel the cold, " said Cesarini, "and I do not care for hunger: Iam revelling only in the sense of liberty!" "Try and sleep, " quoth the soldier, with a coaxing and, sinister softnessof voice; "we will take it by turns to watch. " "I cannot sleep, --take you the first turn. " "Hark ye, sir!" said the soldier sullenly; "I must not have my commandsdisputed; now we are free, we are no longer equal: I am heir to thecrowns of France and Navarre. Sleep, I say!" "And what Prince or Potentate, King or Kaiser, " cried Cesarini, catchingthe quick contagion of the fit that had seized his comrade, "can dictateto the monarch of Earth and Air, the Elements and the music-breathingStars? I am Cesarini the Bard! and the huntsman Orion halts in his chaseabove to listen to my lyre! Be stilled, rude man!--thou scarest away theangels, whose breath even now was rushing through my hair!" "It is too horrible!" cried the grim man of blood, shivering; "my enemiesare relentless, and give me a madman for a jailer!" "Ha! a madman!" exclaimed Cesarini, springing to his feet, and glaring atthe soldier with eyes that caught and rivalled the blaze of the fire. "And who are you?--what devil from the deep hell, that art leagued withmy persecutors against me?" With the instinct of his old calling and valour, the soldier also rosewhen he saw the movement of his companion; and his fierce features workedwith rage and fear. "Avaunt!" said he, waving his arm; "we banish thee from our presence!This is our palace!--and our guards are at hand!" pointing to the stilland skeleton trees that grouped round in ghastly bareness. "Begone!" At that moment they heard at a distance the deep barking of a dog, andeach cried simultaneously, "They are after me!--betrayed!" The soldiersprang at the throat of Cesarini; but the Italian, at the same instant, caught a half-burned brand from the fire, and dashed the blazing end inthe face of his assailant. The soldier uttered a cry of pain, andrecoiled back, blinded and dismayed. Cesarini, whose madness, whenfairly roused, was of the most deadly nature, again raised his weapon, and probably nothing but death could have separated the foes; but againthe bay of the dog was heard, and Cesarini, answering the sound by a wildyell, threw down the brand, and fled away through the forest withinconceivable swiftness. He hurried on through bush and dell, --and theboughs tore his garments and mangled his flesh, --but stopped not hisprogress till he fell at last on the ground, breathless and exhausted, and heard from some far-off clock the second hour of morning. He hadleft the forest; a farmhouse stood before him, and the whitened roofs ofscattered cottages sloped to the tranquil sky. The witness of man--thesocial tranquil sky and the reasoning man--operated like a charm upon thesenses which recent excitement had more than usually disturbed. Theunhappy wretch gazed at the peaceful abodes, and sighed heavily; then, rising from the earth, he crept into one of the sheds that adjoined thefarmhouse, and throwing himself on some straw, slept sound and quietlytill daylight, and the voices of peasants in the shed awakened him. He rose refreshed, calm, and, for ordinary purposes, sufficiently sane toprevent suspicion of his disease. He approached the startled peasants, and representing himself as a traveller who had lost his way in the nightand amidst the forest, begged for food and water. Though his garmentswere torn, they were new and of good fashion; his voice was mild; hiswhole appearance and address those of one of some station--and the Frenchpeasant is a hospitable fellow. Cesarini refreshed and rested himself anhour or two at the farm, and then resumed his wanderings; he offered nomoney, for the rules of the asylum forbade money to its inmates, --he hadnone with him; but none was expected from him, and they bade him farewellas kindly as if he had bought their blessings. He then began to considerwhere he was to take refuge, and how provide for himself; the feeling ofliberty braced, and for a time restored, his intellect. Fortunately, he had on his person, besides some rings of trifling cost, awatch of no inconsiderable value, the sale of which might support him, insuch obscure and humble quarter as he could alone venture to inhabit, forseveral weeks, perhaps months. This thought made him cheerful andelated; he walked lustily on, shunning the high road. The day was clear, the sun bright, the air full of racy health. Oh, what soft rapturesswelled the heart of the wanderer, as he gazed around him! The Poet andthe Freeman alike stirred within his shattered heart! He paused tocontemplate the berries of the icy trees, to listen to the sharp glee ofthe blackbird; and once--when he found beneath a hedge a cold, scentlessgroup of hardy violets--he laughed aloud in his joy. In that laughterthere was no madness, no danger; but when as he journeyed on, he passedthrough a little hamlet, and saw the children at play upon the ground, and heard from the open door of a cabin the sound of rustic music, thenindeed he paused abruptly; the past gathered over him: _he knew thatwhich he had been, that which he was now_!--an awful memory! a dreadrevelation! And, covering his face with his hands, he wept aloud. Inthose tears were the peril and method of madness. He woke from them tothink of his youth, his hopes, of Florence, of revenge! Lumley LordVargrave! better, from that hour, to encounter the tiger in his lair thanfind thyself alone with that miserable man! CHAPTER VI. IT seemed the laurel chaste and stubborn oak, And all the gentle trees on earth that grew, It seemed the land, the sea, and heaven above, All breathed out fancy sweet, and sighed out love. FAIRFAX'S _Tasso_. AT De Montaigne's villa, Evelyn, for the first time, gathered from thelooks, the manners, of Maltravers that she was beloved. It was no longerpossible to mistake the evidences of affection. Formerly, Maltravers hadavailed himself of his advantage of years and experience, and would warn, admonish, dispute, even reprove; formerly, there had been so much ofseeming caprice, of cold distance, of sudden and wayward haughtiness, inhis bearing; but now the whole man was changed, --the Mentor had vanishedin the Lover; he held his being on her breath. Her lightest pleasureseemed to have grown his law, no coldness ever alternated the deepdevotion of his manner; an anxious, a timid, a watchful softness replacedall his stately self-possession. Evelyn saw that she was loved; and shethen looked into her own heart. I have said before that Evelyn was gentle, even to _yieldingness_; thather susceptibility made her shrink from the thought of pain to another:and so thoroughly did she revere Maltravers, so grateful did she feel fora love that could not but flatter pride, and raise her in herself-esteem, that she felt it impossible that she could reject his suit. "Then, do I love him as I dreamed I could love?" she asked herself; andher heart gave no intelligible reply. "Yes, it must be so; in hispresence I feel a tranquil and eloquent charm; his praise delights me;his esteem is my most high ambition;--and yet--and yet--" she sighed andthought of Legard; "but _he_ loved me not!" and she turned restlesslyfrom that image. "He thinks but of the world, of pleasure; Maltravers isright, --the spoiled children of society cannot love: why should I thinkof him?" There were no guests at the villa, except Maltravers, Evelyn, and Lordand Lady Doltimore. Evelyn was much captivated by the graceful vivacityof Teresa, though that vivacity was not what it had been before herbrother's affliction; their children, some of whom had grown up, constituted an amiable and intelligent family; and De Montaigne himselfwas agreeable and winning, despite his sober manners and his love ofphilosophical dispute. Evelyn often listened thoughtfully to Teresa'spraises of her husband, --to her account of the happiness she had known ina marriage where there had been so great a disparity of years; Evelynbegan to question the truth of her early visions of romance. Caroline saw the unequivocal attachment of Maltravers with the sameindifference with which she had anticipated the suit of Legard. It wasthe same to her what hand delivered Evelyn and herself from the designsof Vargrave; but Vargrave occupied nearly all her thoughts. Thenewspapers had reported him as seriously ill, --at one time in greatdanger. He was now recovering, but still unable to quit his room. Hehad written to her once, lamenting his ill-fortune, trusting soon to beat Paris; and touching, with evident pleasure, upon Legard's departurefor Vienna, which he had seen in the "Morning Post. " But he wasafar--alone, ill, untended; and though Caroline's guilty love had beenmuch abated by Vargrave's icy selfishness, by absence and remorse, stillshe had the heart of a woman, --and Vargrave was the only one that hadever touched it. She felt for him, and grieved in silence; she did notdare to utter sympathy aloud, for Doltimore had already given evidence ofa suspicious and jealous temper. Evelyn was also deeply affected by the account of her guardian's illness. As I before said, the moment he ceased to be her lover, her childishaffection for him returned. She even permitted herself to write to him;and a tone of melancholy depression which artfully pervaded his replystruck her with something like remorse. He told her in the letter thathe had much to say to her relative to an investment, in conformity withher stepfather's wishes, and he should hasten to Paris, even before thedoctor would sanction his removal. Vargrave forbore to mention what themeditated investment was. The last public accounts of the minister had, however, been so favourable, that his arrival might be almost dailyexpected; and both Caroline and Evelyn felt relieved. To De Montaigne, Maltravers confided his attachment, and both theFrenchman and Teresa sanctioned and encouraged it. Evelyn enchantedthem; and they had passed that age when they could have imagined itpossible that the man they had known almost as a boy was separated byyears from the lively feelings and extreme youth of Evelyn. They couldnot believe that the sentiments he had inspired were colder than thosethat animated himself. One day, Maltravers had been absent for some hours on his solitaryrambles, and De Montaigne had not yet returned from Paris, which hevisited almost daily. It was so late in the noon as almost to border onevening, when Maltravers; on his return, entered the grounds by a gatethat separated them from an extensive wood. He saw Evelyn, Teresa, andtwo of her children walking on a terrace immediately before him. Hejoined them; and, somehow or other, it soon chanced that Teresa andhimself loitered behind the rest, a little out of hearing. "Ah, Mr. Maltravers, " said the former, "we miss the soft skies of Italy and thebeautiful hues of Como. " "And, for my part, I miss the youth that gave 'glory to the grass andsplendour to the flower. '" "Nay; we are happier now, believe me, --or at least I should be, if--But Imust not think of my poor brother. Ah, if his guilt deprived you of onewho was worthy of you, it would be some comfort to his sister to think atlast that the loss was repaired. And you still have scruples?" "Who that loves truly has not? How young, how lovely, how worthy oflighter hearts and fairer forms than mine! Give me back the years thathave passed since we last met at Como, and I might hope!" "And this to me who have enjoyed such happiness with one older, when wemarried, by ten years than you are now!" "But you, Teresa, were born to see life through the Claude glass. " "Ah, you provoke me with these refinements; you turn from a happiness youhave but to demand. " "Do not--do not raise my hopes too high, " cried Maltravers, with greatemotion; "I have been schooling myself all day. But if I _am_ deceived!" "Trust me, you are not. See, even now she turns round to look for you;she loves you, --loves you as you deserve. This difference of years thatyou so lament does but deepen and elevate her attachment!" Teresa turned to Maltravers, surprised at his silence. How joyous sathis heart upon his looks, --no gloom on his brow, no doubt in hissparkling eyes! He was mortal, and he yielded to the delight ofbelieving himself beloved. He pressed Teresa's hand in silence, and, quitting her abruptly, gained the side of Evelyn. Madame de Montaignecomprehended all that passed within him; and as she followed, she sooncontrived to detach her children, and returned with them to the house ona whispered pretence of seeing if their father had yet arrived. Evelynand Maltravers continued to walk on, --not aware, at first, that the restof the party were not close behind. The sun had set; and they were in a part of the grounds which, by way ofcontrast to the rest, was laid out in the English fashion; the walkwound, serpent-like, among a profusion of evergreens irregularly planted;the scene was shut in and bounded, except where at a distance, through anopening of the trees, you caught the spire of a distant church, overwhich glimmered, faint and fair, the smile of the evening star. "This reminds me of home, " said Evelyn, gently. "And hereafter it will remind me of you, " said Maltravers, in whisperedaccents. He fixed his eyes on her as he spoke. Never had his look beenso true to his heart; never had his voice so undisguisedly expressed theprofound and passionate sentiment which had sprung up within him, --toconstitute, as he then believed, the latest bliss, or the crowningmisery, of his life! At that moment, it was a sort of instinct that toldhim they were _alone_; for who has not felt--in those few and memorablehours of life when love long suppressed overflows the fountain, and seemsto pervade the whole frame and the whole spirit--that there is a magicaround and within us that hath a keener intelligence than intellectitself? Alone at such an hour with the one we love, the whole worldbesides seems to vanish, and our feet to have entered the soil, and ourlips to have caught the air, of Fairyland. They were alone. And why did Evelyn tremble? Why did she feel that acrisis of existence was at hand? "Miss Cameron--Evelyn, " said Maltravers, after they had walked somemoments in silence, "hear me--and let your reason as well as your heartreply. From the first moment we met, you became dear to me. Yes, evenwhen a child, your sweetness and your fortitude foretold so well what youwould be in womanhood; even then you left upon my memory a delightful andmysterious shadow, --too prophetic of the light that now hallows and wrapsyour image! We met again, --and the attraction that had drawn me towardsyou years before was suddenly renewed. I love you, Evelyn! I love youbetter than all words can tell! Your future fate, your welfare, yourhappiness, contain and embody all the hopes left to me in life! But ouryears are different, Evelyn; I have known sorrows, --and thedisappointments and the experience that have severed me from the commonworld have robbed me of more than time itself hath done. They haverobbed me of that zest for the ordinary pleasures of our race, --which mayit be yours, sweet Evelyn, ever to retain! To me, the time foretold bythe Preacher as the lot of age has already arrived, when the sun and themoon are darkened, and when, save in you and through you, I have nopleasure in anything. Judge, if such a being you can love! Judge, if myvery confession does not revolt and chill, if it does not present to youa gloomy and cheerless future, were it possible that you could unite yourlot to mine! Answer not from friendship or from pity; the love I feelfor you can have a reply from love alone, and from that reasoning whichlove, in its enduring power, in its healthful confidence, in itsprophetic foresight, alone supplies! I can resign you without a murmur;but I could not live with you and even fancy that you had one care Icould not soothe, though you might have happiness I could not share. Andfate does not present to me any vision so dark and terrible--no, not yourloss itself; no, not your indifference; no, not your aversion--as yourdiscovery, after time should make regret in vain, that you had mistakenfancy or friendship for affection, a sentiment for love. Evelyn, I haveconfided to you all, --all this wild heart, now and evermore your own. Mydestiny is with you. " Evelyn was silent; he took her hand, and her tears fell warm and fastupon it. Alarmed and anxious, he drew her towards him and gazed upon herface. "You fear to wound me, " he said, with pale lips and trembling voice. "Speak on, --I can bear all. " "No, no, " said Evelyn, falteringly; "I have no fear but not to deserveyou. " "You love me, then, --you love me!" cried Maltravers wildly, and claspingher to his heart. The moon rose at that instant, and the wintry sward and the dark treeswere bathed in the sudden light. The time--the light--so exquisite toall, even in loneliness and in sorrow--how divine in such companionship!in such overflowing and ineffable sense of bliss! There and then for thefirst time did Maltravers press upon that modest and blushing cheek thekiss of Love, of Hope, --the seal of a union he fondly hoped the graveitself could not dissolve! CHAPTER VII. _Queen_. Whereon do you look? _Hamlet_. On him, on him, --look you how pale he glares!--_Hamlet_. PERHAPS to Maltravers those few minutes which ensued, as they walkedslowly on, compensated for all the troubles and cares of years; fornatures like his feel joy even yet more intensely than sorrow. It mightbe that the transport, the delirium of passionate and grateful thoughtsthat he poured forth, when at last he could summon words, expressedfeelings the young Evelyn could not comprehend, and which less delightedthan terrified her with the new responsibility she had incurred. Butlove so honest, so generous, so intense, dazzled and bewildered andcarried her whole soul away. Certainly at that hour she felt noregret--no thought but that one in whom she had so long recognizedsomething nobler than is found in the common world was thus happy andthus made happy by a word, a look from her! Such a thought is woman'sdearest triumph; and one so thoroughly unselfish, so yielding, and sosoft, could not be insensible to the rapture she had caused. "And oh!" said Maltravers, as he clasped again and again the hand that hebelieved he had won forever, "now, at length, have I learned howbeautiful is life! For this--for this I have been reserved! Heaven ismerciful to me, and the waking world is brighter than all my dreams!" He ceased abruptly. At that instant they were once more on the terracewhere he had first joined Teresa, facing the wood, which was divided by aslight and low palisade from the spot where they stood. He ceasedabruptly, for his eyes encountered a terrible and ominous apparition, --aform connected with dreary associations of fate and woe. The figure hadraised itself upon a pile of firewood on the other side of the fence, andhence it seemed almost gigantic in its stature. It gazed upon the pairwith eyes that burned with a preternatural blaze, and a voice whichMaltravers too well remembered shrieked out "Love! love! What! _thou_love again? Where is the Dead! Ha, ha! Where is the Dead?" Evelyn, startled by the words, looked up, and clung in speechless terrorto Maltravers. He remained rooted to the spot. "Unhappy man, " said he, at length, and soothingly, "how came you hither?Fly not, you are with friends. " "Friends!" said the maniac, with a scornful laugh. "I know thee, ErnestMaltravers, --I know thee: but it is not thou who hast locked me up indarkness and in hell, side by side with the mocking fiend! Friends! ah, but no Friends shall catch me now! I am free! I am free! Air and waveare not more free!" And the madman laughed with horrible glee. "She isfair--fair, " he said, abruptly checking himself, and with a changedvoice, "but not so fair as the Dead. Faithless that thou art--and yetshe loved _thee_! Woe to thee! woe! Maltravers, the perfidious! Woe tothee--and remorse--and shame!" "Fear not, Evelyn, --fear not, " whispered Maltravers, gently, and placingher behind him; "support your courage, --nothing shall harm you. " Evelyn, though very pale, and trembling from head to foot, retained hersenses. Maltravers advanced towards the mad man. But no sooner did thequick eye of the last perceive the movement, than, with the fear whichbelongs to that dread disease, --the fear of losing liberty, --he turned, and with a loud cry fled into the wood. Maltravers leaped over thefence, and pursued him some way in vain. The thick copses of the woodsnatched every trace of the fugitive from his eye. Breathless and exhausted, Maltravers returned to the spot where he hadleft Evelyn. As he reached it, he saw Teresa and her husband approachingtowards him, and Teresa's merry laugh sounded clear and musical in theracy air. The sound appalled him; he hastened his steps to Evelyn. "Say nothing of what we have seen to Madame de Montaigne, I beseech you, "said he; "I will explain why hereafter. " Evelyn, too overcome to speak, nodded her acquiescence. They joined theDe Montaignes, and Maltravers took the Frenchman aside. But before he could address him, De Montaigne said, -- "Hush! do not alarm my wife--she knows nothing; but I have just heard atParis, that--that he has escaped--you know whom I mean?" "I do; he is at hand; send in search of him! I have seen him. Once moreI have seen Castruccio Cesarini!"