Archibald Malmaison

by Julian Hawthorne

Author of "Garth, " "Sebastian Strome, " "Dust, " Etc. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

When I was a child, I used to hope my fairy-stories were true. Sincereaching years of discretion, I have preferred acknowledged fiction. Thisinconsistency, however, is probably rather apparent than real. Experiencehas taught me that the greater the fairy-story the less the truth; andcontrariwise, that the greater the truth the less the fairy-story. Inother words, the artistic graces of romance are irreconcilable with thecrude straightforwardness of fact. The idealism of childhood, believingthat all that is most beautiful must on that very account be most true, clamors accordingly for truth. The knowledge of maturity, which hasdiscovered that nothing that is true (in the sense of being existent) canbe beautiful, deprecates truth beyond everything. What happens, we find, is never what ought to happen; nor does it happen in the right way orseason. In palliation of this hardship, the sublime irony of fate grantsus our imagination, wherewith we create little pet worlds of poetry andromance, in which everything is arranged in neat harmonies and surprises, to gratify the scope of our little vision. The actual world, the realuniverse, may, indeed, be picturesque and perfect beyond the grandest ofour imaginative miniatures; but since the former can be revealed to usonly in comparatively infinitesimal portions, the miniatures still havethe best of it. 

To preface a story with the information that it is true, is not, therefore, the way to recommend it. Your hearer's life, and those of his friends, areenough true stories for him; what he wants of you is merciful fiction. Destiny, to his apprehension, is always either vapid, or clumsy, orbrutal; and he feels certain that, do your worst, you can never rival thebrutality, the clumsiness, or the vapidity of destiny. If you are silly, he can at least laugh at you; if you are clumsy or brutal, he has hisremedy; and meanwhile there is always the chance that you may turn out tobe graceful and entertaining. But to bully him with facts is like askinghim to live his life over again; and the civilized human being has yet tobe found who would not rather die than do that. 

No; we are all spontaneously sure that no story-teller, though he were aTimon of Athens double distilled, can ever be so unsympathetic andunnatural as destiny, who tells the only story that never winds up. Wecannot understand destiny; we never know to what lengths she may go: butthe story-teller we know inside and out; he is only a possible ourself, and we defy him to do us any serious harm. I trust I am rendering mymeaning clear, and that no one will suppose that in making this onslaughtupon truth, I have anything else in view than truth as applied to what arecalled stories. With truth scientific, moral, religious, I am at presentin nowise concerned. Only, I have no respect for the weakness that willoutrage a promising bit of narrative for the sake of keeping to the facts. Imbecile! the facts are given you, like the block of marble or theelements of a landscape, as material for the construction of a work ofart. Which would you rather be, a photographer or Michael Angelo? "_Nonvero ma ben trovato_" should be your motto; and if you refuse to killyour heroine on the Saturday night because, forsooth, she really did, despite all dramatic propriety, survive till Monday morning--why, pleaseyourself; but do not bring your inanities to me!

I have now to reconcile this profession of faith with the incongruous factthat the following story is a true one. True it is, in whole and in part;furthermore, the events took place in the present century, and within ahundred miles of London. But let me observe, in the first place, that, although a true tale, it is nevertheless strange and interesting to anunusual degree; and, secondly, that this interest and strangeness mainlydepend, not upon the succession of incidents, but upon the subjectivecondition--character it cannot be termed--of Archibald Malmaison himself. This being the case, it follows that the greater part of the objectionsabove insisted upon fall to the ground. What goes on inside a man mustneeds be accepted as it is revealed to us: to invent psychologicalattributes does not lie within the province of a romancer. His skill andpower are confined to so selecting and arranging the incidents as toprovide his psychological data with the freest possible development. Inthe present case I might easily have devised a stage and a series ofevents for Malmaison, which would have brought his mysterious affectioninto somewhat more prominent and picturesque relief. But that affection isitself so absorbing a problem, that the fashion of its statement becomesof comparatively small import; and I may add that the setting furnished bynature happens on this occasion to answer all practical purposes tolerablywell. Moreover, I am not altogether a free agent in the matter. The friendby whose permission I tell the tale is of opinion that no liberties oughtto be taken with its form, any more than with what he is pleased to callits "physiological characteristics. " The main significance of thenarrative being, according to him, of a scientific or pathological kind, it would be hostile to scientific interests to depart from historicalaccuracy in its presentation. From the professional dictum of a man likeDr. Forbes Rollinson there can, of course, be no appeal, and if I am towrite the account at all, it is but fair that in so doing I should respectthe wishes of him who is the lawful proprietor of it. I have thought itbut fair to myself, however, to begin by offering this explanation. I feelmore or less hampered by the conditions enjoined upon me, and, besides, Ido not agree with Dr. Rollinson's theory of the phenomena. In the presentstate of our knowledge, no theory on such subjects can pretend to be morethan hypothetically correct; and my prejudices are opposed to what isknown as the materialistic explanation of the universe. With, all respectfor the validity of science within its proper sphere, I do not conceivethat its judgments are entitled to paramount consideration when theyattempt to settle the problems of psychology. There are mysteries which noprocess of inductive reasoning can reach. --The reader, however, will notbe decoyed blindfold into accepting as final either the Doctor's view ormine; but, after possessing himself of the facts, will be left free todraw what conclusions he may please. 

As regards the matter of names, dates, and localities, Dr. Rollinson holdsthat they had better be given at full length; and here I am not disposedto differ from him. The system of blanks and initial letters was alwaysdistasteful to me; and to use fictitious names in a true story seems liketaking away with one hand what you give with another. Besides, every oneof the actors in the drama is now dead: Dr. Rollinson [1] himself beingthe only living person who is cognizant, directly, of all thecircumstances, from beginning to end. In his capacity of physician, he wasthe intimate and trusted friend of the ill-fated Malmaison householdduring upward of twenty years, and he inherited this confidential positionfrom his father. He has kindly placed at my disposal a number of hisprofessional note-books and journals, and in various places I haveincorporated with the narrative some of the information which theycontain. At other times I have inserted minor details of conversation andincident, and have endeavored to throw over the whole as "fictitious" anair as was consistent with the conscientious observance of my compact withthe Doctor. And now, without further preface, I will proceed to business. 

I. 

Archibald Malmaison was the second son of Sir Clarence Butt Malmaison, ofMalmaison, Sussex. He had the odd distinction of being born on the 29th ofFebruary, 1800. His elder brother, Edward, born 1798, died before him, aswill be hereinafter shown. There were no other brothers, but four girlsappeared after Archibald, two of whom died in childhood of scarlet fever, while the other two grew up to be married. They have nothing to do withthe story, and will not be mentioned again. 

The Malmaisons, as their name denotes, were of French descent--Huguenots. Like many other emigrants, they yielded, in the course of a generation ortwo, to a barbarous mispronunciation of their patronymic, which came to bespoken of as if spelt "Malmsey. "

How it happened that the chateau of the Empress Josephine was christened bythe same name, I know not; at all events, the Sussex Malmaisons have priorclaim to the title. The estate, which embraced between seven and eighthundred acres, lay in that portion of the county which borders upon thejunction line of Kent and Surrey. Colonel Battledown, the Peninsularsoldier, owned the adjoining estate in Kent; while the Surrey corner wasoccupied, at the epoch of this story, by the Honorable RichardPennroyal--he whose father, Lord Epsom, is said to have won ninetythousand pounds from Fox in a single night's play. The three families hadbeen on a friendly footing with each other ever since the early part ofthe reign of George III. 

Sir Clarence had been an ally of the father of the Honorable Richard inParliament (they were both Whigs), and Colonel Battledown, though a Tory, was such capital company as not only to compensate for his politicalderelictions, but even to render them a matter for mutualcongratulation--they so enlivened the conversation! In truth, I supposethe three gentlemen must have had many a boisterous discussion over theirnightly three or four bottles apiece of claret, and after their hard dayacross country. 

The Honorable Richard, by the by, was by far the youngest of the three; atthe time of Archibald's birth he was not much over twenty; but he had acool, strong brain, and quite as much gravity as his seniors, over whom, in fact, he seems to have exercised a species of ascendency. Possibly heinherited something of his noble father's ability--that of playing quietlyfor big stakes when all the odds were in his favor. At all events, in theyear 1801 he married Miss Jane Malmaison, the baronet's sister, who wasfifteen years older than he, but who brought him fifty thousand pounds--anot unimportant consideration to him at that time. 

Mrs. Pennroyal has one claim upon our notice, and only one; seven yearsafter her marriage, at the age of forty-two, she completely lost hermemory, and became rather idiotic, and a few years later contrived to fallinto an ornamental fish-pond, and drowned there before her attendantsmissed her. She was buried with much stateliness; but it is to be fearedthat few persons missed her even then. She left no children. 

Was poor old Jane the first member of the Malmaison line who had shown anyspecial weakness or peculiarity in the upper story? There was a hoarytradition to the effect that the son or grandson of the first emigrant hadmade some compact or other with the Evil One, the terms of which were thathe (the grandson) was to prolong his terrestrial existence for one hundredand forty years by the ingenious device of living only every alternateseven years, the intervening periods to be passed in a sort ofhibernation. In return for this accommodation he was, of course, to makeH. S. M. The usual acknowledgment!

The final upshot of this bargain--as is usually the way in these cases--isnot known. Did the worthy gentleman work his way into his third halfcentury? And had he, by that time, acquired astuteness sufficient to cheatthe other party to the contract of his due? History is silent; the onlything asserted with any appearance of confidence is that Sir Eustace deMalmaison possessed the power of vanishing at will from the eyes of men. Nay, he would seem to have bequeathed this useful accomplishment tocertain of his descendants; for there is among the family documents acurious narrative, signed and witnessed, describing how a member of thefamily, in the time (I think) of the Second Pretender, did, being hardpressed by the minions of the German Prince, and pursued by them into theextreme eastern chamber of his house of Malmaison, suddenly and withoutwarning render himself invisible, insomuch that nothing of him remainedsave his dagger, and the plume which he bore in his cap. This easternchamber had, at the time, but one outlet, and that was into a room alreadyguarded by the soldiery. 

The chronicle goes on to say that the disappearance was not final: themysterious fugitive reappeared on the third day, in the same spot where hehad vanished, but apparently rather the worse for wear. He was at firsttaken for a spirit, and all fled before him; but he, going hastily forwardto the dining hall, and finding a great sirloin of beef set out upon theboard, forthwith fell to, and, in a wondrous short time, devoured thewhole thereof, drinking also a gallon and a half of the wine of Burgundy. This exploit restored the belief of the household in the materialconsistency of their master, and thereupon was much thanksgiving, feasting, and rejoicing. But the secret of the disappearance never wasrevealed. 

I give these musty old details for what they are worth; they may perhaps beconstrued as an indication that the race of Malmaison had somepeculiarities of its own. 

As for Archibald, he was rather neglected than otherwise. He was a dull andstolid baby, neither crying nor crowing much: he would sit all day over asingle toy, not playing with it, but holding it idly in his hands orbetween his knees. He could neither crawl, walk, nor talk till long afterthe usual time for such accomplishments. It seemed as if he had made uphis mind to live according to his birthdays--that is, four times as slowas other people. The only things he did do well were eating and sleeping:he never appeared to be thoroughly awake, nor was his appetite everentirely satisfied. As might be supposed, therefore, his body grew apace;and at seven years old (or one and three quarters, as the facetiousBaronet would have it) he weighed twelve good pounds more than his brotherEdward, who was two years his senior, though, to be sure, not a speciallyrobust child. 

For the rest, poor Archibald seemed to be affectionate, in a dim, inarticulate way, though his sympathies were confined within somewhatnarrow limits. He loved a certain brindled cat that he had more thananything else: next to her, his little baby sister; and oddly enough, heconceived a sort of dog-like admiration for the Honorable RichardPennroyal--a compliment which that personage did nothing to deserve, andwhich he probably did not desire. He had also a distinct feeling forlocalities; he was never quite at his ease except in the nursery-roomwhere he slept; and, on the other hand, he never failed to exhibitsymptoms of distrust and aversion when he was carried into the Eastchamber--that in which his great-grandfather had effected his mysteriousself-effacement. But the only thing that was certain to make him cry wasto be brought into the company of little Kate Battledown, the colonel'sonly child, a year or two younger than Archibald, and universally admittedto be the prettiest and most graceful baby in the neighborhood. ButArchibald, up to his seventh year, would do anything to get away from her--short of walking. 

In a word, he exhibited such symptoms of a deficient and pervertedunderstanding as would have gained him--had he been of humblerbirth--the descriptive title of "natural. " Being a son of Sir ClarenceButt Malmaison, he was considered to be peculiar only. The old wives ofthe village maintained that he was the sort that could see elves, andthat, if one but knew how, he might be induced to reveal valuable secrets, and to confer magic favors. But, looking the other way, he was to bedreaded as a possible (though involuntary) agent of evil; especiallyperilous was it, these venerable dames would affirm, to become the objectof his affection or caresses--a dogma which received appallingconfirmation in the fate of the brindled cat, who, after having beencaught by the leg in a trap intended for a less respectable robber ofhen-roosts, was finished by a bull-terrier, who took advantage of herembarrassed circumstances to pay off upon her a grudge of long standing. This tragedy occurred in January of the year 1807, and produced anoticeable effect upon Master Archibald Malmaison. He neither wept nortore his hair, but took the far more serious course of losing hisappetite. 

The most remarkable part of the story is yet to come. No one had told himthat the cat was dead, and the cat, having adventurous propensities, hadoften been away from home for days at a time without leave or warning. Nevertheless, Archibald was immediately aware of her fate, and even seemed(judging from some expressions that escaped him) to have divined themanner of it. He then gave intimation of an earnest desire to view theremains; but in this he could not be gratified, for they had already beensecretly interred in an obscure corner of the back garden. Will it bebelieved that the "peculiar" child hereupon got upon his fat legs, and, without either haste or hesitation, deliberately ambled out of thenursery, along the corridor, down the stairs, across the hall, through thedoor, and so round to the back garden and to the very identical spot wherepoor Tabby had been deposited!

The fact is sufficiently well attested; I am not aware that it has everbeen accounted for. The boy had never in his life walked so far before, although his limbs were perfectly developed and able for much longerpilgrimages. He did not resist being led away; but, as has been said, heneglected his bread and milk, and every few days returned to the backgarden, and stood beside the grave in the cold, looking fixedly at it, butmaking no active demonstration whatever. This went on for about six weeks, and attracted a good deal of curiosity in the neighborhood. At length, inthe latter part of February, Archibald had a sort of fit, apparently of anepileptic nature. On recovering from it, he called for a glass of milk, and drank it with avidity; he then fell asleep, and did not awake againfor thirty-six hours. 

By this time he was a personage of more importance at Malmaison than he hadever yet been in his small life. The wise folk who stood around his cribhazarded various predictions as to the issue of his unnatural slumber. Some said he would lose what little wit he had; others, that he wouldbecome an acknowledged wizard; others again, that he would never wake upat all. In short, like other prophets, they foretold everything exceptthat which was actually to happen; and they would have foretold that too, if they had thought of it in time. 

II. 

Archibald awoke at length, and sat up in bed. He opened his mouth, apparently for the purpose of saying something, but his tongue refused toarticulate any recognizable words. An irregular, disjointed sound madeitself heard, like the vague outcry of an infant; and then, as if angry athis own failure, he set up a loud and indignant wail, muffled from time totime by the cramming of his fingers into his mouth. 

Whatever else was the matter with the child, it was evident that he washungry--as, indeed, he well might be. Some bread and milk was brought tohim, that being his favorite food; but to the general astonishment anddismay, he did not seem to know what it was, although he continued toexhibit every symptom of a ravenous and constantly augmenting appetite. They tried him with every imaginable viand, but in vain; they even putmorsels into his mouth, but he had lost the power of mastication, andcould not retain them. The more they labored, the greater became hisexasperation, until at last there was such a hubbub and confusion on thescore of Master Archibald as that hitherto rather insignificant littlepersonage should have felt proud to occasion. 

Among the anxious and bewildered people who thronged the nursery at thisjuncture was a young woman who acted as wet-nurse to the latest born ofthe Malmaisons, a baby-girl three months old. 

She was a healthy and full-bodied peasant, and as she pressed forward tohave her look at the now frantic Archibald, she held the nursinginfant--the only serene and complacent member of the assemblage--to heropen breast. Archibald caught sight of her, and immediately reached towardher, arms, mouth and all, accompanying the action by an outcry so eager, impatient, and gluttonous that it was capable of only one interpretation. An incredible interpretation, certainly, but that made no difference;there was nothing else to be done. Honest Maggie, giggling and rubicund, put aside her complacent nursling (who thereupon became anything butcomplacent) and took to her kind bosom this strapping and unreasonableyoung gentleman, who had already got many of his second teeth. That didnot prevent him from making an unconscionably good supper, and thenceforththe only person likely to be disturbed by his new departure ingormandizing was Maggie herself. Everything being thus happily arranged, the household dispersed about its business, the Baronet declaring, with agreat laugh, that he had always said Archie was but a babe in arms, andthis proved it!

Dr. Rollinson, however (the elder doctor, that is--father of the present[2] distinguished bearer of the name), had witnessed this scene withsomething more than ordinary wonder or amusement; it had puzzled, but alsointerested him extremely. He was less of a conservative than many of hisprofession; he kept his mind open, and was not disinclined to examine intoodd theories, and even, perhaps, to originate a few such himself uponoccasion. The question that now confronted him and challenged hisingenuity was, What was the matter with Archibald? Why had the boysuddenly gone back to the primitive source of nourishment, not from merechildish whim, but from actual ignorance--as it seemed--that nourishmentwas obtainable in any other way? An obvious reply would be that the boyhad become wholly, idiotic; but the more Dr. Rollinson revolved this roughand ready explanation, the less satisfactory did he find it. He wiselydecided to study the symptoms and weigh the evidence before committinghimself one way or the other. 

The first result of his observations was to confirm his impression thatArchibald was not idiotic. There was a certain sort of vacancy in thechild's expression, but it was the vacancy of ignorance rather than offoolishness. And ignorant to a surprising degree he was. He had at no timebeen regarded as a boy of large attainments; but what he knew before hisstrange seizure was, to what he knew after it, as Bacon to a ploughman. Had he been newly born into the world, he could not have shown lessacquaintance with it, so far as intellectual comprehension went; hisfather, mother, sister--all were alike strangers to him; he gazed at themwith intent but unrecognizing eyes; he never looked up when his name wasspoken, nor did he betray any sign of understanding the talk that went onaround him. His own thoughts and wants were expressed by inarticulatesounds and by gestures; but the mystery of speech evidently interestedhim, and he studied the movements of the lips of those who spoke to himwith a keen, grave scrutiny to them highly amusing--except in the case ofhis poor old Aunt Jane, who turned quite pale under his inquisition, anddeclared that he must be bewitched, for although he seemed to knownothing, yet he had the knowingest look of any child she ever saw. HereinAunt Jane gave utterance to a fact that was beginning to be generallyacknowledged. Whatever Archibald had lost, it was beyond dispute that hehad somehow come into possession of a fund of native intelligence (theterm "mother wit" seems inappropriate under the circumstances) to which hehad heretofore been a stranger. He might have forgotten his own name, andthe mother that bore him; but he had learned how to learn, and was for thefirst time in his life wide awake. This was very much like saying that hewas a new boy in the old skin; and this, again, was little better than aeuphemism for changeling. Was he a changeling after all? The sage oldwoman whom we have already quoted asserted confidently that he was, andthat, however much he pretended to ignorance, he really knew vastly morethan any plain human child did or ought to know. And as a warrant for thisopinion they brought forward evidence that Master Archibald, having beenleft alone one day in the nursery, had been overheard humming to himselfthe words of a certain song--a thing, it was argued, which he could nothave done had he known no words at all; and therefore he was a changeling. 

Dr. Rollinson happened to hear this argument, and thought it worth while toinquire further into the matter. Such testimony as he could collect wentto confirm the truth of the story. Not only so, but the song itself, ifthe witnesses were to be believed, so far from being an ordinary childishditty, was some matter of pretty maids and foaming wine-cups that TomMoore might have written, and that gentlemen sometimes trolled out, anhour or two after dinner. Now this looked very black for Archibald. Further investigation, however, put a somewhat different face upon theaffair. It transpired that the song had been often sung in Archibald'shearing, and before his fit, by the Honorable Richard, for whom, as hasbeen said, the boy had taken a queer fancy. 

And, perhaps because affection is a good teacher, the boy had acquired thepower of repeating some of the verses to himself, of course withoutunderstanding a syllable of them, and very likely without himself beingconscious of what he was doing, he hummed them over, in short, exactly asa preoccupied parrot might do; and always at a certain time, namely, afterhe had been put to bed, and was staring up at the darkening ceilingprevious to falling asleep. This, by itself, was nothing very remarkable;the puzzle was, how could he do it now? Out of all the wreck of his smallmemory, why was this song, the meaning of which he had never understood, the sole survivor? Was it that his affection for Mr. Pennroyal had kept italive? So might a sentimentalist have concluded; but the Doctor was a manof sense. Was it that the boy was shamming? Impossible on all accounts. But then, what was it?

The Doctor had by this time worked himself up to believe that the solutionof this problem would help largely toward the clearing up of the wholemystery. So he took notes, and continued to observe and to consider. 

He found, in the first place, that the song-singing took place underexactly the same circumstances as before the fit, and at no other time orplace. 

Hereupon, he devised experiments to discover whether Archibald wasconscious that he was singing, or whether it was an act performedmechanically, while the mind was otherwise engaged. After the child was inbed, he quietly arranged a lamp so as to cast a circular space of lightupon the ceiling above the bed, the rest of the room being left in shadow. Not a word of any song was heard that night; and the test was tried twicemore during the week, with a like result. At another time he got theHonorable Richard to come into a room adjoining the nursery, and sing thesong so that Archibald might hear it. Archibald heard it, but gave no signof being affected thereby. He was then brought into Mr. Richard'spresence; it was the first time they had met since the change. Now, ifever, was an opportunity for the imperishable quality of the affections tobe vindicated. But no such vindication occurred. On the contrary, afterhaving stared his uncle almost out of countenance for some minutes, heturned from him with a marked expression of disapproval, and could neverafterward be induced voluntarily to go near him. The affection had becomean antipathy. 

"No, madam; set your mind at rest, " said the bluff Doctor to Lady Malmaisonover a cup of tea that evening. "The child's no changeling; but he'schanged, and changed for the better, too, by Gad! He can tell a bad eggfrom a good one now, " continued the Doctor, with a significant chuckle, the significance of which, however, Lady Malmaison perhaps failed toperceive. But the fact was, the Honorable Richard Pennroyal had never beenan especial favorite with Dr. Rollinson. 

The next day was a new excitement. Archibald had walked, and that, too, aswell as the best-grown boy of seven that you would want to see. 

"Ay, and where did he walk to?" demanded the Doctor. 

It was explained that it was at the time for nursing him, and he wassitting in his little chair at one end of the nursery, when Maggie hadentered at the other. As soon as he clapped eyes on her, he had set up hisusual impatient outcries; but Maggie, instead of going directly to him, had stopped to exchange a few words with the head-nurse, unfastening thefront of her dress the while, however, so that Master Archibald'simpatience was carried to the point of intolerance by the glimpse thusafforded of the good things in store for him. And then, before you hadtime to think, he had got up from his chair, and trotted across the floor, bellowing all the time, and had tugged at Maggie's dress. 

"Bellowing all the time, eh?" said the Doctor. 

"And walking all the same like he was ten year old, sir: and it did give usall a turn; and if you please, sir, what do you say to _that_?"

"What do I say to that?--why, that it's just what I should haveexpected--that's what I say!" replied Dr. Rollinson, who had apparentlybegun to divine some clew to the grand mystery. But he vouchsafed noexplanations as yet. 

Archibald did not repeat the walking miracle, although, within the space ofa few weeks only, he passed through the regular gradations of crawling, tottering, and toddling, to normal pedestrianism of the most active kind. His progress in other accomplishments was almost parallel with this. Frominarticulate gabble he trained his tongue to definite speech; hisvocabulary expanded with astonishing rapidity, and, contrary to hisprevious habit, he made incessant use of it. He was now as remarkable forloquacity as formerly for the opposite characteristic; and his keenness ofobservation and retentive memory were a theme of general admiration. In aword, he used his five senses to ten times better effect than had everbeen expected of him in the old days; and no one who had not seen him fora year from the time of his fit would have recognized him as the samechild. He was not only making up for lost time--he was incomparablyoutstripping his earlier self; he seemed to have emerged from a mental andphysical cocoon--to have cast aside an incrustation of deterrentclumsiness, and to be hastening onward with the airy case and accuracy ofperfect self-possession. At the end of a year he was to all intents andpurposes ten years old; and what was most remarkable about this swiftadvance lay in the fact that a year had seen the whole of it. Though hehad been eight years in the world, the first seven had furnished none ofthe mental or moral material for the last: it stood alone anddisconnectedly. Of those seven years it is certain that he retained notthe smallest recollection; they were to him as if they had never been. Theonly thing they did provide him with was a well-fed and sound body; inother respects Archibald was positively new. He had to make theacquaintance of his family and friends over again; but it was done withmodifications. In other cases besides that of his uncle, it was observedthat he felt antipathies where formerly he loved, and _vice versa_. 

A minor instance, but interesting as must be all evidence in a case sostrange as this, is that of the brindled cat that was buried in thegarden. Archibald was brought to the grave, which he had so patheticallyhaunted before his metamorphosis, not many weeks after the metamorphosisoccurred; and every means was used to revive in him some recollection ofthe bereavement; they even went so far as to uncover poor pussy'sremains. .. . Archibald was first unconscious and indifferent, then curious, finally disgusted. His feelings were not otherwise touched. Allassociations connected with this whilom pet of his, grief for whose losswas supposed to have been the impelling cause of the fit itself, were asutterly expunged from his mind as if they had never existed there. Moreover, aversion from all cats was from this time forth so marked in himas almost to amount to horror; while dogs, whose presence had been wont tofill him with dismay, were now his favorite companions. It was the same inother things; the boy formed independent opinions and prejudices in allthe relations of life--independent, that is, of his past. His temper, too, was changed; no longer timid, appealing and docile, it was now determined, enterprising, and bold. It was manifest even thus early that here was acharacter fitted to make its way in the world. 

"No, I protest, Doctor, I can never believe it's the same child, " said LadyMalmaison, with a sigh. "That noisy, self-willed boy is never my quiet, affectionate little Archie. And yesterday he beat his brother Edward, thatis two years older than he. Heigho! Pray, dear Doctor, what is youropinion?"

"My opinion, Lady Malmaison, is that women will never be content, " answeredthe bluff old physician. "I can remember the time when you thought yourquiet little Archie was a nincompoop--and quite right too. And now becausea monstrous piece of good luck has made a Crichton of him, you begin toregret the nincompoop! It ain't logical;" and the Doctor took snuff. 

"But who ever heard of a child changing his whole nature all in a moment?"persisted Lady Malmaison. 

"Why, isn't all in a moment better than inch by inch? The thing is no suchmighty matter as some folks try to make it out. The boy went to sleep assoon as he was born, and has but just waked up--that's my notion about it. So now, instead of starting, the way most of us do, at the point ofhelplessness, he begins life with a body full of seven years' pith, andfaculties sharp set as a new watch. Till now he has but dreamed; now he'sgoing to exist, with so much the more extra impetus. He don't recollectwhat he's been dreaming--why should he?"

"But he did recollect some things, Doctor; that song. .. . And then, hiswalking across the room. "

"Purely physical--purely automatic, " replied the Doctor, tapping hissnuff-box, and pleased with Lady Malmaison's awe at the strange word. "Ifhe had stopped to think what he was doing he couldn't have done it. Thebody, I tell you, grows under all circumstances--as much when you'reasleep as when you're awake; and the body has a memory of its own, distinct from the mental memory. Have you never hummed a song when youwere doing your embroidery, and thinking about--about Lady Snaffle'selopement with the captain?"

"Oh, Doctor!"

"Yes; and if I'd come in at the moment and asked you what you were singing, could you have told me? Of course you couldn't! You could have told meall about the elopement. Well, then, that's clear now, ain't it?"

"Yes, " said Lady Malmaison, meaning, it must be supposed, "as clear asmud. " Dr. Rollinson chuckled to himself, and they continued their game ofpiquet. 

III. 

Possibly the reader, though, understanding the force of the Doctor'sillustration better than good stupid Lady Malmaison could do, is still ofopinion that that eminent practitioner's exposition of the real nucleus ofthe mystery might have been more explicit. It is all very well to say thatthe boy was asleep for seven years and then woke up; but what does such astatement mean? Are such prolonged slumbers an ordinary occurrence? And ifso, might not the slumberer, after a longer or shorter interval ofwakefulness, fall asleep again? It is to be feared that the old physicianwas not quite so well satisfied in his secret mind as he pretended to be, and that his learned dissertation upon automatic action was little betterthan a device to avoid being pressed upon the real point at issue. But itis always a delicate matter to fathom the depth of a medical man'ssagaciousness. 

Mention has already been made of little Kate Battledown, the effect ofwhose society on Archibald had been so strangely ungenial. A year or twoafter his "awakening" the little maiden was again thrown in his way, andthis time with very different results. There is extant among the familypapers a letter containing a very pretty account of the relations whichwere soon established between these small personages. They seem to havetaken to one another at once, and exercised over each other a mutualfascination. Archibald, keen and domineering with his brother andsisters, and, so far as his power went, with everybody else--was as sweetas milk to his childish enchantress; and no doubt his manners, if not hisgeneral character, greatly benefited by her companionship. There is apicture of the two children painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence and now hangingin the present Dr. Rollinson's parlor (where, doubtless, thousands of hispatients have beheld it, ignorant of its history), which is perhaps asbeautiful an example of English youth and maidenhood at eleven and nineyears of age as could be found in the three kingdoms. The boy, black-eyedand black-haired, seems to step forward daringly, with his glance fixeddefiantly upon the spectator; but his left hand, extended behind him, clasps that of little Kate with a protecting gesture; and her great browneyes rest on his face, with a look half of apprehension, half of admiringconfidence. There is a second portrait of her, taken ten years later; butof Archibald no other authentic likeness exists. Report affirms, however, that in 1823 and thereabout he was esteemed one of the handsomest youngfellows of his day. 

The devotion of the two to each other grew with their growth. She, even atthat early age, must have given occasional foretastes of the wayward, impulsive, and yet calculating character that was developed in her laterlife; but there can be little doubt that she felt a genuine attachment toArchibald; and he laid himself at her feet with a chivalricsingle-heartedness more characteristic of the fifteenth century than ofthe early nineteenth. Indeed, his jealous guardianship of her excited nota little amusement among his seniors; and it is related that in histwelfth year he actually commissioned Colonel Battledown to carry a formal"message" on his behalf to the Honorable Richard Pennroyal; the latter'soffence consisting in his having taken Miss Battledown on his knee andkissed her. The matter was, however, happily arranged on the Hon. Gentleman's expressing his regret for his indiscretion, and the Coloneland Sir Clarence becoming answerable for his good behavior in future. Butthe children's preference for each other now began to suggest otherthoughts than those of mere passing entertainment to the paternal minds. There seemed to be no good reason why they should not ultimately make amatch of it. It was true that Kate might well expect to find a morebrilliant mate than the second son of a baronet; but, personal feeling andthe friendship of the families aside, she might do much worse than withArchibald. The second son of Sir Clarence stood a fair chance of hereaftermaking a favorable entry into politics; and as for fortune, his aunt onthe mother's side, a Miss Tremont, of Cornwall, an old maid without nearerrelatives than her nephew, was in a fair way to bequeath him seventythousand pounds. And furthermore (this was an aspect of the case whichColonel Battledown probably kept to himself), it was not beyond the boundsof possibility that Archibald might finally inherit Malmaison in spite ofthe accident of his birth. Edward Malmaison had always been a delicatechild, and years were not making him stronger. He was very studious, anddisinclined to those active exercises in which his brother was alreadybeginning to excel: his eyes were weak and his cheeks pale; and in short, unless his constitution should presently undergo a favorable change, thechances were fairly against his surviving Archibald, to say the least ofit. "Archie thrashed him at fisticuffs, " said the old man of war tohimself, "and why shouldn't he get the better of him in other ways aswell? Of course we wish no harm to happen to poor Edward, who is a goodlittle snipe enough; but one must conduct one's campaign to an eye to whatmay happen, as well as to what is. "

So this matrimonial arrangement, without being definitely resolved upon(except possibly in the hearts of the two young persons principallyconcerned), was allowed to remain in a state of favorable suspense. Kateand Archibald saw one another as much as was good for them--although, byway of keeping up the chivalric conditions, they used to pretend that allmanner of portentous obstacles intervened between them and theconsummation of their desires; and exhausted their ingenuity in thedevising of secret meetings, of elopements across the garden wall, and ofheart-rending separations, when imaginary heartless parents tore themruthlessly from one another's arms. In a letter written by Sir Clarence toDr. Rollinson, under date December 27th, 1811, the jolly Baronet says:"Our Xmas festivities were for a time interupted by another RomanticEvent. Catherine, onely daughter of Colonel Battledown eloped with Mr. Archibald Malmaison of Malmaison. The Fugitives escaped by the pantrydore, and before they could be overtaken, had been maid man and wife bythe under Gardner in the tool house in the corner of the yard. Anapplication will be made to Parlement to dissolve the marriage untill theparties are out of the Nursrie. " By this it may appear that Sir Clarencehad even more humor than orthography. 

It was a few weeks after this event that poor old Aunt Jane left the worldby way of the ornamental fish-pond. The pond in question lay on theboundary-line between the Malmaison estate and that of the Pennroyals; andthe ornamentation consisted of two flights of steps leading down to thewater, and of half a dozen willows whose twisted trunks bent over thesurface. Although of no great area, this pond was startlingly deep, andthe bottom, when you got to it, was of the softest and most unfathomablemud. Had not Aunt Jane been seen just as she was sinking for the thirdtime, therefore, the chances are that she would never have been seen tilldoomsday; there was room, and to spare, for all the Malmaison line in theslimy depths of that pool. After the catastrophe, Mr. Pennroyal caused ahandsome iron railing to be erected round the scene of it. This act causedit to be said that he might have done it before. Did he expect his futurewives to go the road of the first one? And was it not criminal negligencein him to have suffered her to escape from her attendants? How could sucha thing have happened? Did Mr. Pennroyal consider that people might saythat the death of his wife was no loss to him, but the contrary? becausethat fifty thousand pounds of hers, of which, during her lifetime, hecould touch only the interest, became, at her decease, his absoluteproperty, to do with as he liked. Under such circumstances, a gentlemancareful of his reputation should have guarded her as the apple of his eye. It was certainly very odd that a poor frail crazy creature should havebeen able to elude all pursuit, and then have gone straight to thepool--in midwinter, too--and deliberately jumped in. And there she mighthave lain, and no one the wiser, had not young Archibald Malmaisonhappened to see her, and given the alarm. If he had been a few minutesearlier, who can tell but he might have seen something--that nobodysuspected!

All this random talk proved nothing more than that the Honorable Mr. Pennroyal was not a favorite with his neighbors; and that was a fact ofwhich no proof was needed. Some men, who are good fellows enough at bottomand even capable of inspiring genuine attachment in particular cases, never become generally popular. When Mr. Pennroyal was accused ofstinginess, it was not considered that he had a great many liabilities tomeet, and perhaps some big debts to pay off. When it was said that he wasunsocial and cynical, it was forgotten that these very remarks were enoughto make him so. And when he was blamed for neglecting his wife, andprofiting by her demise--well, now, how is a gentleman to pay attentionsto an idiot, or to be inconsolable when Providence gives him fiftythousand down in exchange for her? Besides, he gave her an imposingfuneral, and put himself and all his household into strict mourning. Asfor the iron railing, it might be looked upon as a sort of monument to thedeparted, in which practical usefulness and a becoming sentiment wereingeniously combined. 

The incident had its effect upon Archibald--in rather a curious fashion. Hewas, as has been intimated, the one to give the alarm. He had been passingthat way, it seemed, and had caught sight of a struggling something in thewater; and his shouts had speedily drawn the gamekeeper and a couple ofvillagers to the spot. The boy had watched the recapture of the lifelessbody in solemn silence, a red flush of color in either cheek. He had beenrather fond of Aunt Jane after her insanity became confirmed, and he wasthe only human being whom the poor woman had seemed to recognize, and inwhose company she felt some dull gleams of pleasure. He now shed no tears, seeming more angry than grieved, and continued to maintain a markedtaciturnity for several days; and, concerning the catastrophe itself, hecould never be induced to speak at all. The power of keeping his owncounsel had always characterized him: in the present instance he was asgloomily reserved as though he had buried a secret of state in his breast. Toward the widower his manner became, from hostile, almost insolent. Itwas a curious spectacle to see the lad, scarcely out of the nursery, either ignoring his tall relative, as if the latter were a caitiffunworthy the notice of a gentleman, or else staring him haughtily in theface, and staring him down, too! for it was remarked that the HonorableRichard exhibited an admirable forbearance, not to say meekness, towardhis rude little kinsman. And yet, before this time, he had occasionallygiven the boy harsh words and looks. .. . It must have been that hisbereavement had softened his heart. 

However, time went on, and by degrees the poignancy of the widower's griefwas blunted, and Aunt Jane's name was seldom mentioned by any one; afterall she had not done herself, or anybody connected with her, much credit. And other changes occurred: the stout old Colonel found it incumbent uponhim to join Sir Arthur Wellesley in the Peninsula; and Kate began to takethe lead in household affairs (her mother was a good deal of an invalid), and stayed more at home than she used to do, and consequently did not seeso much of Archibald; she gave him to understand that it was more genteelfor him to come and call on her, as Mr. Pennroyal and other gentlemen did. The young lady was already coming into her heritage of beauty, andpossessed more than her share of maidenly dignity, considering that shewas barely thirteen. And when, at that mention of Pennroyal, Archibaldsaid:

"Indeed, Kate, you must not class me with him, or with any man. Rememberthat we were married two Christmases ago--" she answered:

"You foolish boy! that was not a real marriage: a real marriage is done ina church, by a parson, and I wear a white veil. "

"But ours was an elopement, " objected Archibald, disturbed. 

"An elopement without a carriage-and-four and a blacksmith? What an idea!"

"Do you mean to say you are not my wife, Kate?" demanded the boy, turningpale. 

"Neither yours nor anybody's, Mr. Archibald. "

"Kate!" he broke out passionately, the blood leaping to his face, "takecare you never let yourself be any body else's wife than mine! And I don'tsee what difference a blacksmith or a veil makes. And if you do, theyshall die! I know how to use a sword, and a pistol too!"

"O Archie, how wicked you are! and how cruel to me, when you know that Ican never love any man but you, though cruel fate may separate us for aseason!" The young lady was quoting from "Evelina, " as Archibald wellknew, but they had got so much in the habit of applying the phraseology ofthat work to the requirements of their own private romance, that it camewithout their thinking of it. 

"But say that you will be my own at last!" cries Archibald, carrying on thescene in all seriousness. 

"Nay, my lord, 'tis ungenerous thus to press me--Oh, no, you must not do so, Archie; the book says that Lord Orville only kisses her hand--"

"I am not Lord Orville, and I will kiss you where I like; and I don't carefor the book when I feel as I do now! I only care for you. "

"Bravo, young gentleman! that's the way to talk to 'em!" cried Dr. Rollinson, who had overheard the whole of this conversation, and who nowappeared with his broad figure, his gouty legs, and his gruff chuckle. "Books are very well for make-believe, but when it comes to downrightearnest, use a tongue of your own--eh?" and he clapped the boy kindly onthe shoulder. "Yes, yes, she'll marry you fast enough when she sees youmaking eyes at some other pretty girl! Don't tell me! there's plenty of'em, go where you will, and when you start on the grand tour, as you'll bedoing one of these days, you'll see for yourself!" Such were the cynicalblasphemies which this man was not ashamed to instil into the ear of hisyoung friend; and then he led him away somewhere, still chuckling, andleft Miss Battledown to digest her slight the best way she could. TheDoctor fancied he knew a thing or two about the sex. If so, he was veryknowing!

IV. 

Malmaison House was partly destroyed by fire a number of years ago, [3] andtwo years later the portion still standing was taken down to make way forthe proposed branch of the London and South-Coast Railway. The branch isstill unbuilt, but only some heaps of grass-grown rubbish remain to markthe site of the venerable edifice. But at the period of which I am nowwriting it was an imposing pile of gray-stone, standing on a slightelevation, with a sloping lawn in front, and many large trees surroundingit. The centre and the right wing were of Elizabethan date; the left wingwas constructed by Sir Christopher Wren, or by some architect of hisschool, and, though outwardly corresponding with the rest of the building, was interiorly both more commodious and less massive. The walls of the oldpart were in some places over four feet in thickness, and even thepartitions between the rooms were two feet of solid masonry. Many of therooms were hung with tapestry; and in taking down the house several traceswere discovered of secret passages hollowed out within the wallsthemselves, and communicating by means of sliding panels from room toroom. The plan of the building comprised two floors and an attic; but theattic was not coextensive with the lower areas; and there was often adifference of level between the apartments on the latter floors of fromone to four steps. An irregular corridor on the first floor, badlylighted, and in some places perfectly dark, extended from the centre intothe right wing, affording entrance to the rooms front and back. 

At the end of the right wing was situated the east chamber, of whichmention has already been made. Originally, the only access to it was byway of a larger chamber adjoining, which, again, could only be enteredthrough the dark corridor. This was the condition of things at the time ofthe famous magic disappearance of Sir Charles Malmaison, in 1745. But, atthe beginning of the present century, a door was cut through the outsidewall, whence a covered flight of stone steps led down into an enclosedcourtyard. The room was thus rendered independent, so to speak, of therest of the house. The occupant might lock the door communicating with theadjoining chamber, and go and come by the other as he pleased. As for thecourtyard, part of it had formerly been used as a stable, with stalls forthree horses; these were now transferred to the other end of the mansion, though the stable, of course, remained; and it was necessary to go throughthe stable in order to get to the covered flight of steps. 

It may be remembered that Archibald, in what we may term his soporificperiod, had manifested a strong, although entirely irrational, repugnanceto this east chamber. Perhaps he had been conscious of presences therewhich were imperceptible to normal and healthy senses! Be that as it may, he got bravely over his folly afterward, and in his twelfth year (histhird, Sir Clarence would have called it) he permanently took up hisquarters there, and would admit no "women" except as a special favor. Inthose days, when people were still, more or less, prone to superstition, it was not every boy who would have enjoyed the sensation of spending hisnights in so isolated a situation; for the right wing was almost entirelyunoccupied on this floor. But Archibald appears to have been singularlyfree from fear, whether of the natural or of the supernatural. Hecollected together all his boyish _penates_--his gun, his sword, hisfishing-rods, and his riding-whips, and arranged them about the walls. Heswept down the cobwebs from windows and ceiling; turned out of doors a lotof miscellaneous lumber that had insensibly collected there during thelast half century; lugged in a few comfortable broad-bottomed chairs andstanch old tables; set up a bookshelf containing Walton's "CompleteAngler, " "Dialogues of Devils, " "Arabian Nights, " Miss Burney's "Evelina, "and other equally fashionable and ingenious works; kindled a great fire onthe broad hearth; and, upon the whole, rendered the aspect of things morecomfortable than would have been anticipated. The room itself was long, narrow, and comparatively low; the latticed windows were sunk several feetinto the massive walls; lengths of brownish-green and yellow tapestry, none the fresher for its two centuries and more of existence, stillprotested against the modern heresy of wallpaper; and in a panel-frameover the fireplace was seen the portrait, by Sir Godfrey Kneller, of theJacobite baronet. It was a half-length, in officer's uniform; one handholding the hilt of a sword against the breast, while the forefinger ofthe other hand pointed diagonally downward, as much as to say, "I vanishedin that direction!" The fireplace, it should be noted, was built on theside of the room opposite to the windows; that is to say, in one of thepartition walls. And what was on the other side of this partition? Not thelarge chamber opening into the corridor--that lay at right angles to theeast chamber, along the southern front of the wing. Not the corridoreither, though it ran for some distance parallel to the east chamber, andhad a door on the east side. But this door led into a great dark closet, as big as an ordinary room, and used as a receptacle for rubbish. Was itthe dark closet, then, that adjoined the east chamber on the other side ofthe partition? No, once more. Had a window been opened through the closetwall, it would have looked--not into Archibald's room, but--into a narrowblind court or well, entirely enclosed between four stone walls, and of noapparent use, save as a somewhat clumsy architectural expedient. There wasno present way of getting into this well, or even of looking into it, unless one had been at the pains to mount on the roof of the house andpeer down. As a matter of fact, its existence was only made known by thereports of an occasional workman engaged in renewing the tiles, or mendinga decayed chimney. An accurate survey of the building would, of course, have revealed it at once; but nothing of the kind had been thought ofwithin the memory of man. Such a survey would also have revealed what noone in the least suspected, but which was, nevertheless, a fact ofstartling significance--namely, that the blind court was, at least, fifteen feet shorter, and twenty-five feet narrower, _than it ought tohave been_!

Archibald was as far from suspecting it as anybody; indeed, he most likelynever troubled his head about builders' plans in his life. But he thoughta great deal of his great-grandfather's portrait; and since it was soplaced as to be in view of the most comfortable chair before the fire, hespent many hours of every week gazing at it. What was Sir Charles pointingat with that left forefinger? And what meant that peculiarly intent andslightly frowning glance which the painted eyes forever bent upon his own?Archibald probably had a few of Mrs. Radcliffe's romances along with theother valuable books on his shelves, and he may have cherished a notionthat a treasure, or an important secret of some sort, was concealed in thevicinity. Following down the direction of the pointing finger, he foundthat it intersected the floor at a spot about five feet to the right ofthe side of the fireplace. The floor of the chamber was of solid oakplanking, blackened by age; and it appeared to be no less solid at thispoint than at any other. Nevertheless, he thought it would be good fun, and at all events would do no harm, to cut a hole there, and see what wasunderneath. Accordingly, he quietly procured a saw and a hammer andchisel, and one day, when the family were away from home, he lockedhimself into his room, and went to work. The job was not an easy one, thetough oak wood being almost enough to turn the edge of his chisel, andthere being no purchase at all for the saw. After quarter of an hour'schipping and hammering, with very little result, he paused to rest. Theboard at which he had been working, and which met the wall at rightangles, was very short, not more than eighteen inches long, indeed, beinginserted merely to fill up the gap caused by a deficiency in length of theplank of which it was the continuation. Between the two adjoining ends wasa crack of some width, and into that crack did Archibald idly stick hischisel. It seemed to him that the crack widened, so that he was able topress the blade of the chisel down to its thickest part. He now worked iteagerly backward and forward, and, to his delight, the crack rapidlywidened still further; in fact, the short board was sliding backunderneath the wainscot. A small oblong cavity was thus revealed, intowhich the young discoverer glowered with beating heart and vastanticipations. 

What he found could scarcely be said to do those anticipations justice; itwas neither a casket of precious stones, nor a document establishing thefamily right of ownership of the whole county of Sussex. It was nothingmore than a tarnished rod of silver, about nine inches in length, andtwisted into an irregular sort of corkscrew shape. One end terminated in abroad flat button; the other in a blunted point. There was nothing else inthe hole--nothing to show what the rod was meant for, or why it was soingeniously hidden there. And yet, reflected Archibald, could it have beenso hidden, and its place of concealment so mysteriously indicated, withoutany ulterior purpose whatever? It was incredible! Why, the whole portraitwas evidently painted with no other object than that of indicating therod's whereabouts. Either, then, there was or had been something else inthe cavity in addition to the rod, or the rod was intended to be used insome way still unexplained. So much was beyond question. 

Thus cogitated Archibald--that is to say, thus he might have cogitated, forthere is no direct evidence of what passed through his mind. And, in thefirst place, he made an exhaustive examination of the cavity, andconvinced himself not only that there was nothing else except dust to begot out of it, but also that it opened into no other cavity which mightprove more fruitful. His next step was to study the silver rod, in thehope that scrutiny or inspiration might suggest to him what it was goodfor. His pains were rewarded by finding on the flat head the nearlyobliterated figures 3 and 5, inscribed one above the other, in the mannerof a vulgar fraction, thus, 3/5; and by the conviction that the spiralconformation of the rod was not the result of accident, as he had at firstsupposed, but had been communicated to it intentionally, for some purposeunknown. These conclusions naturally stimulated his curiosity more thanever, but nothing came of it. The boy was a clever boy, but he was not adetective trained in this species of research, and the problem was beyondhis ingenuity. He made every application of the figures 3 and 5 thatimagination could suggest; he took them in feet, in inches, in yards; headded them together, and he subtracted one from the other: all in vain. The only thing he did not do was to take any one else into his confidence;he said not a word about the affair even to Kate; being resolved that ifthere were a mystery, it should be revealed, at least in the firstinstance, to no one else besides himself. At length, after several daysspent in fruitless experiments and loss of temper, he returned the rod toits hiding-place, with the determination to give himself a rest forawhile, and see what time and accident would do for him. This plan, thoughundoubtedly prudent, seemed likely to effect no more than the others; andover a year passed away without the rod's being again disturbed. Bydegrees his thoughts ceased to dwell so persistently upon the unsolvedpuzzle, and other interests took possession of his mind. The tragedy ofhis aunt's death, his love for Kate, his studies, his prospects--a hundredthings gave him occupation, until the silver rod was half forgotten. 

In the latter part of 1813, however, he accidentally made a ratherremarkable discovery. 

V. 

He had for the first time been out hunting with his father and theneighboring country gentlemen in the autumn of this year, and it appearsthat on two occasions he had the brush awarded to him. At his request theheads of the two foxes were mounted for him, and he proposed to put themup on either side his fireplace. 

The wall, above and for a few inches to the right and left of themantelpiece, was bare of tapestry; the first-named place being occupied bythe portrait, while the sides were four feet up the oaken wainscot whichsurrounded the whole room behind the tapestry, and from thence to theceiling, plaster. The mantelpiece and fireplace were of a dark slatystone, and of brick, respectively. 

Archibald fixed upon what he considered the most effective positions forhis heads--just above the level of the wainscot, and near enough to themantelpiece not to be interfered with by the tapestry. He nailed up one ofthem on the left-hand side, the nails penetrating with just sufficientresistance in the firm plaster; and then, measuring carefully to thecorresponding point on the right-hand side, he proceeded to affix theother head there. But the nail, on this occasion, could not be made to goin; and on his attempting to force it with a heavier stroke of the hammer, it bent beneath the blow, and the hammer came sharply into contact withthe white surface of the wall, producing a clinking sound as from animpact on metal. 

A brief investigation now revealed the fact that a circular disk of iron, about three inches in diameter, and painted white to match the plaster, was here let into the wall. What could be the object of it? With a freshnail the boy began to scratch off the paint from the surface of the disk, in order to determine whether it were actually iron, or some other metal;in so doing a small movable lid, like the screen of a keyhole, was pushedaside, disclosing a little round aperture underneath. Archibald pushed thenail into it, thereby informing himself that the hole went straight intothe wall, for a distance greater than the length of the nail; but how muchgreater, and what was at the end of it, he could only conjecture. 

We must imagine him now standing upon a chair, with the nail in his hand, casting about in his mind for some means of probing this mysterious andunexpected hole to the bottom. At this juncture he happens to glanceupward, and meets the intent regard of his pictured ancestor, who seems tohave been silently watching him all this time, and only to be prevented byunavoidable circumstances from speaking out and telling him what to donext. And there is that constant forefinger pointing--at what? At thecavity in the floor, of course; but not of that alone; for if you observe, this same new-found hole in the wall is a third point in the straight linebetween the end of the forefinger and the hiding-place of the silver rod;furthermore, the hole is, as nearly as can be estimated without actualmeasurement, three feet distant from the forefinger, and five feet fromthe rod; the problem of three above and five below has solved itself inthe twinkling of an eye, and it only remains to act accordingly!

Archibald sprang to the floor in no small excitement; but the first thinghe did was to see that both his doors were securely fastened. Then headvanced upon the mystery with heightened color and beating heart, hisimagination revelling in the wildest forecasts of what might be in store;and anon turning him cold with sickening apprehension lest it should proveto be nothing after all! But no--something there must be, some buriedsecret, now to live once more for him, and for him only: the secret, whereof dim legends had come down through the obscurity of two hundredyears; the secret, too, of old Sir Charles in the frame yonder, the man ofmagic repute. What could it be? Some talisman--some volume of the BlackArt perhaps--which would enable him to vanish at will into thin air, andto travel with the speed of a wish from place to place--to become averitable enchanter, endowed with all supernatural powers. With handsslightly tremulous from eagerness he pushed back the bit of plank and drewforth the silver rod; then mounted on the chair and applied it to thehole, which it fitted accurately. Before pushing it home he paused amoment. 

In all the stories he had read, the possessors of magic secrets hadacquired the same, only in exchange for something supposed to be equallyvaluable, namely, their own souls. It was not to be expected thatArchibald would be able to modify the terms of the bargain in his owncase: was he, then, prepared to pay the price? Every human being, probably, is called upon to give a more or less direct answer to thisquestion at some epoch of their lives: and were it not for curiosity andscepticism, and an unwillingness to profit by the experience of others, very likely that answer might be more often favorable to virtue than itactually is. Archibald did not hesitate long. Whether he decided todisbelieve in any danger; whether he resolved to brave it whatever itmight be; or whether, having got thus far, he had not sufficient controlover his inclinations to resist going further--at all events he drew inhis breath, set his boyish lips, and drove the silver rod into theaperture with right good will. 

It turned slowly as it entered, the curve of its spiral evidently followingthe corresponding windings of the hole. Inward it twisted like a snake, until only some two inches still projected. As the searcher afterforbidden mysteries continued to press, something seemed to give waywithin; and at the same instant an odd, shuffling sound caused him toglance sharply over his left shoulder. 

What was the matter with the mantelpiece? The whole of the right jambseemed to have started forward nearly a foot, while the left jamb hadretired by a corresponding distance into the wall; the hearth, with thefire burning upon it, remained meanwhile undisturbed. At first Archibaldimagined that the mantelpiece was going to fall, perhaps bringing down thewhole partition with it; but when he had got over the first shock ofsurprise sufficiently to make an examination, he found that the entirestructure of massive gray-stone was swung upon a concealed pivot, roundwhich it turned independently of the brickwork of the fireplace. Thesilver rod had released the spring by which the mechanism was held incheck, and an unsuspected doorway was thus revealed, opening into the verysubstance of the apparently solid wall. On getting down from his chair hehad no difficulty in pulling forward the jamb far enough to satisfyhimself that there was a cavity of unknown extent behind. And from out ofthis cavity breathed a strange dry air, like the sigh of a mummy. As forthe darkness in there, it was almost substantial as of the central chamberin the great pyramid. 

Archibald may well have had some misgivings, for he was only a boy, andthis happened more than sixty years ago, when ghosts and goblins had notcome to be considered such indefensible humbugs as they are now. Nevertheless, he was of a singularly intrepid temperament, and besides hehad passed the turning point in this adventure a few minutes ago. Nothing, therefore, would have turned him back now. Come what might of it, he wouldsee this business to an end. 

It was, however, impossible to see anything without a light; it would benecessary to fetch one of the rush candles from the table in the corridor. It was a matter of half a minute for the boy to go and return; then heedged himself through the opening, and was standing in a kind of vaultedtunnel, directly behind the fireplace, the warmth of which he could feelwhen he laid his hand on the bricks on that side. The tunnel, whichextended along the interior of the wall toward the left, was about sixfeet in height by two and a half in width. Archibald could walk in itquite easily. 

But, in the first place, he scrutinized the mechanism of the revolvingmantelpiece. It was an extremely ingenious and yet simple device, and soaccurately fitted in all its parts that, after so many years, they stillworked together almost as smoothly as when new. After Archibald had poureda little of his gun-oil into the joints of the hinges, and along thegrooves, he found that heavy stone structure would open and close asnoiselessly and easily as his own jaws. It could be opened from the insideby using the silver rod in a hole corresponding to that on the outside;and, having practised this opening and shutting until he was satisfiedthat he was thoroughly master of the process, he put the rod in hispocket, pulled the jamb gently together behind him, and, candle in hand, set forth along the tunnel. 

After walking ten paces, he came face-up against a wall lying at rightangles to the direction in which he had been moving. Peering cautiouslyround the corner, he saw, at the end of a shallow embrasure, a ponderousdoor of dark wood, braced with iron, standing partly open, with a key inthe keyhole, as if some one had just come out, and, in his haste, hadforgotten to shut and lock the door behind him. Archibald now slowlyopened it to its full extent; it creaked as it moved, and the draught ofair made his candle flicker, and caused strange shadows to dance for amoment in the unexplored void beyond. In another breath Archibald hadcrossed the threshold and arrived at the goal of his pilgrimage. 

At first he could see very little; but there could be no doubt that he wasin a room which seemed to be of large extent, and for the existence ofwhich he could by no means account. The reader, who has been betterinformed, will already have assigned it its true place in that unexplainedregion mentioned some pages back, between the blind court and the eastchamber. Groping his way cautiously about, Archibald presently discerned aburnished sconce affixed to the wall, in which having placed his candle, the light was reflected over the room, so that the objects it containedstood dimly forth. It was a room of fair extent and considerable height, and was, apparently, furnished in a style of quaint and sombremagnificence, such as no other apartment in Malmaison could show. Thearched ceiling was supported by vast oaken beams; the floor was inlaidwith polished marbles. The walls, instead of being hung with tapestry, were painted in distemper with life-size figure subjects, representing, asfar as the boy could make out, some weird incantation scene. At one end ofthe room stood a heavy cabinet, the shelves of which were piled with goldand silver plate, richly chased, and evidently of great value. Here, infact, seemed to have been deposited many of the precious heirlooms of thefamily, which had disappeared during the Jacobite rebellions, and weresupposed to have been lost. The cabinet was made of ebony inlaid withivory, as was also a broad round table in the centre of the room. In aniche opposite the cabinet gleamed a complete suit of sixteenth centuryarmor; and so dry was the atmosphere of the apartment, that scarce a spotof rust appeared upon the polished surface, which, however, like everyother object in the room, was overlaid with fine dust. A bed, withembroidered coverlet and heavy silken curtains, stood in a deep recess tothe left of the cabinet. Upon the table lay a number of papers andparchments, some tied up in bundles, others lying about in disorder. Onewas spread open, with a pen thrown down upon it, and an antique ink-hornstanding near; and upon a stand beside the bed was a gold-enamelledsnuff-box, with its lid up, and containing, doubtless, the dusty remnantof some George II. Rappee. 

At all these things Archibald gazed in thoughtful silence. This room hadbeen left, at a moment's warning, generations ago; since then this strangedry air had been breathed by no human nostrils, these various objects hadremained untouched and motionless; nothing but time had dwelt in thechamber; and yet what a change, subtle but mighty, had been wrought! Merestillness--mere absence of life--was an appalling thing, the boy thought. And why had this secret been suffered to pass into oblivion? And why hadfate selected him to discover it? And now, what use would he make of it?"At all events, " said the boy to himself, "it has become my secret, andshall remain mine; and no fear but the occasion will come when I shallknow what use to make of it. " He felt that meanwhile it would give himpower, security, wealth also if he should ever have occasion for it; andwith a curious sentiment of pride he saw himself thus mysticallydesignated as the true heir of Malmaison--the only one of his age andgeneration who had been permitted to stand on an equality with thosehistoric and legendary ancestors, to whom the secret of this chamber hadgiven the name and fame of wizards. Henceforth Archibald was as much awizard as they. 

Or, might there after all be a power in necromancy that he yet dreamed notof? Was it possible that even now those old enchanters held their meetingshere, and would question his right to force his way among them?

As this thought passed through the boy's mind, he was moving slowlyforward, his eyes glancing now here, now there, when all at once the rootsof his hair were stirred with an emotion which, if not fear, was certainlyfar removed from tranquillity. From the darkest corner of the room he hadseen a human figure silently and stealthily creeping toward him. Now, ashe fixed his eyes upon it, it stopped, and seemed to return his stare. Hissenses did not deceive him; there it stood, distinctly outlined, thoughits features were indistinguishable by reason of the shadow that fell uponthem. But what living thing--living with mortal life at least--couldexist in a room that had been closed for sixty years?

Now certainly this Archibald, who had not yet completed his fourteenthyear, possessed a valiant soul. That all his flesh yearned for instantflight does not admit of a doubt; and had he fled, this record would neverhave been written. Fly, however, he would not, but would step forwardrather, and be resolved what manner of goblin confronted him. Forward, therefore, he stepped; and behold, the goblin was but the reflection ofhimself in a tall mirror, which the obscurity and his own agitation hadprevented him from discerning. The revulsion of feeling thus occasionedwas so strong that for a moment all strength forsook the boy's knees; hestumbled and fell, and his forehead struck the corner of the ebonycabinet. He was on his feet again in a moment, but his forehead wasbleeding, and he felt strangely giddy. The candle, too, was getting nearits end; it was time to bring this first visit to a close. He took thecandle from the sconce, passed out through the door, traversed the tunnel, and thrust the silver key into the keyhole. The stone door yielded beforehim; he dropped what was left of the candle, and slipped through theopening into broad daylight. The first object his dazzled eyes rested uponwas the figure of Miss Kate Battledown. In returning from his visit to thecorridor he must have forgotten to lock the room door after him. She wasstanding with her back toward him, looking out of the window, and wasapparently making signs to some one outside. 

Noiselessly Archibald pushed the mantelpiece back into place; thanks to theoiling he had given the hinges, no sound betrayed the movement. The nextmoment Kate turned round, and seeing him, started and cried "Oh!"

"Good-morning, Mistress Kate, " said Archibald. 

"Archibald!"

"Well?"

"You were not here a moment ago!"

"Well?"

"Then how did you get here?"

Archibald made a gesture toward the door leading to the covered stairway. 

"No--no!" said Kate; "it is locked, and the key is on this side. " She hadbeen coming toward him, but now stopped and regarded him with terror inher looks. 

"What is the matter, Kate?"

"You are all over blood, Archibald! What has happened? Are you . .. Oh, whatare you?" She was ready to believe him a ghost. 

"What am I?" repeated the boy, sluggishly. That odd giddiness wasincreasing, and he scarcely knew whether he were asleep or awake. Who washe, indeed? What had happened? Who was that young woman in front of him?What. .. . 

"Archibald! Archie! Speak to me! Why do you look so strangely?"

"Me not know oo!" said Archie, and began to cry. 

Mistress Kate turned pale, and began to back toward the door. 

"Me want my Kittie!" blubbered Archie. 

Kate stopped. "You want me?"

"Me want my 'ittle Kittie--my 'ittle b'indled Kittie! Dey put my Kittie inde hole in de darden! Me want her to p'ay wiz!" And with this, and withthe tears streaming down his cheeks, poor Archie toddled forward with theuncertain step and outstretched arms of a little child. But Kate hadalready gained the door, and was running screaming across the next room, and so down the long corridor. 

Poor Archie toddled after, his baby heart filled with mourning for thebrindled cat that had been buried in the back garden seven years before. Seven years?--or was it only yesterday?

VI. 

Miss Kate Battledown's screams, as she ran down the corridor, must speedilyhave summoned the household; and then the dreadful news was told, notlosing anything of its horror, we may be sure, in the recital; and thenappeared poor Archie in confirmation. The greatest confusion andbewilderment prevailed. No one comprehended anything. It was not knownwhat had happened. What was this story about Archie's having suddenlyappeared, where before there had been only empty air--just as his greatgrandfather, Sir Charles, had done before him? Kate, to whom we may pardona little incorrectness or exaggeration under the circumstances, solemnlyasseverated that she had been looking straight at the centre of the room, and that nobody was there; and that all at once "Archie grew together outof nothing!" Such is the version of her words given by Lady Malmaison in aletter to her sister, Miss Tremount, of Cornwall, soon after theoccurrence. Miss Tremount, it may be remembered, had intimated years agoher intention of making Archibald her heir; and Lady Malmaison's letter isan amusing and rather ingenious attempt to convey the information aboutpoor Archie, in such a way as not to frighten off this inheritance. DoctorRollinson, she wrote, had seen dear Archie, and had said that what hadhappened was only what might have been expected; and that the dear child'shealth would certainly not suffer, but, on the contrary, be strengthened, and his life prolonged. For that there could be no doubt that poor Archiehad been laboring under an almost unnatural excitement, or tension of thenerves, during the last few years, which had caused Lady Malmaison thegreatest anxiety; and she was truly thankful, for her part, that thingshad come out no worse than they had. She could feel secure, now, that herdarling Archie would live to be a quiet, good, sensible English gentleman, fitted to discharge efficiently, and conscientiously, an Englishgentleman's duties, whether it were to manage an estate, or--or in factwhatever it might be. And then came the little story about the mysteriousapparition of Archie out of vacancy, which Lady Malmaison treatedhumorously; though in her own heart she was very much scared at it, andwas moreover privately convinced that Archie was, and would remain, verylittle better than an idiot all his life long. Now, it is well known thatEnglish country gentlemen are never idiotic. 

What was the elder Dr. Rollinson's real opinion about Archie's relapse? Theonly direct evidence worth having on this point--his own--is unfortunatelynot forthcoming, and we are obliged to depend on such inaccurate orinterested hearsay as has just been quoted above. It seems likely that hecame to the conclusion that stupidity was the boy's normal condition andthat his seven years of brilliance had been something essentially abnormaland temporary, and important only from a pathological point of view. Indeed, there was nothing in the transmuted Archibald's condition that wassusceptible of being treated as a disease. He was as healthy as theaverage of boys of fourteen (if he were a boy of fourteen, and not a childof seven). He knew nothing, and had retained nothing, of his other life;he had to be taught his letters--and a terrible job that was, by allaccounts; he occasionally expressed a desire to see his nurse Maggie--who, the charitable reader will rejoice to hear, had been honestly marriedsince we last heard of her. He was greatly puzzled to find himself so muchtaller than when he last knew himself; and it was a long time before hecould be induced to recognize his own reflection in the looking-glass. Needless to say that everything connected with the secret chamber and thesilver rod was completely erased from his mind; and though he had beenfound with the rod in his hand, he could not tell what it was or where hegot it. 

In this connection, however, I will mention something which, if it be true, throws a new and strange light upon his psychological condition. There isreason to believe that he visited the secret chamber in a somnambulisticstate. The evidence on which this supposition is founded appears, at thisdistance of time, rather imperfect; but it is certain that a few weeksafter the boy's entrance upon his unintelligent state, the silver rod waslost sight of; and it is almost certain that during the time of itsdisappearance it was lying in its hidden receptacle under the floor besidethe mantelpiece. But in that case, who but Archibald could have put itthere? and when could he have put it there save in his sleep? It is knownthat he was a somnambulist during his unenlightened period, though neverin his alternate state; and if he, as a somnambulist, remembered thehiding-place of the rod, it follows that he must also have remembered therod's use, and visited the secret chamber. Thus it would seem that only inthe boy's waking hours was he oblivious and stupid; in his dreams hetruly lived and was awake! Here, then, is a complication of absorbinginterest, which I will leave for physicians and metaphysicians to fightout between themselves. For my part, I can only look on in respectfulbewilderment. 

But we must leave Archibald for the present, and occupy our minds with theproceedings of the other personages of this drama. An era of disaster wasin store for most of them. It is curious to note how the proverb thatmisfortunes never come single was illustrated in the case of these people. Fate seems to have launched its thunderbolts at them all at once, as ifmaking up for lost time; or like a playwright, who clears his stage of allsecondary and superfluous characters, and leaves a free field wherein thetwo or three principal people may meet and work out their destinyunimpeded. 

Colonel Battledown fought under Wellington against Soult at Orthez; and ina charge of the French cavalry the gallant officer and genial gentlemanwas cut in the head by a sabre-stroke and ridden down; and when picked upafter the battle he was dead. He was buried on the spot; the practice ofsending the corpses of heroes and others careering over the face of theearth, in search of a spot of loam worthy to receive them, was not at thattime so fashionable as it has since become. But the news of his death camehome, and put his friends in mourning, and made Mistress Kate the heiressof a great property at the age of fourteen. But she was older than heryears, and was generally considered to be "just the sort of person to bean heiress, " whatever that may be. I suppose she was exceedingly handsome, with a proper sense of her importance, and a capacity of keeping an eyeupon what she considered her interests. At the same time many actions ofhers indicate that she was occasionally liable to ungovernable impulses, and that her temper was fitful and wayward. Such a woman would make acapital heroine for a modern novel; she would stand a lot of analyzing. 

The tender relations which had subsisted between her and Archibald wereperforce broken off. What can you do with a lover who suddenly ceases tohave the most distant recollection of you, who does not believe you whenyou tell him your name, and whose only associations with that name dateseven years back and are disagreeable? Nobody can blame Kate for givingArchibald up; she would have been more than human if she could haveintrusted her heart to the keeping of a half-witted wizard, whosemysterious likeness to, or connection with, a charming young gentlemanrendered him only the more undesirable. Poor Kate! If she gave her heartto Archibald, and then Archibald became somebody else, what shall we saybecame of her heart? Must it not have been irretrievably lost, and shallwe be surprised if we hereafter detect in her a tendency to heartlessness?

The next one to drop was Sir Clarence Butt Malmaison. The jolly baronet wasnever the same man after the relapse of his second son, whom he had grownto love more than his first-born, and to whose future he had lookedforward with much ambitious anticipation. He used to sit for hours at atime sadly watching the child's sluggish gambols about the nursery floor;ever and anon trying to arouse in his darkened mind some sparks of theformer brightness, and, when the effort failed, sighing heavily, sometimeswith tears trickling down his ruddy old cheeks. If Archibald had neverpassed through that period of deceptive promise, it is probable that hewould have received a fair amount of affection as he was, and he would atall events not have committed the unpardonable offence of inspiring hopeswhich were not destined to be fulfilled. Sir Clarence felt like the man inthe fairy tale who received from the fairy a purse of gold, but on openingthe purse to handle the money, found nothing in his grasp but a bunch ofyellow autumn leaves. The heroic end of his friend the Colonel served toaugment the baronet's depression of spirits; nor was his gloom lightenedby the reflection that Kate's inheritance of the estate would now in noway advantage Archibald. So, what with one thing and another, it must beconfessed that Sir Clarence ended by taking too much wine after dinner. And the more wine he drank, the less inclination did he feel to keep uphis hardy outdoor habits of riding and shooting; and, consequently, themore moody and plethoric he became. At length he nearly quarrelled withDr. Rollinson because the latter told him plainly that the bottle would behis coffin; and a few days later he did quarrel, and very violently too, with the Honorable Richard Pennroyal. This gentleman, it seems, had riddenover to Malmaison and stayed to dinner; and at dessert the conversationgot round to the present melancholy condition of local affairs. 

"Everything's going to the dogs!" cried poor Sir Clarence, with an oath;"and no gentleman, by ---, ought to condescend to exist!"

"Come, Malmaison, " said Pennroyal, smiling and cracking filberts, "you'regoing too far. Things are not so bad. And there are compensations!"

"Compensations? What compensations? What the devil do you mean?"

"Ha, ha! Well, for instance, about the poor Colonel. Of course, we're alldooced sorry to lose the Colonel; fine old chap, and a good hand atpiquet. But after all he had to go some time; and then what happens? Thefair Miss Battledown becomes the richest heiress in the three counties. "

"Ay, and what's the compensation in that? What good does her being anheiress do me? Can my boy marry her? Answer me that!"

"Well, I should fancy not; but somebody else can. "

"Somebody else? Who, I'd like to know?" bawled Sir Clarence. "Let me seethe scoundrel who'll dare to marry Kate Battledown--let me see him!"

"I hear you quite plainly, Malmaison; and I wouldn't exert myself so muchif I were you--you know what the doctor said. As for Miss Battledown, surely she has a right to marry whom she pleases, hasn't she?"

"No, she has not!" returned the baronet, getting angrier than ever. "Shebelongs to my Archibald; and if any scoundrel--"

"Really, you are intolerable, Sir Clarence, " interrupted Pennroyal, stillsmiling, but not a pleasant smile. "A man whose temper is faulty at thebest of times should be more careful to avoid whatever tends to make itworse;" and as Pennroyal said this he glanced significantly at thedecanter--of which, to do him justice, he was very sparing himself. 

"Pennroyal!" said the old baronet, drawing himself up with a good deal ofdignity, "your father and I were friends before you were born, and you'remy brother-in-law; but if you were not sitting at my table, I'd teach youbetter manners than to lecture your elders. I said I should like to seethe scoundrel who would dare to marry Kate Battledown--and--and what isthat to you?"

"Well, it's just this, " returned Pennroyal, quietly; "I'm going to marryher myself!"

Sir Clarence started up from his chair with a tremendous oath--and sat downagain. He was putting a terrible restraint upon himself. Not for his lifewould he outrage the guest who was beneath his roof. His face became darkred, and the veins on his forehead and in his neck stood out and throbbedvisibly. His eyes were fixed staringly upon the impassable visage of theHonorable Richard, and he drew his breath with difficulty. There was apause of some duration, broken only by this stertorous breathing, and bythe deliberate cracking of the guest's filberts. At last, with a tragiceffort of courtesy that was almost grotesque, the poor gentleman pushedthe decanter toward his brother-in-law and deadly enemy, accompanying theact by a rattling sound in the throat, probably intended as an invitationto help himself. But the struggle was too severe. The next moment thebaronet's eyes rolled wildly, a gasping noise broke from him, and he fellforward with his head on the table. 

Mr. Pennroyal promptly arose and rang the bell. "Send for the doctor atonce, " he said to the servant who appeared. "Sir Clarence has overdrunkhimself, or overeaten himself, I fancy. And help me to put him on the sofaand loosen his neckcloth. There--very distressing. Apply the usualremedies, while I step up-stairs and speak to Lady Malmaison. "

The usual remedies availed little, and when Dr. Rollinson arrived, fourhours afterward, it was already evident that even he could be of no use. Sir Clarence never fully regained consciousness, and two days later heceased to breathe. There was an inquest, resulting in a verdict of deathby apoplexy, and followed by a handsome funeral. The widow of thedeceased, who was a lady of easily-stirred emotions and limited intellect, wept at short intervals during several weeks thereafter, and assured theHonorable Richard that she had no one in the world to depend on besideshim. Archibald, who had moved about the house during this season ofmourning with handsome vacant face and aimless steps, betrayed littlegrief at the family loss or comprehension of it; but whenever Pennroyalwas in the way, he followed him round with a dog-like fondness in strangecontrast with the vivid antipathy which he had manifested toward him inhis other phase of being. As for Archibald's brother, now a pale andslender but dignified youth of nineteen, he assumed the title of SirEdward, and the headship of the house, with a grave propriety of bearingthat surprised those who had only looked upon him as a moping scholar. Undemonstratively, but surely, he gave evidence that he understood theresponsibilities of his position, and that he knew how to make himselfrespected. He did not encourage his mother in her unrestrained dependenceupon Pennroyal; and between the latter and him there appears to havearisen a coolness more or less marked. Certainly, Pennroyal was far fromloving the ceremonious and punctilious young baronet, who would neitherdrink nor play cards. Toward Archibald, on the other hand, he exhibited acynical and contemptuous sort of good-humor; often amusing himself byasking the poor dull-witted youth all sorts of questions about eventswhich had occurred in his enlightened period, and concerning which, ofcourse, Archibald was unfathomably ignorant. The Honorable RichardPennroyal was not the first man who has failed to see whence his greatestdanger was to be expected. 

VII. 

That piece of news with which Mr. Pennroyal had killed Sir Clarence was nomore than the truth. He was the betrothed husband of the beautifulheiress, Miss Battledown; and the three counties, on the whole, approvedthe match. It would consolidate two great contiguous estates, and add oneconsiderable fortune to another. There was a rather wide discrepancy inages, Pennroyal being about forty, while Miss Battledown was only in hernineteenth year; but that mattered little so that they agreed in otherrespects. Miss Battledown was generally believed to have very proper ideasas to her duties and responsibilities as an heiress. Since poor ArchibaldMalmaison lost his wits, she had received more than one offer which ayoung lady who was weak-minded enough to regard only personal attractionsmight have been tempted to accept; but she had needed no elder person tocounsel her to refuse them. In fact, she had at one time allowed it to beinferred that she deprecated the idea of being married to any one; andthis demonstrated a commendable maidenly reserve; but it was neither to beexpected nor desired that she should adhere to such a resolution in theface of good reasons for changing it. And Mr. Pennroyal was an excellentreason. He had passed through the unsteady period of his life; he hadlived down the vaguely discreditable reports which had once beencirculated at his expense; he had shown himself a thrifty landlord; andthe very fact of his being a widower invested him with a certainrespectability not always appertaining to unmarried gentlemen of his age. Finally, he belonged to a noble and distinguished family, and though therewas no likelihood of his acceding to the title, who was better qualifiedthan he to illustrate the substantial virtues of an English countrygentleman?

We are without detailed records of the early progress of this charming loveaffair. The inference is that it proceeded upon orthodox and unexceptionallines. Mr. Pennroyal would make known to the widow of the late Colonel theaspirations of his heart, and would receive from her permission to addresshimself to the lady of his choice. After the lapse of a few weeks ormonths (as the case might be) of mutually complimentary interviews andcorrespondence, the swain would entreat the maid to name the day which wasto make him the happiest of men. She would delay and hesitate for abecoming while; but at length, with a blush and a smile, would indicate adate too distant for the lover's impatience, yet as near as a respect forthe _convenances_ of wealthy virginity could permit. And now, allpreliminaries being settled, the preparations would go forward withliberality and despatch. 

It had been at first arranged that the wedding should be solemnized at thehouse of the bride; but, for some reason or other, this plan wassubsequently changed, and Malmaison was fixed upon as the scene of theceremony. The great dining-hall, which had more than once been put tosimilar uses in years gone by, was made ready for the occasion. It was avast and stately apartment, sixty feet in length by forty in breadth, andits lofty ceiling was richly carved in oak; while around the walls werearranged suits of historic armor, and swords, pikes, and banners, therelics of ancestral valor. It was on the ground-floor of the most ancientpart of the house, immediately below that suite of rooms of which the eastchamber was one. It had not been used as a dining-hall since the old timeswhen retainers fed at the same table with their lords; but familycelebrations had been held there; and at the coming of age of the late SirClarence, in 1775, it had been the scene of a grand banquet to theneighboring nobility and gentry. The floor at the eastern end of the roomwas raised some eight inches above the level of the rest; and it was herethat the bride and bridegroom were to stand. A very reverend dean wassecured to pronounce the service; and there were to be eight bridesmaidsand a best man; the latter being none other than poor beclouded Archibaldhimself. 

This choice created a good deal of surprise and comment. The fact appearsto have been that the post of "best man" had, in the first instance, beenoffered to young Sir Edward Malmaison, who, however, declined it. Hisreason for so doing was, in the first place, disapproval of the match; heholding the opinion that the widower of his aunt might as well haverefrained from a second nuptials, and that, at all events, he should haveselected any one rather than her who was to have been the wife ofArchibald. His second objection was a personal dislike to the HonorableRichard, and an indisposition to encourage his intimacy with the family. But Sir Edward could not so far oppose his mother's wishes as to forbidthe marriage being celebrated at Malmaison; and being obliged to concedeso much, he wisely deemed it most consistent with his dignity to adopt amanner as outwardly gracious as was compatible with self-respect. 

Accordingly, when Pennroyal--whether maliciously, or from honest good-willtoward one who manifested an almost child-like attachment tohimself--chose Sir Edward's brother in his default, Sir Edward offered noopen opposition. If he remonstrated privately with Archibald, hisarguments were void of effect, and would have been, besides, counteractedby Lady Malmaison's influence. It is needless to say that Archibald wasimmensely proud of the compliment (as he considered it), and took care tocelebrate his distinction at all times and places, opportune orotherwise--seeming, indeed, to think and talk of little else. It is notprobable that he fully comprehended the significance of the matter, as hewas certainly far from perceiving its ironic aspect; nevertheless, hisdull brain received more stimulus from the prospect than from any otherthing that had befallen him, thereby furnishing sardonic humorists withthe criticism, that if the Honorable Richard Pennroyal would keep onburying his wives, and choosing Archibald as best man for the new-comer, the youth might in time become approximately intellectual. 

The wedding-day was fixed for the 5th of March, 1821--a date which was longremembered in the neighborhood. Fortunately we have ample accounts ofeverything that occurred--the testimony of many eye-witnesses, which, through varying in some unimportant details (as is inevitable), agreenevertheless upon all essential points. I shall give the gist of thenarrative as concisely as a proper attention to its more important phaseswill allow. 

Miss Kate Battledown, with her mother, came to Malmaison on the evening ofthe 4th, and spent the night, the ceremony being appointed at eleven thenext forenoon. The young lady spent an hour or so, before going to bed, inconversation with Archibald, who, in his pleasurable excitement over theforthcoming event, was much more lively and conversable than usual. Asthey walked side by side up and down the great hall, at one end of whichsome workmen were still engaged in arranging the decorations for themorrow, they must have made a handsome picture. Kate was at this time alithe and graceful figure, slightly above the medium height, andpossessing a great deal of "style;" in fact, young as she was, she hadbeen for some time regarded as a model of fashion and deportment by allthe aspiring young women within a radius of twenty miles. She was dressedon this evening in a gown of some thin, white material, the frilled hem ofwhich failed by at least six inches to reach the floor, thereby displayinga pair of arched feet and slender ankles, clothed in open-work silkstockings. The skirt of this gown began immediately beneath the arms, andevery contour of the wearer's form could be traced through itsclose-fitting and diaphanous folds. Miss Battledown's arms were bare, savefor the black silk netted mittens that she wore; her dark curling hair wasgathered pyramidally on the top of her head, and fastened with a blackribbon; a black velvet band encircled her white throat, and there was arow of black bows down the front of her dress. Her forehead was narrow andcompact, her large brown eyes were perhaps a trifle closer together thanthey should have been, her nose was delicate, her lips blunt-cornered andrather full than thin; the whole expression of her face spirited andcommanding. As for Archibald, he was a handsome vacancy, so to speak; afine physical man wasted for lack of a spiritual man to carry him aboutand use him. His regular, finely moulded face, with its healthy pallor andits black eyes and hair, always had a dim, pathetic look of havingforgotten something. His figure, symmetrical and full of strength, moveditself awkwardly and unmeaningly, as though ignorant of its owncapabilities, and rather encumbered than otherwise by their redundance. His smile, which drew his features into their handsomest attitude, wasnevertheless rather silly, and seemed to last on after he himself hadforgotten what he was smiling for. His hands--strong, well-formed hands ofthe slender and long-fingered type--hung helplessly at the end of hisarms; or, if he attempted to use them, each finger appeared to have adifferent idea of what was to be done, and one and all fumbled drowsilyand shiftlessly at their task. The young man wore the high-collared coat, short waistcoat, and clinging pantaloons of the period; and his black hairhung down on his shoulders in natural luxuriance of curls. Poor Archibaldaccepted meekly whatever was given him to put on; but he would not let hishair be cut, or even anointed with the incomparable oil of Macassar. 

"And so you are glad, Archie?" said Mistress Kate, continuing their talk. 

"Oh, glad! yes, glad!" replied Archie, nodding his head slowly andsolemnly. 

"You don't regret me, then, at all?"

"Oh, regret, no!" said Archie, shaking his head with the same sapience andgravity. 

"Why do you always repeat what a person says, without seeming to know whatit is? There used to be a time, sir, when regret would have been far toomild a word for you. Have you forgotten all that? Have you forgotten LordOrville and Evelina?"

"Forgotten, yes; all forgotten!"

"Come, now, I wish you to remember. You understand that I am to be marriedto Richard Pennroyal tomorrow--to Richard Pennroyal!"

"Uncle Richard, dear Uncle Richard. I love Uncle Richard!"

"Do you love no one beside him? don't you love me?"

"Don't love you, oh, no!"

"Archie, have you forgotten how we were married in the back garden, and howyou used to say I was your little wife; and you wanted to fight a duelwith Richard because he had taken me on his knee and kissed me?"

"See how pretty!" exclaimed Archie, whose attention had been fixed duringthis speech upon two of the workmen who were unrolling between them apiece of crimson cloth appertaining to the hangings. 

"What a creature!" muttered Kate to herself. To have her romantic souvenirsignored even by this simpleton vexed her a little. Perhaps, too, she hadanother reason for regretting her companion's witlessness. She couldremember when she had cared for him--or for something called him--morethan she cared now for the man she would wed to-morrow. Why was he not thesame now as then? His face, his hands, his figure--these were the same, orrather they were handsomer and more manlike than formerly. Why could notthe soul, or whatever may be that mysterious invisible motive-power in aman--why could it not have stuck to its fortress during these seven yearspast? Here were five feet eleven of well-sculptured living clay, that hadbeen growing and improving for more than one and twenty years; and for aninhabitant, nothing but a soft foolish child, destitute of memory, intelligence, and passion. Such reflections may have passed through themind of the young heiress; and then she may have thought, glancing at him, "If my Archibald were here, to-morrow might see another spectacle thanthat put down in the programme. " She might have thought this; she did notand of course would not on any account have uttered such a sentimentaloud. But it would be unjust to her taste and sensibility to supposethat, apart from worldly and politic considerations, she should havereally preferred a sharp-featured, thin-haired, close-fisted gentleman offorty to a conceivable hero of half that age, dowered with every grace andbeauty, not to mention Miss Tremount's seventy thousand pounds. Is she tobe blamed if she sighed with a passing regret at that hero's mysteriousdisappearance? Yes, he had disappeared, more mysteriously and moreirrevocably than old Sir Charles seventy years ago. Where in the heavensor the earth or under the earth, indeed, was he? Did he still existanywhere? Might she dream of ever meeting him again--that hero?. .. ! Bah!what nonsense!

"Pretty!" repeated Archie, who, in the subsidence of his other faculties, had retained an appreciation of color. 

"Poor boy--poor thing!" said Kate; "you lost a great deal when you lostyour wits; between being a groomsman and a bridegroom there is a very widedifference. And you don't even care--perhaps that's your greatest loss ofall--ha, ha! Come, Archie, it's time for little fellows like you to beasleep. "

"Kate--" began Archie; and paused. 

"What?"

"Do you love anybody?"

She met his look of dull yet earnest inquiry with a contemptuous smile atfirst, but afterward her smile died away and she answered soberly:

"I did once. "

"I did once, too!" rejoined Archie, with a sort of sluggish eagerness. 

"You did--when?" demanded she, with the beginning of a heart-beat. 

"I think I did--once--when I was asleep. "

She laughed shortly and turned away. "Yes, sleep is the best thing for you, Archie; you had better sleep all the time now; it will be too late to wakeup to-morrow. Good-night, Archie. "

VIII. 

Old Miss Tremount had come up from Cornwall for the occasion, accompaniedby her poodle, her female toady, and her father confessor. The good ladyhad altered her will some years before, on hearing of her favoritenephew's changed condition, and it was feared she would leave her money tothe Church of Rome, of which she was a member. But on receiving theannouncement of her intended visit, Lady Malmaison had begun to entertainhopes that Sir Edward might succeed in so favorably impressing his aunt asto induce her to divert at least some portion of her thousands in hisdirection. But it is not likely that Miss Tremount had come to Malmaisonwith any such views; in fact, her reason for coming had little or noconnection with the late baronet's family. It was not generally knownthat, between forty and fifty years previously, there had been tenderpassages between Colonel Battledown and this snuffy old maid, whose soulwas now divided between her cards and her psalter. So it was, however;they were even betrothed to one another, though the betrothal was kept asecret, the Colonel then being a comparatively penniless young lieutenant, and as such by no means a desirable son-in-law from the parental point ofview. An elopement was contemplated so soon as the young lady should be ofage; and it would be difficult to explain the occasion of the trumperyquarrel between the lovers, which ended in the lady taunting thegentleman with caring only about her money, and resulted in the rupture ofthe engagement. Doubtless it might have been renewed; but at thisjuncture the lieutenant was ordered away on active service to the AmericanColonies, where he remained for some years. Later, he was stationed inIndia; and the next time he met his old love, in London, he was twentyyears older than when she had last seen him, and a major, and with ribbonson his breast, and a wife on his arm. Miss Tremount never betrayed anygrief or disappointment, except in so far as she remained single all herlife, and latterly waxed religious and became a convert to the Jesuits. But when the Colonel was dead, and she heard that his daughter was aboutto be married, she resolved to make a journey to Malmaison; and who cantell whether in the bottom of her heart, hidden even from her fatherconfessor, she may not have cherished a secret purpose of making MistressKate her heir? It is certain at all events that she brought her will withher in her trunk. 

This romance, I say, was known to but few, and as Miss Battledown did nothappen to be among the number, she was less cordial in her behavior to theold lady than she might otherwise have been. Kate was not constitutionallya lover of old women, and not herself old enough to be aware that no trulycharitable person should ever be inattentive to seventy thousand pounds, no matter to how unprepossessing a human being the money might beattached. Her manner, therefore, was tolerant and patronizing rather thanflattering; and honest Lady Malmaison, though she liked Kate very much, and would have been delighted to see her inherit seventy thousand poundsfrom the Shah of Persia or the President of the United States, was notquite so unnatural an idiot as to recommend to the young lady a moreconciliating behavior. As for Miss Tremount, she preserved her composureand kept her counsel perfectly, and never referred to her will even in hermost unguarded moments. She was courteous and complimentary to Sir Edward, indulgent to Archibald, kind and sisterly to Lady Malmaison, and quietlyobservant of everything and everybody. On the wedding morning shecriticised and admired the bride's toilet with a taste and appreciationthat caused the proud young beauty's eyes to sparkle; and just before theparty entered the hall, she pressed Kate's hand affectionately, and said, in her gentlest tones, that she hoped she would be happy. "I have alwayslooked upon your mother as one of the happiest of women, my dear, " sheadded. "May your fortune equal hers!" This good-natured benediction causedLady Malmaison a good deal of anxiety; Sir Edward smiled aside at what hefancied was a subtle stroke of irony; and Kate herself became thoughtful, and regretted that it was rather late in the day to begin to show MissTremount what a charming elderly lady she thought her. 

The great hall looked its stateliest that morning. The March sunshine cameslanting through the tall windows, and lay in bright patches upon thebroad floor, or gleamed upon the ancient swords and breastplates, orglowed in the festal hangings. Quite a large number of titled andfashionable persons were collected at the upper end of the room, whispering and rustling, and dressed in what we should now consider verywonderful costumes, though they were all the mode then. A few minutesbefore eleven the very reverend dean, and an assistant divine, togetherwith the bridegroom and Archibald, entered and took their places in greatpomp and dignity beneath the canopy which had been constructed for theoccasion, and which, was covered with fresh flowers, whose fragrancebreathed over the gay assemblage like a sacred incense. At eleven o'clockthere was a general hush of expectation; and presently the door at thebottom of the hall was thrown open, and the bridal procession came in. Very pretty they looked as they paced, up the long stretch of carpetingwhich had been laid down for them to walk upon, and which had beenscattered over with a profusion of flowers. The bride, with her veil andher orange-blossoms, was supported on the arm of Sir Henry Rollinson (thegood Doctor had been knighted the year before by an appreciativesovereign), who was to give her away. She looked calm, pale, andexceedingly handsome. The widow of Colonel Battledown was escorted by LordEpsom, the Honorable Richard's elder brother, and wore a very splendidpink turban, and red eyes. But all these details, and many more, may beread in the _Morning Post_ of March 7th, 1821, to which I refer thecurious. 

The service commenced. As Sir Henry Rollinson was in the act of giving thebride away, he happened to glance at Archibald, and observed that thelatter wore a very strange expression on his face; and a moment afterwardthe young man dropped into a chair that happened to be near him, pressinghis head between his hands, and breathing heavily. No one else noticedthis incident; and Sir Henry, who supposed the youth was going to faint, was of course unable at the time to afford any assistance. The servicewent on. Richard Pennroyal and Catherine Battledown were pronounced manand wife; and man was warned not to put asunder those whom God had joinedtogether. The ring shone on the new-made wife's finger. The very reverenddean gave the pair his blessing. All this time Archibald remained withhis head between his hands, the physician watching him not withoutapprehensions, and inwardly cursing the folly of those who wereresponsible for the poor half-witted creature's appearance in such ascene. 

The register was now brought forth, in which the happy couple and theirfriends were to inscribe their names. The principal personages signedfirst. It came to Archibald's turn. It had previously been ascertainedthat he knew how to string together the requisite letters upon paper. There he sat, with his head in his hands. Sir Henry touched him on theshoulder. 

"Now, then, lad--Archie! wake up! Come! you're wanted!" He spoke sharplyand imperatively, in the hope of rousing the young fellow out of hisstupor, and at least getting him decently out of the room. 

Archibald raised his face, which was deadly pale and covered with sweat, and looked at the persons around him with a kind of amazed defiance. Hestarted to his feet, oversetting his chair as he did so, which rolled downthe steps of the dais and fell with a crash on the stone floor below. 

"I came in by the staircase door!" he said in an excited voice, whichstartled every one who heard it, so different was it from his usual tones. "If you thought it locked, you were wrong. How else could I have come?. .. When did you bring me here? This is the great hall! What have you beendoing? How came _you_ here?"

There was a dead silence. Every one felt that some ugly thing was about tohappen. Several women began to laugh hysterically. It seems to have beensupposed, at first, that Archibald had exchanged his inoffensive idiocyfor a condition of raving madness. The old physician was probably the onlyone present who had a glimmering of what might be the truth. TheHonorable Richard Pennroyal had none. He pushed between the venerableknight and his "best man, " and relying upon his oft-proved and establishedinfluence over the latter, he took him firmly by the arm, and looked inhis face. 

"Don't make a fool of yourself, Archie, " said he, in a low distinct voice, in which was a subdued ring of menace. "It's all right. You're my bestman, you know. You are to sign your name as one of the witnesses of themarriage--that's all. "

"I have witnessed no marriage, " replied Archibald, returning with surpriseRichard's look. "Who are you?" he continued, after a moment. Then heexclaimed, "You are Richard Pennroyal--I didn't know you at first, youlook so old!"

"Oh, the fellow's quite mad!" muttered Richard, turning away with a shrugof the shoulders. "I should have known better than to run the risk ofhaving such a lunatic here. We must have him moved out of the room atonce. "

Young Sir Edward overheard this latter sentence. "Pardon me for remindingyou that my brother is at home in Malmaison, " he said gravely. 

"Oh, as you please, of course, " returned Richard, frowning. 

Meanwhile Archibald had caught sight of Kate, and recognized her at once;and breaking away from his mother and Sir Henry Rollinson, who wereendeavoring to quiet him, he came up to her and planted himself in frontof her, just as Richard was approaching to take her off. Archibald tookboth her hands in his. 

"Kate, I have never seen you look so beautiful, " he said. "But why have yougot this white veil on?--and orange blossoms! It's like a wedding. Whatwere they saying about a wedding? . .. Is it to be our wedding?"

"The wedding has already taken place, my dear Archie, " interposed thebridegroom, offering his arm to the bride, and smiling with no very goodgrace. "This lady is now Mrs. Pennroyal. Stand aside, like a good boy--"

Archibald grasped Richard by the padded sleeve of his coat, and with anangry movement of his powerful arm threw him backward into the embrace ofhis new mother-in-law, who happened to be coming up from behind. 

"You are under my father's roof, or I would tell you that you are a liar, "said the young man, grimly. Then turning to the bride, who had said not aword since this scene began, but had kept her eyes constantly fixed uponthe chief actor in it, "He shall not insult you again, my dear. But allthis is very strange. What does it mean?"

"It means. .. . It is too late!" replied the girl, in a low, bitter voice. What could she have meant by that?

Richard, white with fury, came up again. There was a general murmur andmovement in the surrounding assemblage, who expected to see some deed ofviolence committed. 

"Mrs. Pennroyal, " said he between his teeth, "I am obliged to request youperemptorily to take my arm and--and leave this house where guests areinsulted and outraged!"

Archibald turned, his face darkening. But Kate held up her handentreatingly; and Archibald caught the gleam of the plain gold ring on herfinger. At that sight he stopped abruptly, and his arms fell to his sides. 

"Is it true?" He asked in a tone of bewilderment. 

Here Sir Edward interposed again, with, his cool courtesy: "Mr. Pennroyal, and my friends, I trust you will find it possible to overlook the behaviorof my brother. You may see that he is not himself. When he has had time torecover himself, he will ask pardon of each and all of you. Mr. Pennroyal, I entreat you and your wife to forget what has passed, and to reconsiderthe heavy imputation which has been cast upon my house. Let the shadowpass away which has threatened for a moment this--most auspiciousoccasion!"

If the last words were ironical, the irony was too grave and ceremonious tobe obtrusive, Pennroyal was fain to return Sir Edward's bow with the bestgrace he could muster. The rest of the company accepted the apology, as atleast a formal way out of the difficulty. An effort was made to resumeindifferent conversation, and to act as if nothing had happened. SirEdward, with admirable self-possession and smiling courtesy, marshalledthe guests out of the hall, to a neighboring room in which the weddingbreakfast had been set out. Archibald remained behind, and the Doctor andold Miss Tremount remained with him. He stood still, with his arms at hissides, his glance fixed upon the floor. The Doctor and Miss Tremountexchanged a look, and then the latter went up to him, and took one of hishands between hers. 

"Do you know me, my dear?" she said. 

Archibald looked at her, and shook his head. 

"I am your aunt, Ruth Tremount. My dear, I am so sorry for you. "

"Can you tell me what is the matter with me? Am I mad?"

"On the contrary, " put in the Doctor, "you are yourself for the second timein your life. You've overslept yourself, my lad, that's all!"

Archibald cast his eyes round the hall, as if searching for some one. "Where is my father?" he asked at length. 

There was an awkward pause. Finally Miss Tremount said, "My dear, yoursleep has lasted seven years. Much may happen in such a length of time. "

"But my father--where is he? I want to see him; I will see him!" and hemade some steps toward the door. 

"My poor lad, you cannot see him now--he . .. He--"

"Where is he?" cried Archibald, stamping his foot. 

"He has been for five years in his grave. "

Archibald stared at the Doctor a moment, and then burst out laughing. 

IX. 

But Archibald had come into possession of his intelligent soul once more;or he was awake again; or the pressure of the skull upon the cerebrum hadyet another time been relieved; at all events there was now a brilliantyouth in the flesh-and-blood envelope which, an hour before, had containedonly a half-witted boy. When the first crash of the restoration was over, the new man began to accommodate himself with wonderful rapidity andkeenness to the strange environment. He knew of nothing that had happenedsince that afternoon when he spoke with Kate in the east chamber, whilethe blood oozed from the cut on his forehead; but he accepted the factswith more than a youth's resolution and stoicism. The world had beenturning round while he had been absent--somewhere! Well, then, by theforce of his will and his splendid faculties he would get on even termswith it again--and more. Injury had been done him; irreparable injury, perhaps, but which still might be avenged. He was not discouraged; hisspirit seemed to come upon life with all the freshness of a seven years'rest, and it reckoned nothing impossible. 

Of course his fresh metamorphosis created plenty of comment among theneighbors; Archibald Malmaison was the most talked-of man in that part ofthe country for several weeks, the impossibility of arriving at anysatisfactory conclusion regarding his condition or conditions prolongingthe wonder so far beyond the proverbial nine days. One party werevehemently of the opinion that he was mad; another party opposed this viewwith equal energy and just as much foundation. Both sides put forwardplenty of arguments, and when they were refuted, appealed to Sir HenryRollinson, who confirmed them both with equally sagacious shakes of thehead. 

But this good gentleman was now getting near the end of his days, and, infact, ceased living in the world before the close of the year. He did notdepart without leaving a successor, however, and one who bade fair to docredit to his ancestry. This was Mr. E. Forbes Rollinson, his son, who hadconcluded a course of study at Vienna and Paris, and who returned to hisnative land with the highest diplomas that continental schools could givehim. He was at this time a young man of about five and twenty, with agreat square head and a short, compact figure. The wild jungle of beardand the terribly penetrating eye-glass which distinguished him in latertimes had not then made their appearance. Well, the new Dr. Rollinson hadknown something of Archibald as a boy, and was of course much interested(apart from his friendly feelings) in so remarkable a case. His theoryupon the matter, in so far as he had formed one, did not on all pointscoincide with his father's; he belonged to a somewhat more recentschool--more critical and less dogmatic. Still, it would be hazardous toassert that young Dr. Rollinson knew exactly what was the matter withArchibald--especially as he has seen reason to modify his firstimpressions more than once during the last fifty years. It is enough toremark here that he thought the affection was of a rhythmic or regularlyrecurrent character, a notion which its previous history went far tojustify; and he consequently looked with interest to see whether thelapse of another seven years would bring about another change. To havediscovered the orbit, so to speak, of a malady, is not, indeed, to haveexplained it; but it is always something. It would be more interesting toknow what Archibald thought of himself; and were I, in this instance, anovelist dealing with a creation of my own, I might not shrink from anattempt to analyze his mental state. As it is, I can do no more than pointto the curious field of conjecture which it here afforded: the young manleft no confessions or self-analytic diaries; still less did he discusshis peculiarities with other people. With excellent good sense and nosmall courage, he accepted things as they were; he felt his individualityin no way diminished by the circumstance that it was intermittent orexchangeable; and perhaps it seemed no more strange to him than thenightly falling asleep of all mankind does to them. The one mystery isquite as strange as the other, only the sleep of seven hours is common toall, while that of seven years is probably unprecedented. 

One grotesque question suggests itself--or may do so shortly--and that iswhether Archibald would be responsible in one phase of his being for acrime committed in another--for a crime, or any other act involving thewelfare or condition of other people. The analogy with sleep does not hereseem altogether satisfactory; for in ordinary sleep, or even somnambulism, we are not in active relations with our fellow-beings, and consequentlyour lawgivers have not devised a code to control our doings while in thatstate. A jury, in delivering its verdict, would be embarrassed by thereflection that although only one half of the culprit before them wasguilty, they could not give that half its just punishment without at thesame time unjustly punishing the half that was guiltless. A consistentindividuality, therefore, though often a burden and a weariness, is stillnot without its advantages. 

Meanwhile an important change had taken place in the relations between thefamily of Malmaison and the Honorable Richard Pennroyal. The latterconceived himself to have been affronted by the former on the occasion ofhis marriage, and refused a reconciliation--which, to tell the truth, neither Sir Edward nor his younger brother were too anxious to force uponhim. Lady Malmaison was still for peace, but her opinion had ceased tohave much weight in the family counsels. At length matters came to a headsomewhat in the following manner. 

Sir Edward Malmaison and Pennroyal happened to meet at the table of acommon friend, and after the ladies had withdrawn, Pennroyal, who hadtaken more wine than was usual with him, began to talk at Sir Edward in anunnecessarily audible and offensive tone. Sir Edward kept his temper, andmade no reply, not having as yet been personally addressed. Pennroyalafter a while came round to where he was sitting, and the two gentlemenpresently fell into conversation. Pennroyal finally declared that he hadbeen insulted by a man who retained his present title and estates solelyby his (Pennroyal's) permission and kindness. Sir Edward was constrainedto ask him what he meant. Pennroyal thereupon began to utter disparagingreflections upon the late Sir Clarence, who, he intimated, was not legallyentitled to his name. This brought on a dead silence, and all eyes wereturned upon Sir Edward, whose pale countenance became yet paler as hesaid, with his imperturbable courteousness of phrase:

"I must entreat Mr. Pennroyal not to indulge in innuendos, but to stateexplicitly whether he intends anything dishonorable to my father. "

"To a man of the world a word is enough, " responded the Honorable Richard, insolently. "I am not here to tutor schoolboys in the comprehension of theEnglish tongue. "

"I cannot allow you to evade my question, " rejoined Sir Edward, with agleam in his eye, though without an alteration in his voice. "You mustexplain what you have seen fit to insinuate before these gentlemen, oneway or the other. "

Pennroyal laughed. "When you have lived a few years longer, younggentleman, " said he, "you will learn to be cautious how you ask for tooexplicit information regarding the morals of your grandparents. "

At this brutal remark there was a general expression of indignation amongthe hearers; but Pennroyal, in no way abashed, added, "Let him disprove itif he can. Since he provokes me to it, I affirm it--his father had noright to the title. Let him prove the contrary if he can. I didn't forceon the discussion, but I will tell young Sir Edward Malmaison, as he callshimself, that he holds property to which he has no claim, and that itdepends upon my good-will and pleasure how long he holds it. "

The host--he was Francis Hastings Kent, Esq. And M. P. , the same whoafterward became famous in the Corn-law controversy--here interposed, and"spoke the sense of the meeting. " "Egad, Pennroyal, " cried he, "you aredrunk, and you have insulted a gentleman at my table. I'll trouble you tomake him an apology. I have no doubt that Sir Edward Malmaison's titlesare just as good as yours or mine, and, begad, they sha'n't be called inquestion here at all events. I say you shall make Sir Edward an apology!"

There was only one man in the room who evinced any disagreement with thisspeech, and that one was Major Bolingbroke, a retired officer of goodfamily but of not altogether unexceptionable personal repute; he wasbelieved to have fought more duels than are usually considered desirable;and he had for some months past been a constant inmate at the house of Mr. Pennroyal. 

"It's no affair of mine, of course, " said this gallant warrior, "if SirEdward chooses to put up with such language from a man, on the ground thathe was drunk when he used it. Only, if there's going to be an apology, Ishould advise Sir Edward to exact a very full one, and lose no time aboutit. "

Sir Edward, however, rose carelessly, and said with a smile that he couldnot think of contributing any further to the unfortunate interruption ofthe social harmony; and adding that he had no doubt Mr. Pennroyal would, as soon as he had had time to recollect himself, make every explanationthat the case demanded, he bowed and left the room. 

It was afterward suspected that Pennroyal's intoxication had been assumedfor the purpose of insulting the heir of Malmaison with the more impunity;and that the Major was present expressly to aid and abet him. What, then, was the object, and what the grounds, of the charge which Pennroyal made?With respect to the latter, nothing was known until later; but theimmediate result was this. Sir Edward went home, and appeared morecheerful and in better spirits than usual. He spent the next forenoon inhis chamber, apparently engaged in looking over some papers. In theafternoon he mentioned to his mother and Archibald that he should beobliged to run up to London for a few days on business, and that he muststart that evening. He had made no allusion to the affair at FrancisKent's house, and neither Archibald nor Lady Malmaison knew anything aboutit. That evening, accordingly, he bade them good-by, and departedseemingly with a light heart, bidding his brother act as his accreditedplenipotentiary while he was away, and promising his mother to bring herthe latest fashion in turbans when he returned. 

He was absent five days. The Honorable Richard Pennroyal, who had happenedto be likewise called away on business at the same time, returned to hishouse some twenty-four hours before Sir Edward was brought in a carriageto Malmaison, with a bullet-hole just beneath the collar-bone. The factis, the two gentlemen had travelled to Belgium instead of to London, andhad there shot at each other in the presence of Major Bolingbroke (whogave the word) and of a friend of Sir Edward's whose name has not comedown to us. Pennroyal had escaped untouched; Sir Edward, under the care ofDr. Rollinson the younger, lay for several weeks in a critical condition;but, when the bullet had been extracted, he rallied, and was able beforelong to rise from his bed and walk about the house. But though hisstrength had improved, he appeared to be harassed in mind; he carried on aconsiderable correspondence with the family lawyers in London, and wascontinually searching for something--what, no one could tell. Whatever itwas he did not find it, and his anxiety did not diminish. 

Archibald had of course asked him about the particulars of the duel, andwhat led to it; but his brother had sought to make light of the affair, saying merely that Pennroyal had been very rude, and had failed to make asuitable apology; and that the insult having been public, he was forced toresent it. In answer to Archibald's question as to the subject of hispresent correspondence with the lawyers, he replied that it related tosome old family traditions, and possessed only an antiquarian interest. Archibald accepted these answers in silence, but with entire incredulity. The brothers were fond of each other, but the strange conditions of theyounger's life had prevented their attaining really intimate andconfidential relations. Archibald was too proud either to demand furtherparticulars from Sir Edward, or to make inquiries elsewhere. Moreover, there was perhaps less need of information on his side than on that of hisbrother, had the latter but known it. Archibald had secrets of his own. 

Pennroyal, meanwhile, kept quiet, waiting for the affair to blow over. Whether he had intended to kill Sir Edward, or whether he was glad thatthe duel had not resulted fatally, I cannot tell. Of course, neither henor his wife were seen again at Malmaison. The neighbors were for sometime disposed to give him the cold shoulder; but when his antagonistrecovered, and the matter had lost its first freshness, there appeared tobe little more against him than that he had committed an indiscretionwhile under the influence of liquor, and had afterward atoned for it inaccordance with a code of honor which had not, at that epoch, fallenentirely into disuse. And, after all, what business was it of theirs?Pennroyal, however objectionable in himself, owned a large property andbelonged to a good family. In short, society received the honorableprodigal in its bosom once more, and Mrs. Pennroyal reigned the undisputedtoast for a while longer. 

But at the end of six or seven months a new order of events began. SirEdward, either from anxiety, or from some imprudent exposure, fell illagain, and his wound opened afresh and became inflamed. His constitutionhad never been good for much, and the chances were all against its beingable to survive this trial. Dr. Rollinson did all that could be done; butone morning Sir Edward asked to see his brother, and when the two wereleft alone together, he said:

"Well, Archie, how shall you like to be Sir Archibald?"

For a minute they looked at one another in silence. 

"Do you think so?" then said the younger, frowning a little. 

"I am certain of it. "

"Ned, we are brothers, " said Archibald. 

The young men grasped hands, and Archibald half sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the invalid, whose face was now bony in its emaciation, and his eyes sunken and bright. 

"Archie, I have something to tell you. "

"I feared so. "

"It is not anything that you could expect. That quarrel between Richard andme was about our father. Richard said he was--that is--"

"Don't fear. Say it!"

"That his mother was not Lady Malmaison. "

"He lied!"

"So I told him. But that's not the end of it, unfortunately. He defied meto prove the contrary. Ever since I first got up after the duel, I havebeen looking for the papers relating to Sir Clarence's birth. They're notto be found. There is no record that our grandmother had any son at all. On the other hand, there is indirect evidence that our grandfather had anaffair with some woman. .. . The amount of it is, I have not been able toestablish Sir Clarence's legitimacy. And the worst is still to tell. "

"I know the rest; I know it all! Why didn't you say all this to me atfirst, brother? You have been harassing yourself with the idea thatbecause you couldn't vindicate father, Malmaison might be claimed byRichard, under that old agreement of Sir Charles's time. "

"How did you know--"

"I know everything. I know where the papers are that you have been lookingfor. Set your mind at rest, Ned. Sir Clarence was the legitimate heir. There was also a son by the other woman, but he died in infancy. Ned, whyweren't you open with me? Richard has no more hold on our estates than mygroom has. Blame him! I only hope he'll think otherwise! We'll ruin himfirst and kill him afterward. "

"If I had only known. .. . " said the sick man, after a pause. "But you arecertain? You have the proof? Where did you find the papers?"

"I have them. Get well, and you shall know all about it. I have a good manycurious things to tell you, and to show you, too. "

"Well, God be thanked! whatever becomes of me. It is late, Archie, but I'mbeginning to get acquainted with you at last. It is my fault that I didnot know you before. You are better fitted to bear the title than I. "

"No. If I thought so, I would not deny it; but if I inherit Malmaison, ourfamily will--perish off the earth! I can foresee some things, Ned. Thehope of the house lies in you; I shall bring only calamity. You must getwell. "

Again the brothers grasped hands, looked in one another's eyes for a momentor two, and then Archibald went out; the day passed, and the evening fell. At midnight he was Sir Archibald of Malmaison. 

X. 

It was not long before the new baronet--the last of his line--began to makehis influence felt. His temper was resolute, secret, and domineering; hebore himself haughtily among the neighboring squires, never seeking toplease a friend or to conciliate an enemy. Few people liked him; manystood in awe of him. He seemed to be out of sympathy with his race; hisstrange, ambiguous history invested him with an atmosphere of doubt andmystery; his nature was not like other men's; it was even whispered thathe had powers transcending those of ordinary humanity. It is probable thathis remarkable personal beauty, which in moments of anger or energygleamed out with an almost satanic intensity, may have lent substance tothis impression; men shrunk from meeting the stern inquisition of hisblack eyes; and for women his glance possessed a sort of fascination, unconnected with his beauty. But there were other indications more directthan these. A century, or even half a century, previous to this time SirArchibald might have found it difficult to avoid the imputation ofwitchcraft. After all, was not he the descendant of his forefathers? andwhat had some of them been? "Were there not people in the neighboringvillage of Grinstead who were willing to take affidavit that the handsomeyoung baronet had the power to make himself invisible when he pleased?Nay, had not Mrs. Pennroyal herself, while she was yet a young maid, borne testimony to the fact--that he had suddenly stood before her, inbroad daylight, in a room which had the instant before been empty? Thatroom had always had a queer reputation; it was there, or thereabouts, thatmost of these strange goings-on took place. A servant, who had oncewandered in there to announce to Sir Archibald that one of his lawyers hadarrived, and was waiting to see him, had found the room vacant, though hehad seen his master enter it only ten minutes before. Thinking that hemust have gone out by the other entrance, through the stable, he was aboutto follow, when he noticed that this door was bolted on the inside. Insome bewilderment, he was on the point of retiring, when he was startledby a burst of laughter which continued for near a minute, and which, though it echoed almost in his ears, and came apparently from the very airround about him, yet sounded faint and unsubstantial as if a vast distancenevertheless intervened. Whether near or far, it was unmistakably thelaughter of Sir Archibald, but wilder and more scornful than had ever beenheard from his lips. The honest footman was now thoroughly frightened, andmade the best of his way out of the chamber; but before he could cross thenext room and reach the passage-way beyond, the living and peremptorytones of Sir Archibald himself overtook him, and brought him back withfailing knees and pallid cheeks to where the black-haired baronet wasstanding in the doorway. There he stood in flesh and blood, but cloaked, booted, and spurred, as if just returned from a journey. 

"What were you doing in this room?" demanded the baronet. 

The man faltered out his errand. 

"Hear this, once for all, and remember it, " said the baronet, nor sternlynor roughly, but with a concentration of purpose in his mellow voice thatseemed to stamp the words into the hearer's soul. "No one may enter thischamber except I open the door. Else harm may happen which I could notprevent. That is all. Now send Mr. Mawgage to me. "

That was all, but it was quite enough; in fact, the difficulty thereafterwas to induce any one to venture into the room on any terms. It wasbelieved to be haunted, and that Sir Archibald was either himself theghost, or was in some way responsible for there being one. 

I have mentioned this story, to which the reader already possesses theclew, only by way of showing that Sir Archibald was making use, at thattime, of the secret which he had discovered, and was taking the surestmeans of keeping it to himself. He had occupations in the inner chamber atwhich he did not wish to be disturbed. What those occupations were heconfided to no living soul--indeed, there was no one who could have servedhim as a confidant. His life was a lonely one, if ever a lonely life therewere. Whom had he to love, or to love him? Even his mother, now enfeebledboth in body and mind, felt fear of him rather than fondness for him. Shespent much of her time playing cards with her female companion, and inworrying over the health of her pet spaniels. But did Sir Archibald loveno one?--at all events he hated somebody, and that heartily. He heldRichard Pennroyal responsible for all the ills that had fallen uponMalmaison and upon himself; and he was evidently not the man to suffer agrudge to go unrequited. 

Pennroyal, on the other hand, was not disposed to wait quietly to beattacked; he came out to meet the enemy half way. In the spring of theyear 1824--about nine months after Sir Edward's death--it was known inevery mansion and public house for twenty miles round that a great lawsuitwould by-and-by be commenced between Malmaison and Pennroyal, the questionto be decided being nothing less than the ownership of the Malmaisonestates, which Richard Pennroyal claimed, in the alleged failure of anylegitimate heir of Sir John Malmaison, deceased--the father of SirClarence--but, as Pennroyal alleged, by a left-handed marriage. I have notgone into the details of this case, and should not detain the reader overit if I had; he may, if it pleases him, read it at full length elsewhere. It is enough to observe that Pennroyal brought forward evidence to showthat he, and his father before him, had always had cognizance of the willor other document which entitled him to the property in dispute in theevent provided for; and had only been withheld from putting in their claimthereto by the repeated and solemn assurances of Sir Clarence that no suchirregularity as was suspected regarding his birth had in fact occurred. Latterly, however, from fresh information accidentally received, itappeared that Sir Clarence had either been guilty of a wilful and criminalmisstatement, or that he had been deceived. In confirmation whereof, theHonorable Richard produced documents of undoubted genuineness, showingthat an illegitimate son had been born to Sir John; and now called uponthe defendant to prove that this son had died in childhood, or that he hadnot grown up to be Sir Clarence; and furthermore, having disposed of thisdifficulty, to show the certificate of birth of a legitimate heir to SirJohn Malmaison, and to identify that heir with Sir Clarence. 

Now, there were certainly some awkward circumstances in respect of thisillegitimacy question. Sir Clarence had known that he had had a brotherborn out of wedlock; and it is possible he also knew that the documentsrelating to his own birth were not where he could put his hands upon them. He may even have been aware that, were his title to be challenged, therewould be serious technical difficulties in the way of vindicating it. Atthe same time, Sir Clarence was entirely and justly convinced that histitle was good. The history of the illegitimate son was familiar to him, and to the rest of the family, in all its details. It was not, of course, an ordinary topic of conversation, but it was an acknowledged piece offamily history. Sir John had been wild in his youth, and had made a goodmany loose connections before acceding to the baronetcy--his father, SirCharles, the same who ate the venison pasty, having lived to see his heira man of thirty. One of these connections had been with the daughter of atenant; during its progress a marriage had been arranged between JohnMalmaison and a neighboring heiress. About the time that the marriage tookplace, the tenant's daughter had a child; Clarence himself was born abouta year later. The child had lived five or six years only; after its deathits mother had gone up to London, and had not since been heard of. Thiswas all simple enough; the only trouble being that no one could tell whathad become of the certificate of Clarence's birth, or of the other'sdecease. Consequently there was an opening for an evil-disposed person toassert what the Honorable Richard was now asserting. 

Where had the Honorable Richard got his information?--of the absence, that is to say, of these papers. It was never spoken of outside thefamily. It is only proper to observe that his brother, Lord Epsom, wouldhave nothing to do with the affair, but explicitly and emphatically washedhis hands of it. But this did not deter Richard; he had got his materials, he had decided upon his plan of action, and he was bound to go throughwith it. He entertained no doubts of his success, and he probablyanticipated from it not only solid worldly advantage, but thegratification of an undisguised enmity. It would give him peculiarpleasure to augment his prosperity at the expense of Sir ArchibaldMalmaison. 

Considering that the outlook was so bad for him, the young baronet faced itwith commendable fortitude. People who met him regarded him withcuriosity, expecting him to appear disturbed, if not desperate. But hewore an aspect of satisfied composure, tempered only by his habitualhaughtiness. He had interviews with his lawyers, seemed neither flurriednor helpless, and altogether behaved as if his victory over his opponentwas placed beyond the possibility of a doubt. And yet, what could be hisdefence? Was he going to rely upon the title having remained so longunquestioned? Did he build his hopes upon a possible break in the chain ofPennroyal's evidence? The on-lookers could only conjecture. And now thetime when conjectures would be exchanged for certainty was at hand. 

It was the autumn of the year 1825. One cool, clear, gray afternoon SirArchibald had his horse saddled, and mounting him, rode out upon hisestate. In the course of an hour or so he found himself approaching thepond, which, as has been already stated, lay on the border-line betweenMalmaison and the lands of Richard Pennroyal. As he drew near the spot, hesaw at a distance the figure of a woman, also on horseback. It wasKate--Mrs. Pennroyal. She was riding slowly in a direction nearly oppositeto his own, so that if they kept on they would meet on the borders of thepond. 

Sir Archibald had not met this lady for many months; and when he recognizedher, his first impulse was perhaps to draw rein. Then he looked to seewhether that were her impulse likewise. But she held on her course; andhe, smiling in a defiant way, shook his bridle, and in a few moments theywere but half a dozen yards apart. There they paused, as it seemed, bymutual consent. 

How lovely she looked! Sir Archibald saw it, and ground his teeth with akind of silent rage. She should have been his. 

"Good-day, Mrs. Richard Pennroyal!"

"Good-day, Archibald!"

His name, coming with such gentleness and sweet familiarity from her lips, made his blood tingle. He had expected coldness and formality. 

"I had not looked forward to the honor of meeting you here, " he said. 

"But we have met here before, I think. " And so they had, in days upon whichArchibald now looked back as does an exile upon home. His horse movedforward a few steps, and his rider only stopped him when he was withinarm's length. 

"That seems long ago; and yet, when I look at you, I could almost believeit was but yesterday. "

"You have changed more than I, " replied the lady, letting her eyes restupon him with a certain intentness. This was true enough, physicallyspeaking; the handsome boy was now a superb young man; but Archibald choseto interpret her words figuratively, and he answered bitterly:

"You may have changed little; but that little in you has caused whateverchange you find in me. "

"It is true, then, that you are angry with me? I had hoped otherwise, "said Mrs. Pennroyal, with a sad dignity that sat well upon her. 

"Angry with you!" broke out Archibald, his face flushing. "Has it been adesire to keep my--my friendship that has caused you to--"

Mrs. Pennroyal interrupted him, drawing herself up proudly. "Pardon me, sir, I had no intention of forcing your good-will. If you will be myenemy, please yourself, and perhaps I may learn to become yours. " And sheturned her horse as she spoke. But Archibald, thus seemingly put in thewrong, and unwilling now to terminate the interview so abruptly, pressedhis heel against his horse's side, and was again beside her. 

"You misunderstand me, " said he. "What could I think? You will not denythat your--that Richard Pennroyal has shown himself no friend of mine. "

"I shall deny nothing that you see fit to charge against me, sir, " rejoinedthe lady, still hurt and indignant, and the more irresistible. 

Archibald reflected that she was not, perhaps, justly responsible for themalevolence of another person, even though that person were her husband;and from this thought to thinking that she might, perhaps, be inclined tosympathize against her husband and with himself, was an easy transition. This perilous fancy made his pulses throb and his eyes gleam. He caughther horse's bridle. 

"Do not go yet! Let us talk a little, since we are met. "

"What has Sir Archibald Malmaison to say to me?"

"You called me 'Archibald' just now. "

"You called me 'Mrs. Richard Pennroyal'!"

"Well--and so you are!" said he, between his teeth. 

"Do you think of me by that name?" she asked, turning her brown eyes on himfor a moment, and then looking away. 

"Kate!"

She put out her beautiful hand, and he took it and carried it to his lips. Thoughts fierce and sweet flew through his mind. But Mrs. Pennroyal, having gained her immediate end (which, to do her justice, was probablynothing worse than the gratification of a coquettish whim), knew how totake care of herself. She drew her hand away. 

"There--well--you have been very unkind, Archibald. Have we not beenfriends--have we not been together from the first? How could you believethat I could wish you any harm?"

"Ah, Kate, but you married him!"

"Well, sir, I as good as asked you to marry me first, and you would not doit. "

"You asked me!"

"Yes; you have forgotten. It has all been so strange, you see. I hardlyknow, even now, whether you are the Archibald I used to know. "

"But I know, very well, " returned he, grimly. "And you are the wife of myenemy, the man who is trying to ruin me. Kate, " he broke off suddenly, "how did Richard know that those papers were missing in our family? I toldyou once--do you remember that day? And no one knew it except you. "

Mrs. Pennroyal would perhaps have preferred not to be asked this question. But since it was asked, she was bound to make the best answer she could. 

"It was for that I wanted to see you to-day, " she said, after a pause. "Ihave been to blame, Archibald; but it was ignorantly. It was longago--before all these troubles began to occur: while we were yet on goodterms. Ah me! would we were so again!"

"You told him, then?"

"I did not know that I was betraying a secret. From what Richard said, Ithought that he knew it, or at least suspected it; and I merely added myconfirmation. Afterward, when I found how things were going, I begged himnot to use that knowledge. But it was too late. I could not be at restuntil I had told you, and asked you to forgive me. "

Archibald would not have believed this speech, if his head only had beenconcerned in the matter. Unfortunately, such was not the case. He believedit because he ardently wished to do so; and he forgave her the moreeasily, because that implied having her hand in his again for a fewmoments. 

"If I could only see you and Richard at peace again, I should be happy, "resumed Mrs. Pennroyal, with a sigh. 

"Is it for him you fear, or for me?" inquired Archibald, smiling. 

"The danger is yours, " she answered, diplomatically. 

He shook his head, still smiling: "Dismiss your anxiety, Kate. There is nodanger for me or mine. Let Richard look to himself!"

Mrs. Pennroyal was startled. She had looked upon the Malmaison case asvirtually hopeless. This hint of the contrary gave her a strong sensation, not altogether unpleasurable. Richard was her husband, but he was notnearly so young as Archibald, and as to looks!--there there was nocomparison. Archibald was simply the finest man in England. Perhaps Mrs. Pennroyal tad never been passionately fond of her husband; and, on theother hand, she had certainly liked Archibald very much. In the presentquarrel she had felt that the propriety of being on the winning side wasnot diminished by the fact that it happened to be her husband's; but if itshould turn out that her husband's was not the winning side afterall--then there was matter for consideration. Of course, strictlyspeaking, her husband's misfortunes must be her own; but in this instancethe nominal misfortune would be his failure to ruin Archibald, and Mrs. Pennroyal thought she could sustain that. No, the sensation was certainlynot unpleasurable. But was it certain that Archibald was not mistaken?

"I am very glad, for both our sakes, " said she, at last. "I could neverhave endured to take your name and estates away from you. Then that notionthat the papers were lost was a mistake?"

"I can tell you nothing more, " replied Archibald, looking at her. 

"Ah, you have not forgiven me--you do not trust me!"

He checked his horse and hers, and turned full upon her: "Kate, you are thewife of my enemy, I must remember that! If I found you playing a doublepart between him and me, I should hate you more than I hate him; and then. .. I should be capable of any crime. Well, I will not put it in yourpower. You will know all soon enough. Meantime, I trust you in this--tokeep silence on what I have said to-day. Let him believe that he willsucceed until he knows that he has failed. Will you promise that?"

Mrs. Pennroyal saw no harm in making this promise, but she did not see whyshe should not make as great a favor as she could of granting it. 

"A wife should have no secrets from her husband, Archibald. "

"Have you never had a secret from him, Kate?"

"You have no right to ask that!"

Archibald laughed. "Are you as happy with him as the day is long?"

She looked up for a moment, and their eyes met. "The days seem very longsometimes, " she said, almost beneath her breath. 

"This day?" he demanded, bending toward her. 

"Autumn days are short, you know, " she said, smiling a little, with avertedface. 

"Do you often ride out in autumn?"

"What else can I do, when my husband is away from home? I must go now--itis late. "

"And your promise?"

For the third time that afternoon she gave him her hand. Her color washigher than usual, and her breathing somewhat uneven. She had not passedunscathed through this interview. Archibald's was the stronger spirit, andshe felt his power--felt it, and liked to feel it! And he, as he held herwarm and delicate hand in his own, was conscious of a strange tumult inhis heart. Was fate, which he had hitherto found so adverse, going tochange at last, and yield him everything at once--revenge and love in thesame breath? A revenge consummated through love were sweet indeed. 

They parted at length, and rode away in opposite directions. This was theirfirst meeting, but it was not their last by many. 

XI. 

Meanwhile the lawyers were keeping at work with commendable diligence, andMr. Pennroyal was counting his chickens as hatched, and was as far aspossible from suspecting the underplot which was going on around him. Onthe contrary, it seemed to him that he was becoming at last the assuredfavorite of fortune. For this gentleman's life had not been, in allrespects, so prosperous as it appeared. To begin with, he had had adeplorable weakness for dicing and card-playing, which had frequentlybrought him in large sums, but which had ended by costing twenty times asmuch as they had won for him. He gave up these forms of diversion, therefore, and resolved to amass a fortune in a more regular manner. Hestudied the stock-market profoundly, until he felt himself sufficientlymaster of the situation, and when he entered the lists as a financier. Hebought and sold, and did his very best to buy cheap and to sell dear. Hemade several lucky hits; but in the long run he found that the balance wassetting steadily against him. All his ready money was gone, and mortgagesbegan to settle down like birds of ill-omen upon his house and lands. Itwas at this period that he married Kate Battledown; and with the moneythat she brought him he began to retrieve his losses, and again thehorizon brightened. Alas! the improvement was only temporary. Ill-luck setin once more, and more inveterately than ever. Kate's good money wentafter his bad money, and neither returned. A good deal of it is said tohave found its way into the pockets of Major Bolingbroke, his second inthe duel. The ill-omened birds settled down once more, until they coveredthe roof and disfigured all the landscape. 

To add to his troubles, he did not find that comfort and consolation in hismatrimonial relations which he would fain have had. It is true that hemarried his wife first of all for her money; but he was far frominsensible to her other attractions, and, so far from wearying of them, they took a stronger and stronger hold upon him, until this cold, sarcastic, and unsocial man grew to be nothing less than uxorious. But hiswife recompensed his devotion but shabbily; her position had not fulfilledher anticipations, she was angry at the loss of her money, and upon thewhole she repented having taken an irrevocable step too hastily. She feltherself to be the intellectual equal of her husband, and she was not longin improving the advantage she possessed of not caring anything about him. In a word, she bullied the unfortunate gentleman unmercifully, and hekissed the rod with infatuation. 

This state of things was in force up to the time of Mrs. Pennroyal'smeeting with Archibald, as above described. After that there was a markedand most enchanting alteration in Mrs. Pennroyal's demeanor toward herhusband. She became all at once affectionate and sympathetic. Sheflattered him, she deferred to him, she consulted him, and drew him onwith delicate encouragements to consult her, to confide in her all theprivate details of his affairs, which he had never done before, and tointrust to her safekeeping every inmost fear and aspiration of his mind. At every point she met him with soothing agreement and ingenuoussuggestion; and in particular did she echo and foster his enmity againstSir Archibald Malmaison, and urged him forward in his suit, bidding himspare no expense, since success was assured, and affirming her readinessto mortgage her very jewels, if need were, to pay the eminent legalgentlemen who were to conduct the case. 

This behavior of hers afforded her husband especial gratification, for hehad always been a little jealous of Sir Archibald, and indeed one of theimpelling motives to the present action had been a desire to pay hisgrudge in this respect. But the discovery that Mrs. Pennroyal hated theyoung baronet quite as much as he did, filled his soul with balm; so thatit only needed the successful termination of the lawsuit to render hisbliss complete and overflowing. 

Well, the great case came on; and all the nobility and gentry of the threecounties, and others besides, were there to see and hear. There were betsthat the trial would not be over in seven days, and odds were takenagainst its lasting seven weeks. Society forgot its ennui and settleditself complacently to listen to a piquant story of scandal, intrigue, imposition, and robbery in high life. 

The reader knows the sequel. Never was there such a disappointment. Thelearned brethren of the law opened their mouths only to shut them again. 

For after the famous Mr. Adolphus, counsel for the plaintiff, hadeloquently and ingeniously stated his case and given a picturesque andappetizing outline of the evidence that he was going to call, and thefacts that he was going to prove; after this preliminary flourish wasover, behold, up got Mr. Sergeant Runnington, who appeared on behalf ofthe defendant, and let fall some remarks which, though given in asufficiently matter-of-fact and every-day tone, fell like a thunder-clapupon the ears of all present, save two persons; and produced upon theHonorable Richard Pennroyal an effect as if a hand-grenade had been letoff within his head, and his spine drawn neatly out through the back ofhis neck. 

I cannot give the learned Sergeant's speech here, but the upshot of it wasthat the plaintiff had no case; inasmuch as he relied, to make good hisclaim, on the absence of any direct evidence establishing the identity ofthe late Sir Clarence Butt Malmaison, and the decease of that illegitimatepersonage whom the plaintiffs sought to confound with him. 

What could have induced the plaintiff to imagine that such direct evidencewas not forthcoming, Sergeant Runnington confessed himself at a loss tounderstand. He had cherished hopes, for the sake of common decency, forthe sake of the respect due to the Bench, for the sake of human nature, that his learned brother on the other side would have been able to holdforth a challenge which it would be, in some degree, worth his while toanswer; he regretted sincerely to say that those hopes had not been by anymeans fulfilled. 

Had he been previously made aware of the course of attack which theplaintiff had had the audacity to adopt, he could have saved him and otherpersons much trouble, and the Court some hours of its valuable time, bythe utterance of a single word, or, indeed, without the necessity for anywords at all. Really, this affair, about which so much noise had beenmade, was so ridiculously simple and empty that he almost felt inclined toapologize to the Court and to the gentlemen of the jury for showing themhow empty and simple it was. But, indeed, he feared that the apology, ifthere was to be one, was not due from his side. 

It was not for him to decide upon the motives which had prompted theplaintiff to bring this action. He should be sorry to charge any one withmalice, with unconscionable greed, with treacherous and impudent rapacity. It belonged to the plaintiff to explain why he had carried this case intocourt, and what were his grounds for supposing that it could be made toissue to his credit and advantage. 

For his own part, he should content himself with producing the documentswhich the learned counsel on the other side had professed himself soanxious to get a sight of, and to humbly request that the plaintiff benonsuited with costs. 

Thus ended the great trial. People could hardly, at first, believe theirown ears and eyes; but when the documents were acknowledged to beperfectly genuine and correct, when the learned Mr. Adolphus relinquishedthe case, not without disgust, and when the Court, after some very severeremarks upon the conduct of the plaintiff, had concluded a short addressby adopting the learned Sergeant Runnington's suggestion as to thecosts--when all was settled, in short, in the utterly absurd space of twohours and three quarters, then at last did society awake to a perceptionof the fact that it had been most egregiously and outrageously swindled, and that the Honorable Richard Pennroyal was the swindler. 

Nobody was at the pains to conceal these sentiments from the honorablegentleman, and he left the court with as little sympathy as everdisappointed suitor had. 

Poor man! he suffered enough, in more ways than one, on that disastrousday, yet one shame and agony, the sharpest of all, was spared him--he didnot see the look and the smile that were exchanged between his wife andSir Archibald Malmaison, when the decision of the Court was made known. 

XII. 

We are now drawing near the last scene of this strange and sinisterhistory. The action confines itself almost entirely to the three chieffigures. 

If Pennroyal had been twenty years younger when this catastrophe fell uponhim, it might merely have had the effect of enraging him; but he was nearfifty years of age, and old for his years, and it seems to haveoverwhelmed and cowed him. The cat still in his house, like a rat in hishole, saying nothing, and noticing nothing, but drinking a great deal ofbrandy. The fiery stuff did not excite him; it merely had the effect ofkeeping him from sinking into unconsciousness of his misery. He knew thathe was a ruined man, and that it was too late to retrieve his ruin. Meansand energy were alike lacking, and could never be supplied. He sat in hischair, and brooded over all his life, and realized the utterness of hisfailure; and nothing could rouse him--not even the intelligence that hisenemy, Sir Archibald, having by the death of his aunt, Miss Tremount, comeinto an inheritance of upward of seventy thousand pounds, was buying upthe mortgages, and would probably foreclose on him when he got himthoroughly in his power. Archibald had beaten him, and he would fight nomore. Let him enjoy his triumph, and push it to the utmost. There was onepoint, at all events, on which Richard had the better of him, and thisthought brought with it the sole spark of comfort that these evil daysafforded him. He had his wife--the woman to win whom Sir Archibald wouldhave given all his lands and fortune, and his soul into the bargain. Yes, Kate was his, and his only; and it was the resolve to keep her his, andthus spite his enemy as long as possible, that withheld Richard fromseeking relief in suicide at this juncture. So Providence leads men fromagony to worse agony, with intent, doubtless, to torture out of them theevil which they will not voluntarily relinquish. 

One winter evening, Richard sitting brooding and sipping brandy as usual, with a lamp burning on the table beside him, and the embers of the fireflickering on the broad hearth at his feet, there came a light, measuredstep and the rustle of a dress, and he knew that his wife was in the room. He raised his haggard visage and looked at her. What a goddess of beautyshe seemed! How young, graceful, lovely! How pure and clear were the tintsof her face, how lustrous dark her eyes, how soft her ample hair! Howpeerless she was! and all she was--all this treasure of fragrantwomanhood--was his, and not another's. Ay, and his willingly; she reallyloved him, he thought; she had shown it of late; she cared for him, old, ruined, and degraded though he was. It was a strange thing; it was apleasant thing. Perhaps, he thought, if he had had such a creature to lovehim in earlier days, he might not have been where he was now. But then, inearlier days, he was not a ruined and wasted man. 

"Kate!"

"Yes, Richard. "

"Oh, never speak so formally! Am I not Dick, thy own dear old Dick--eh?"

"I did not mean to be formal. "

"Come and sit here beside me--no, here, on the arm of my chair. It was goodof you to come in here. I was getting lonesome. I wanted my Kate to tellme she loved me--eh?"

"I only came in to say good-night. It is late. "

"Late?--pooh! It's not nine o'clock. Stay and be sociable a bit. There, Iwon't touch another drop if you'll stay. "

"I'm tired; I have a headache. You don't want me. "

"Not want you! Ay, but I do though! Without you, Kate, I should have been adead man weeks ago. Not want you!"

"Nonsense! what do you mean? You have drunk too much already, I fear. "

"I mean that, but for you, I'd have blown my brains out the day of thetrial--after I'd blown out his, the scoundrel! But since I have you, Iknow a way to worry him better than by blowing his brains out. To knowthat you are mine is hell to him. And in that hell I'll keep him, as longas my body and soul will hang together!"

"What should he care whether I am yours or not?"

"Because he loves you--that's why he cares! Ay, you needn't start. He lovesyou, and it's hell to him to feel that another man has you. How manythousand pounds do you think he'd give to kiss this little hand as I kissit now? I wish he could see me do it!"

"Nonsense, you are crazy. .. . And so you only care for me to spite him?"

"No, not that. God knows--if there is a God--I love you, Kate, with allthere is left of me--except what hates him! That's my life--love for youand hate for him. And I believe I hate him less than I love you, thoughthat's saying a great deal!"

"Oh, I think you love that brandy better than you do me. "

"You do? If you say so, I'll never touch it again!"

"Oh, I don't care. I don't want you to give up anything that makes youcomfortable. "

"Ay, you do love me, don't you, Kate?"

"Come, Richard, our courting days are over. And I must go. Good-by!"

"No, don't go! I feel, somehow, as if I couldn't spare you to-night. "

"Shall I pour you out another glass?"

"Yes--no! I'll drink no more to-night. Kate. .. . "

"Well?"

"I'm getting old. In the natural course of things I should die long beforeyou. I sha'n't die yet a while--but some time, you know. Will you promisesomething?"

"I'll promise nothing to-night. I dare say you'll outlive me. "

"Promise, come what will, you'll never marry him; eh, Kate?"

"Really, Richard, I--I never heard anything so foolish! I can't stay tohear any more such talk. You are not your right self. There--let me go!"

"Go?--go where? Gad, I've a mind to say you sha'n't go! Well, yes, I didn'tmean it; forgive me, Kate! Only you're my wife, you know, and I'm yourhusband; and I love you; and somehow I feel afraid to let you out of mysight--as if I might not see you again. Well, then. .. . But one thing youshall do--you shall give me a kiss before you go! Else you sha'n't go atall!"

Thus compelled, Mrs. Pennroyal kissed her husband, or let herself be kissedby him; and then she escaped from the room, with a shudder and a sinkingof the heart. 

Richard Pennroyal sat there alone; the embers of the fire were now gray andlifeless. He stirred them with his foot, and they fell into ashes. He feltcold. How still the house was; how lonely! And he had no pleasant thoughtsto keep him company now that his wife had left him; but many thoughts, many memories that were far from pleasant, were lying in wait for him inthe dark corners of his mind, ready to leap out upon him if he gave them achance. Among them, why did the foolish face of crazy old Jane, his wifeof many years ago, persist in obtruding itself? Why did it wear that lookof stupid, unreasonable reproach? yes, unreasonable; for how was he toblame? He had but let things take their course; no more than that . .. Well, scarcely more! And yet that face, that silly old face, that dull, lifeless, drowned old face, kept meeting his in the dark corners, turnwhere he would. If he closed his eyes, it was still visible through theeyelids, and seemed nearer than ever. 

So he opened his eyes; and there hovered the face, in the gloom beyond thelamp. What an expression! Was it signalling him to come away? Was itmocking him for fearing to come? Fearing? He was not afraid. He was aPennroyal; he had noble blood in his veins; though he was now a bit oldand shaky, and had, perhaps, been taking a little too much brandy of late. But--afraid! not he. Why, he would follow the thing, if it came to that;follow it to. .. . 

He rose slowly from his chair, still keeping his eyes steadily fixed uponit, and moved toward it, with his hands outstretched. He did not get anynearer to it; it was retreating before him, like a will-o'-the-wisp. Hekept on, crossing the length of the room; it seemed to pass through thesubstance of the door, and yet he saw it beyond. He opened the doorsoftly; yes, there it was in the hall. A pistol was lying on the littletable beside the door, which Richard knew to be loaded. Mechanically, andwithout looking at it, he took it up as he passed. Then down the hall ontiptoe, the shadowy, unmeaning face marshalling him the way, and leeringat him if he hesitated. Ay, he would follow it to the end, now. Fortunately, the house-door stood open; there would be no noise in gettingout. Out they glided, pursuer and pursued, into the cold stillness of thenight. There was a moon, but it was dim and low down. The shadows seemedmore real than the light. There was no snow to betray footprints. Butwhither would this chase lead? It seemed to be heading toward thenorthwest--toward Malmaison; ay, and toward the pool that lay on theborders of the estate. Richard shuddered when he thought of that pool, andof the grisly significance of his being led thither by this witless, idiotic old phantom of his dead wife's face. Stay, the face seemed to havegot itself a body within the last few moments: it was a gray figure thatnow flitted on before him; gray and indistinct in the dim moonlight, withnoiseless, waving drapery. It was going the very path that old Jane hadgone that day, many years ago--her last day on earth; and yet, was she nothere again to-night? And she was leading him to the pool; and what then?

Swiftly she flitted onward, some seventy paces in advance apparently, nowlost in shadow, now reappearing in the light. She never turned norbeckoned, but kept straight on, and Richard had much ado to keep pace withher. At length he caught the gleam of the dark pool some little distancebeyond. He set his teeth, and came on. The gray phantom had paused atlast. But was that Jane after all? Not Jane's was that tall and gracefulfigure. This must be some other woman's ghost. Was it a ghost? And if so, was that another--that man who issued from behind a clump of bushes, andcame toward her? The two figures met; the man took the woman in his arms, and kissed her many times on the lips and eyes. Kisses! ay, those werekisses indeed! Now they seemed to be conversing together; his arms wereround her waist. The moonlight revealed his features; it was the enemy--itwas Archibald Malmaison! And the woman was not the dead wife, but theliving one. 

"We are perfectly safe, my darling, " Archibald was saying. "The room wasall prepared for you, and there is no possibility of discovery. There willbe a great outcry and confusion for a week or so, and they will search foryou, dead and alive; and I along with the rest, the better to disarmsuspicion. It will be settled, at last, that you must have escaped to someforeign country; or, maybe, Richard himself will fall under suspicion ofhaving made away with you, as he did with his first wife. Sooner or later, at any rate, they will give up the search; and, whether or not, we shallalways be free to each other. You could not persuade any one at Malmaisonto so much as put his nose into the east chamber, and as to the other, youand I are the only living creatures who even dream of its existence. Darling, you will not mind being a prisoner for a little while, since lovewill be a prisoner with you?"

The woman clung to him tremulously. "I did not know it would be so hard toleave him, " she murmured. "I hate him, and yet it was hard. He is sowretched; and he is all alone. What will he do now? He kept saying that heloved me and asking me to love him, and to call him Dick; and . .. He mademe kiss him. Oh, Archie, I feel that kiss beneath all yours. I shallalways feel it!"

"No, this shall make you forget it--"

"Hush! I hear something!"

"You are nervous--"

"Ah! look! It is he. Now God have mercy!"

Sir Archibald looked; and there, indeed, stood the tall figure of theHonorable Richard Pennroyal, without his hat, and with an expression onhis face that was a living curse to behold. And yet that face smiled andbowed with a hideous politeness. 

"Good-evening, Sir Archibald. Will you permit me to inquire whether you arearmed?"

Sir Archibald put his hand within his vest, and drew out a pistol. 

"Ah, that comes in very conveniently. Now, let us see. Mrs. Pennroyal, since you are my wife, perhaps you will be good enough to give us theword?--No, she insists upon fainting. Well, then, we must manage the bestway we can. But let me entreat you to take your aim carefully, my dear SirArchibald, for if you miss it will involve unpleasant consequences forMrs. Pennroyal as well as for yourself. Now, I will toss up this pebble, and when it strikes the surface of the water we will fire. Is it agreed?Here goes, then. "

He had the pebble in his hand, and was in act to toss it, when the baronet, breaking silence for the first time, said:

"Mr. Pennroyal, I am willing that this should go no further. "

"Scoundrel and coward!" snarled the other, his deadly fury breaking in amoment through the thin mockery of courtesy; "come up then, and be shotlike the cur you are!"

There could be no more words. Sir Archibald raised his pistol; hisantagonist threw the pebble high in the air, and as it smote the smoothsurface of the pool in its descent, both pulled trigger. RichardPennroyal's weapon missed fire; Sir Archibald's bullet passed through hisenemy's heart; he swayed backward and forward for a moment, and then fellon his face, hurling his pistol as he fell at the prostrate figure of hiswife, who lay huddled on the ground; but it flew wide, and struck SirArchibald on the temple. Before the ripples caused by the pebble's fallhad died away, Pennroyal had ceased to live. 

Mrs. Pennroyal was still apparently insensible, but as Sir Archibaldapproached her she partly raised herself up, and looked first at him andthen at the dead body. 

"It was not worth while, " she said. 

"It's done, " he murmured. "Are you hurt?"

"What shall we do?"

"We must get back to Malmaison. "

"We cannot leave him here. "

Sir Archibald bent over the body of his enemy, and turned the face upward. It wore a calm and happy expression. 

"I will sink him in the pool, " he said. "His will not be the first deadbody that has lain there. "

He stooped accordingly, and getting his hands beneath the arms of thecorpse, dragged it to one of the flights of steps that led down to thewater. Kate sat watching him with her hands clasped in her lap. She hearda splashing sound and a ripple. Sir Archibald came back, picked up thepistol, and flung it also into the pool. 

"The water will freeze to-night, " he said, "and the fishes will do therest. Now, come!"

In a secret chamber at Malmaison lamps were burning softly in a dozensconces of burnished silver round the walls. Their light fell on luxuriousfurniture, fit for the boudoir of a lovely and noble lady. Thebroad-backed ebony chairs were upholstered in delicate blue damask; clipsand salvers of chased gold stood on the inlaid cabinet; the floor wascovered with richly-tinted Persian rugs and soft-dressed furs; a warm fireglowed on the hearth, and upon the table was set out a supper such asmight have awakened an appetite in a Roman epicure. A tall mirror, at thefarther end of the room, reflected back the lights and the color and thesparkle, while in a niche at one side stood rigidly upright an antiquesuit of armor, its gauntlets seeming to rest meditatively upon the hilt ofits sword, while from between the closed bars of the helmet one mightfancy that the dark spirit of its former inmate was gazing grimly forthupon all this splendor and luxury, and passing a ghastly jest thereon. Butit was as fair and comfortable a scene as perhaps this world can show, andwell calculated to make the sternest ascetic in love with life. 

Through the massive oaken door, clamped with polished steel bands, enterednow two pallid and haggard persons--a man and a woman. The light strikingon their eyes made them blink and look aside. The man led the woman to thefire, and seated her upon a low chair; and taking a blue satin coverlidfrom the bed in the recess, he folded it tenderly round her shoulders. Shescarcely seemed to notice where she was, or what was being done; she satwith her eyes and face fixed, shivering now and then, and with her mindapparently preoccupied with some ugly recollection. The man then went tothe table and poured out a glass of wine, and held it to the woman's lips, and after a little resistance she drank some of it. 

"You are as safe here, " said he, "as if you were in an island of the SouthSea. I will see that you want for nothing while you have to remain here. "

"What is the use?" she asked, with a kind of apathetic peevishness. 

"Before long we shall be able to go away, " he continued. "My darling, don'tbe disheartened. All our happiness is to come. "

"I can never forget it, " she said, with a shiver. "What is the use? I cannever get away from him now. Do you think the water is frozen yet?"

"You must not think of that at all. When you are warm, and have drunk somewine, you will not feel this nervousness. Nothing has been done that isworth regretting, or that could have been helped. Kate, I love you morethan ever. "

"What is the use?" she repeated, in a dull tone. "It was not worth while. "

There was a pause. 

"I must leave you for a few minutes, " he said gently. "It is necessary thatI should show myself to Lady Malmaison and to the servants. No one knowsthat I have left the house. By the time I come back you will have gotwarm, and we will sup together. Don't be downhearted, my darling. "

He bent forward to kiss her. With a sudden gesture of aversion she pushedhim back. "There is blood upon your forehead!" she said, in a sharpwhisper. 

"Only a scratch--I had forgotten it, " he answered, trying to smile. "Well, then, in half an hour, at the utmost, we will meet again. "

She made no rejoinder; and, after standing a moment looking down at her, heturned and went out. He closed the oaken door behind him, and locked it, then felt his way along the stone passage, and let himself out by theconcealed entrance. He put the silver rod in its receptacle beneath thefloor, and walked toward the room adjoining. On the threshold of that roomhe paused a moment, leaning against the door-post. A sensation of sluggishweariness had come over him; his head felt full and heavy. He rousedhimself presently, and went on trying to remember whither he was going. Bythe time he had reached the top of the great staircase, the idea that hewas in search of seemed to have come to him. He descended the stairs andwent directly to Lady Malmaison's room. It was then about eleven o'clock. The good lady was playing cards with her companion, her spaniel sleepingon her knees. She looked up in astonishment, for Sir Archibald seldomhonored her with a visit. 

"Mamma, " said he, going up to her chair, and standing there awkwardly, "where is Kate?"

"My son! what has happened?"

"Was she married to-day?" pursued the baronet, in an aggrieved tone. 

Lady Malmaison and the companion exchanged a terrified glance. 

"I think it is very unkind, then, " declared the young man, reproachfully;"for Richard promised me I should be groomsman--and now they have gone andgot married while I was asleep. It was unkind of Kate, and I don't loveher; but I don't believe it was Richard's fault, because he is good, and Ilove him. "

 * * * * *

"Ring the bell, Simpson, " said Lady Malmaison, in a broken voice, "and tellthem to send for Dr. Rollinson. "

XIII. 

During all the months of consternation, speculation, and vague hue-and-crythat followed the mysterious disappearance of the Honorable Mr. And Mrs. Pennroyal, it never for one moment occurred to any one to suggest anyconnection between that unexplained circumstance and the equally curiousbut unpertinent fact that poor Sir Archibald had "gone daft" once more. 

How should it? It was known that Sir Archibald had been in his room allthat day and evening up to the time when he came into his mother's chamberwithout his wits. It was true that there had been no love lost of latebetween the houses of Malmaison and Pennroyal, but that was neither herenor there. 

The notion that the vanished persons had met with foul play was neverseriously entertained, it being generally agreed that Mr. Pennroyal hadample reasons for not wishing to remain in a place where his credit andhis welcome were alike worn out. In all likelihood, therefore, the pairhad slunk away to foreign parts, and were living under an assumed namesomewhere on the Continent, or in America. 

It was not surprising that they had gone together, for it was known thatthey were on very good terms with each other, especially during the lastyear. An idle story of a groom, who affirmed that he had been present atan interview between Mrs. Pennroyal and Sir Archibald, on horseback, a fewweeks before the trial, when, according to this narrator, they hadappeared to be rather friendly than otherwise, was not thought to be inany way to the point. 

So the months passed away, and the years followed the months; the house andthe lands of the Pennroyals were sold, and their very name began to beforgotten. The daft baronet and his aged mother went on living atMalmaison in a quiet and uneventful manner, seeing very few people, anddoing nothing except allow their large property to grow larger. Yet, inspite of their retiring inoffensiveness, a shadow seemed to brood over theancient house. 

The old story of Sir Archibald's past exploits in the magical line, and ofhis ancestors before him, were still revived occasionally round eveningfiresides; and it was submitted whether his present condition were not ajudgment upon him for having tampered with forbidden mysteries. 

In the opinion of these fireside juries, there was a curse upon Malmaison, especially upon that part of it which contained the east chamber. Thatroom was haunted, and had never been haunted so badly as during the fewdays immediately following Sir Archibald's loss of memory. 

It may have been a demon's carousal over the sad plight of the poor, foolish young baronet. At all events shrieks had been heard, faint andmuffled, but unmistakable, proceeding from that region, when everybodyknew that no living soul was there or could be there; but all the servantsat Malmaison could swear to the sounds. Ay, the place was accursed. 

Late on the night of the 22d of January, 1833, Sir Archibald found himselfmounting the staircase of Malmaison, with but an indistinct idea of how hecame to be doing so. He could not recollect whether he had seen his motherand the servants or not. No wonder if his thoughts had been a littleabsent, with such a dark and burdensome secret as that which lay upon hissoul. But, of course, he must have seen them. He had left Kate with theintention of doing so, within this very hour; and how should he be comingup-stairs, unless from the execution of that purpose? His mind was busywith many projects. It would probably be thought that Mr. And Mrs. Pennroyal had left the country to escape creditors. If only the pondfroze, and the cold weather held on for a week or two, there would be notrace that could lead to a suspicion of anything else. For himself, hewould find no difficulty in proving an alibi, if it came to that. Andafter all, he had but acted upon compulsion, and in self-defence, and uponequal terms. He was guilty of no crime, except--well, call it a crime; hewas willing to bear the brunt of that. So they would be able to get awaysoon, and in Italy, Spain, somewhere, anywhere, they could live and behappy many years. Perhaps after a time they could venture to marry andreturn openly to England. There were numberless and indefinitepossibilities in their favor. Life was all they wanted, and life they had. They were both young; the gloom of this unlucky tragedy would soon bedispelled. Kate had been nervous and distraught when he left her, and nowonder, poor love! but wine, and food, and warmth would soon bring thecolor back to her cheeks and the light to her eyes. Lovely Kate! sweet, wayward, tender, haughty, but his own at last--his own in spite of earthand heaven! Yes, he and she would have their will and take their pleasurein spite of God and man; and if God would kill them, then, at any rate, they would die together, and in each other's arms. 

With these and many like thoughts flying through his mind, Sir ArchibaldMalmaison reached the east chamber struck a light, and lit the candle thatstood on the table beside the door. He looked at his watch--half-pasteleven; he was within his time then; he had been absent less than half anhour. What was Kate doing, he wondered? He stopped a moment, picturing herto himself in some luxurious attitude; but his impatience would not sufferhim to delay. He quickly got the silver rod from its receptacle, openedthe concealed door, and went in, carrying the lighted candle in his hand. In a moment he was at the inner oaken door; it resisted his attempt toopen it. Then he recollected that he had locked it for additionalsecurity. The key was in the lock; he turned it, and entered. 

An involuntary cry of surprise escaped him. Instead of the soft blaze oflight that he had expected, the room was full of a heavy darkness, thatseemed to rush out to meet him, and almost overwhelmed the feeble glimmerof his wretched candle. And why was it so deadly cold? Where had gone thatcheerful fire which was burning so ardently on the hearth half an hourago? Could Kate have put out the lights and gone off? Impossible, sincethe doors were fastened. Ah, there she was!

She was kneeling with her face bowed forward on her arms, which rested onthe seat of one of the low chairs. Her attitude was that of passionateprayer. Her thick brown hair was unfastened, and fell over her shoulders. 

She made no movement. It was strange! Was she praying? Could she be asleep?

He took a step or two, and then stopped. Still no movement. 

"Kate!" he said in a hushed voice; and as she did not answer, he spoke moreloudly: "Kate, I have come back; and I've a mind to scold you for lettingthe fire go out, and startling me with this darkness. What are you doingon your knees? Come, my darling, we want no prayers to-night. Kate . .. Will you give me a kiss now?

"Perhaps she may have fainted. Poor darling, she must have fainted!"

He went close up to her, and laid his hand on her shoulder: he seemed tograsp nothing but the empty stuff of the dress. With a terrified, convulsive motion, he pulled her round, so that the head was disturbedfrom its position on the arms, and the ghastly mystery was revealed to hisstarting eyeballs. The spectacle was not one to be described. He uttered aweak, wavering scream, and stood there, unable to turn away his gaze. 

I must confess that I do not care to pursue this narrative any farther:though it is just at this point, according to my venerable friend Dr. Rollinson, that the real scientific interest begins. He was constantlywith Sir Archibald during the eight or nine months that he remained inlife after this episode; and made some highly important and edifying noteson his "case, " besides writing down the unhappy baronet's confessions, asgiven from time to time. After his death, the Doctor made an autopsy ofthe brain, and discovered--I care not what! It was not the mystery of theman's soul, I am convinced. 

I have adhered strictly to the facts throughout. Of course some of theconversations have been imagined, but always on an adequate foundation oftruth or logical inference. All the dates and "coincidences" are genuine. But, indeed, I prefer fiction, and am resolved never in future to make anexcursion into the crude and improbable regions of reality. 

The End. 

Footnotes

1. Dr. Forbes Rollinson's death occurred while these pages were inpreparation. This is not the place to add my tribute of affection andappreciation to the many memoirs of him which have appeared in the publicprints. My first acquaintance with him dates but little more than threeyears prior to his death; but the impression he produced upon me ofcordiality, culture, and ability will remain with me while I live. He wasa grand old gentleman of a school that is now bygone; a scholar of vastattainments, and a Christian in heart and life, if not in profession. Although he had far exceeded the ordinary span of life--he was born, Ibelieve, in the last century--he showed few signs of physical, and none ofmental infirmity; and his sudden and painless decease was quiteunexpected. 

I subjoin extracts from a letter written to me on the subject of thepresent narrative:

"WELLESLEY HOUSE, QUEEN'S GATE, W. 

"MY DEAR H. : I must say I fail to perceive the force of your objections. What is fiction, at best, but an imitation of truth--and a pretty poorimitation, too, as a general thing?. .. You ought to be glad to be savedthe trouble of inventing. .. . In the matter of love-making and adventure Ihave nothing to say, but scientific truths are not lightly to be tamperedwith. 'Round off the corners' by all means, if you think fit, but do notsuffer your artistic proclivities to lead you into a misrepresentation ofthe essential facts. .. . The people are all dead, and the estate is brokenup, so you need have no hesitation regarding names. Literary value aside, the thing would be worth nothing if the means of verifying it werewithheld. .. . 

"Ever faithfully yours, "June 3d, 1878. E. FORBES ROLLINSON. "

2. Now also the late: _vide supra_. 

3. 3. In July, 1867.