St. Ronan's Well Page 40

  CHAPTER XVI.

  DEBATE.

  _Sedet post equitem atra cura_----

  Still though the headlong cavalier, O'er rough and smooth, in wild career, Seems racing with the wind; His sad companion,--ghastly pale, And darksome as a widow's veil, CARE--keeps her seat behind.

  HORACE.

  Well was it that night for Mowbray, that he had always piqued himself onhis horses, and that the animal on which he was then mounted was assure-footed and sagacious as he was mettled and fiery. For those whoobserved next day the print of the hoofs on the broken and rugged trackthrough which the creature had been driven at full speed by his furiousmaster, might easily see, that in more than a dozen of places the horseand rider had been within a few inches of destruction. One bough of agnarled and stunted oak-tree, which stretched across the road, seemed inparticular to have opposed an almost fatal barrier to the horseman'scareer. In striking his head against this impediment, the force of theblow had been broken in some measure by a high-crowned hat, yet theviolence of the shock was sufficient to shiver the branch to pieces.Fortunately, it was already decayed; but, even in that state, it wassubject of astonishment to every one that no fatal damage had beensustained in so formidable an encounter. Mowbray himself was unconsciousof the accident.

  Scarcely aware that he had been riding at an unusual rate, scarcesensible that he had ridden faster perhaps than ever he followed thehounds, Mowbray alighted at his stable door, and flung the bridle to hisgroom, who held up his hands in astonishment when he beheld thecondition of the favourite horse; but, concluding that his master mustbe intoxicated, he prudently forbore to make any observations.

  No sooner did the unfortunate traveller suspend that rapid motion bywhich he seemed to wish to annihilate, as far as possible, time andspace, in order to reach the place he had now attained, than it seemedto him as if he would have given the world that seas and deserts hadlain between him and the house of his fathers, as well as that onlysister with whom he was now about to have a decisive interview.

  "But the place and the hour are arrived," he said, biting his lip withanguish; "this explanation must be decisive; and whatever evils mayattend it, suspense must be ended now, at once and for ever."

  He entered the Castle, and took the light from the old domestic, who,hearing the clatter of his horse's feet, had opened the door to receivehim.

  "Is my sister in her parlour?" he asked, but in so hollow a voice, thatthe old man only answered the question by another, "Was his honourwell?"

  "Quite well, Patrick--never better in my life," said Mowbray; andturning his back on the old man, as if to prevent his observing whetherhis countenance and his words corresponded, he pursued his way to hissister's apartment. The sound of his step upon the passage roused Clarafrom a reverie, perhaps a sad one; and she had trimmed her lamp, andstirred her fire, so slow did he walk, before he at length entered herapartment.

  "You are a good boy, brother," she said, "to come thus early home; and Ihave some good news for your reward. The groom has fetched backTrimmer--He was lying by the dead hare, and he had chased him as far asDrumlyford--the shepherd had carried him to the shieling, till some oneshould claim him."

  "I would he had hanged him, with all my heart!" said Mowbray.

  "How!--hang Trimmer?--your favourite Trimmer, that has beat the wholecountry?--and it was only this morning you were half-crying because hewas amissing, and like to murder man and mother's son?"

  "The better I like any living thing," answered Mowbray, "the more reasonI have for wishing it dead and at rest; for neither I, nor any thingthat I love, will ever be happy more."

  "You cannot frighten me, John, with these flights," answered Clara,trembling, although she endeavoured to look unconcerned--"You have usedme to them too often."

  "It is well for you then; you will be ruined without the shock ofsurprise."

  "So much the better--We have been," said Clara,

  "'So constantly in poortith's sight, The thoughts on't gie us little fright.'

  So say I with honest Robert Burns."

  "D--n Barns and his trash!" said Mowbray, with the impatience of a mandetermined to be angry with every thing but himself, who was the realsource of the evil.

  "And why damn poor Burns?" said Clara, composedly; "it is not his faultif you have not risen a winner, for that, I suppose, is the cause of allthis uproar."

  "Would it not make any one lose patience," said Mowbray, "to hear herquoting the rhapsodies of a hobnail'd peasant, when a man is speaking ofthe downfall of an ancient house! Your ploughman, I suppose, becomingone degree poorer than he was born to be, would only go without hisdinner, or without his usual potation of ale. His comrades would cry'poor fellow!' and let him eat out of their kit, and drink out of theirbicker without scruple, till his own was full again. But the poorgentleman--the downfallen man of rank--the degraded man of birth--thedisabled and disarmed man of power!--it is he that is to be pitied, wholoses not merely drink and dinner, but honour, situation, credit,character, and name itself!"

  "You are declaiming in this manner in order to terrify me," said Clara:"but, friend John, I know you and your ways, and I have made up my mindupon all contingencies that can take place. I will tell you more--I havestood on this tottering pinnacle of rank and fashion, if our situationcan be termed such, till my head is dizzy with the instability of myeminence; and I feel that strange desire of tossing myself down, whichthe devil is said to put into folk's heads when they stand on the top ofsteeples--at least, I had rather the plunge were over."

  "Be satisfied, then; if that will satisfy you--the plunge _is_ over, andwe are--what they used to call it in Scotland--gentle beggars--creaturesto whom our second, and third, and fourth, and fifth cousins may, ifthey please, give a place at the side-table, and a seat in the carriagewith the lady's maid, if driving backwards will not make us sick."

  "They may give it to those who will take it," said Clara; "but I amdetermined to eat bread of my own buying--I can do twenty things, and Iam sure some one or other of them will bring me all the little money Iwill need. I have been trying, John, for several months, how little Ican live upon, and you would laugh if you heard how low I have broughtthe account."

  "There is a difference, Clara, between fanciful experiments and realpoverty--the one is a masquerade, which we can end when we please, theother is wretchedness for life."

  "Methinks, brother," replied Miss Mowbray, "it would be better for youto set me an example how to carry my good resolutions into effect, thanto ridicule them."

  "Why, what would you have me do?" said he, fiercely--"turn postilion, orrough-rider, or whipper-in?--I don't know any thing else that myeducation, as I have used it, has fitted me for--and then some of my oldacquaintances would, I dare say, give me a crown to drink now and thenfor old acquaintance' sake."

  "This is not the way, John, that men of sense think or speak of seriousmisfortunes," answered his sister; "and I do not believe that this is soserious as it is your pleasure to make it."

  "Believe the very worst you can think," replied he, "and you will notbelieve bad enough!--You have neither a guinea, nor a house, nor afriend;--pass but a day, and it is a chance that you will not have abrother."

  "My dear John, you have drunk hard--rode hard."

  "Yes--such tidings deserved to be carried express, especially to a younglady who receives them so well," answered Mowbray, bitterly. "I suppose,now, it will make no impression, if I were to tell you that you have itin your power to stop all this ruin?"

  "By consummating my own, I suppose?--Brother, I said you could not makeme tremble, but you have found a way to do it."

  "What, you expect I am again to urge you with Lord Etherington'scourtship?--That _might_ have saved all, indeed--But that day of graceis over."

  "I am glad of it, with all my spirit," said Clara; "may it take with itall that we can quarrel about!--But till this instant I thought it wasfor this very point that this long voyage was bound, and th
at you wereendeavouring to persuade me of the reality of the danger of the storm,in order to reconcile me to the harbour."

  "You are mad, I think, in earnest," said Mowbray; "can you really be soabsurd as to rejoice that you have no way left to relieve yourself andme from ruin, want, and shame?"

  "From shame, brother?" said Clara. "No shame in honest poverty, I hope."

  "That is according as folks have used their prosperity, Clara.--I mustspeak to the point.--There are strange reports going below--By Heaven!they are enough to disturb the ashes of the dead! Were I to mentionthem, I should expect our poor mother to enter the room--Clara Mowbray,can you guess what I mean?"

  It was with the utmost exertion, yet in a faltering voice, that she wasable, after an ineffectual effort, to utter the monosyllable, "_No!_"

  "By Heaven! I am ashamed--I am even _afraid_ to express my ownmeaning!--Clara, what is there which makes you so obstinately rejectevery proposal of marriage?--Is it that you feel yourself unworthy to bethe wife of an honest man?--Speak out!--Evil Fame has been busy withyour reputation--speak out!--Give me the right to cram their lies downthe throats of the inventors, and when I go among them to-morrow, Ishall know how to treat those who cast reflections on you! The fortunesof our house are ruined, but no tongue shall slander itshonour.--Speak--speak, wretched girl! why are you silent?"

  "Stay at home, brother!" said Clara; "stay at home, if you regard ourhouse's honour--murder cannot mend misery--Stay at home, and let themtalk of me as they will,--they can scarcely say worse of me than Ideserve!"[II-F]

  The passions of Mowbray, at all times ungovernably strong, were atpresent inflamed by wine, by his rapid journey, and the previouslydisturbed state of his mind. He set his teeth, clenched his hands,looked on the ground, as one that forms some horrid resolution, andmuttered almost unintelligibly, "It were charity to kill her!"

  "Oh! no--no--no!" exclaimed the terrified girl, throwing herself at hisfeet; "Do not kill me, brother! I have wished for death--thought ofdeath--prayed for death--but, oh! it is frightful to think that he isnear--Oh! not a bloody death, brother, nor by your hand!"

  She held him close by the knees as she spoke, and expressed, in herlooks and accents, the utmost terror. It was not, indeed, withoutreason; for the extreme solitude of the place, the violent and inflamedpassions of her brother, and the desperate circumstances to which he hadreduced himself, seemed all to concur to render some horrid act ofviolence not an improbable termination of this strange interview.

  Mowbray folded his arms, without unclenching his hands, or raising hishead, while his sister continued on the floor, clasping him round theknees with all her strength, and begging piteously for her life and formercy.

  "Fool!" he said, at last, "let me go!--Who cares for thy worthlesslife?--who cares if thou live or die? Live, if thou canst--and be thehate and scorn of every one else, as much as thou art mine!"

  He grasped her by the shoulder, with one hand pushed her from him, and,as she arose from the floor, and again pressed to throw her arms aroundhis neck, he repulsed her with his arm and hand, with a push--orblow--it might be termed either one or the other,--violent enough, inher weak state, to have again extended her on the ground, had not achair received her as she fell. He looked at her with ferocity, grappleda moment in his pocket; then ran to the window, and throwing the sashviolently up, thrust himself as far as he could without falling, intothe open air. Terrified, and yet her feelings of his unkindnesspredominating even above her fears, Clara continued to exclaim.

  "Oh, brother, say you did not mean this!--Oh, say you did not mean tostrike me!--Oh, whatever I have deserved, be not you theexecutioner!--It is not manly--it is not natural--there are but two ofus in the world!"

  He returned no answer; and, observing that he continued to stretchhimself from the window, which was in the second story of the building,and overlooked the court, a new cause of apprehension mingled, in somemeasure, with her personal fears. Timidly, and with streaming eyes anduplifted hands, she approached her angry brother, and, fearfully, yetfirmly, seized the skirt of his coat, as if anxious to preserve him fromthe effects of that despair, which so lately seemed turned against her,and now against himself.

  He felt the pressure of her hold, and drawing himself angrily back,asked her sternly what she wanted.

  "Nothing," she said, quitting her hold of his coat; "but what--what didhe look after so anxiously?"

  "After the devil!" he answered, fiercely; then drawing in his head, andtaking her hand, "By my soul, Clara--it is true, if ever there was truthin such a tale!--He stood by me just now, and urged me to murderthee!--What else could have put my hunting-knife into my thought?--Ay,by God, and into my very hand--at such a moment?--Yonder I could almostfancy I see him fly, the wood, and the rock, and the water, gleamingback the dark-red furnace-light, that is shed on them by his dragonwings! By my soul, I can hardly suppose it fancy--I can hardly think butthat I was under the influence of an evil spirit--under an act offiendish possession! But gone as he is, gone let him be--and thou, tooready implement of evil, be thou gone after him!" He drew from hispocket his right hand, which had all this time held his hunting-knife,and threw the implement into the court-yard as he spoke, then, with asad quietness, and solemnity of manner, shut the window, and led hissister by the hand to her usual seat, which her tottering steps scarceenabled her to reach. "Clara," he said, after a pause of mournfulsilence, "we must think what is to be done, without passion orviolence--there may be something for us in the dice yet, if we do notthrow away our game. A blot is never a blot till it is hit--dishonourconcealed, is not dishonour in some respects.--Dost thou attend to me,wretched girl?" he said, suddenly and sternly raising his voice.

  "Yes, brother--yes, indeed, brother!" she hastily replied, terrifiedeven by delay again to awaken his ferocious and ungovernable temper.

  "Thus it must be, then," he said. "You must marry thisEtherington--there is no help for it, Clara--You cannot complain of whatyour own vice and folly have rendered inevitable."

  "But, brother!"--said the trembling girl.

  "Be silent. I know all that you would say. You love him not, you wouldsay. I love him not, no more than you. Nay, what is more, he loves younot; if he did, I might scruple to give you to him, you being such asyou have owned yourself. But you shall wed him out of hate, Clara--orfor the interest of your family--or for what reason you will--But wedhim you shall and must."

  "Brother--dearest brother--one single word!"

  "Not of refusal or expostulation--that time is gone by," said her sterncensurer. "When I believed thee what I thought thee this morning, Imight advise you, but I could not compel. But, since the honour of ourfamily has been disgraced by your means, it is but just, that, ifpossible, its disgrace should be hidden; and it shall,--ay, if sellingyou for a slave would tend to conceal it!"

  "You do worse--you do worse by me! A slave in an open market may bebought by a kind master--you do not give me that chance--you wed me toone who"----

  "Fear him not, nor the worst that he can do, Clara," said her brother."I know on what terms he marries; and being once more your brother, asyour obedience in this matter will make me, he had better tear his fleshfrom his bones with his own teeth, than do thee any displeasure! ByHeaven, I hate him so much--for he has outreached me every way--thatmethinks it is some consolation that he will not receive in thee theexcellent creature I thought thee!--Fallen as thou art, thou art stilltoo good for him."

  Encouraged by the more gentle and almost affectionate tone in which herbrother spoke, Clara could not help saying, although almost in awhisper, "I trust it will not be so--I trust he will consider his owncondition, honour, and happiness, better than to share it with me."

  "Let him utter such a scruple if he dares," said Mowbray--"But he daresnot hesitate--he knows that the instant he recedes from addressing you,he signs his own death-warrant or mine, or perhaps that of both; and hisviews, too, are of a kind that will not be relinquished on a point ofscrupulous delicacy merely. Therefor
e, Clara, nourish no such thoughtin your heart as that there is the least possibility of your escapingthis marriage! The match is booked--Swear you will not hesitate."

  "I will not," she said, almost breathlessly, terrified lest he was aboutto start once more into the fit of unbridled fury which had beforeseized on him.

  "Do not even whisper or hint an objection, but submit to your fate, forit is inevitable."

  "I will--submit"--answered Clara, in the same trembling accent.

  "And I," he said, "will spare you--at least at present--and it may befor ever--all enquiry into the guilt which you have confessed. Rumoursthere were of misconduct, which reached my ears even in England; but whocould have believed them that looked on you daily, and witnessed yourlate course of life?--On this subject I will be at presentsilent--perhaps may not again touch on it--that is, if you do nothing tothwart my pleasure, or to avoid the fate which circumstances renderunavoidable.--And now it is late--retire, Clara, to your bed--think onwhat I have said as what necessity has determined, and not my selfishpleasure."

  He held out his hand, and she placed, but not without reluctant terror,her trembling palm in his. In this manner, and with a sort of mournfulsolemnity, as if they had been in attendance upon a funeral, he handedhis sister through a gallery hung with old family pictures, at the endof which was Clara's bedchamber. The moon, which at this moment lookedout through a huge volume of mustering clouds that had long been bodingstorm, fell on the two last descendants of that ancient family, as theyglided hand in hand, more like the ghosts of the deceased than likeliving persons, through the hall and amongst the portraits of theirforefathers. The same thoughts were in the breast of both, but neitherattempted to say, while they cast a flitting glance on the pallid anddecayed representations, "How little did these anticipate thiscatastrophe of their house!" At the door of the bedroom Mowbray quittedhis sister's hand, and said, "Clara, you should to-night thank God, thatsaved you from a great danger, and me from a deadly sin."

  "I will," she answered--"I will." And, as if her terror had been anewexcited by this allusion to what had passed, she bid her brother hastilygood-night, and was no sooner within her apartment, than he heard herturn the key in the lock, and draw two bolts besides.

  "I understand you, Clara," muttered Mowbray between his teeth, as heheard one bar drawn after another. "But if you could earth yourselfunder Ben Nevis, you could not escape what fate has destined foryou.--Yes!" he said to himself, as he walked with slow and moody pacethrough the moonlight gallery, uncertain whether to return to theparlour, or to retire to his solitary chamber, when his attention wasroused by a noise in the court-yard.

  The night was not indeed very far advanced, but it had been so longsince Shaws-Castle received a guest, that had Mowbray not heard therolling of wheels in the court-yard, he might have thought rather ofhousebreakers than of visitors. But, as the sound of a carriage andhorses was distinctly heard, it instantly occurred to him, that theguest must be Lord Etherington, come, even at this late hour, to speakwith him on the reports which were current to his sister's prejudice,and perhaps to declare his addresses to her were at an end. Eager toknow the worst, and to bring matters to a decision, he re-entered theapartment he had just left, where the lights were still burning, and,calling loudly to Patrick, whom he heard in communing with thepostilion, commanded him to show the visitor to Miss Mowbray's parlour.It was not the light step of the young nobleman which came tramping, orrather stamping, through the long passage, and up the two or three stepsat the end of it. Neither was it Lord Etherington's graceful figurewhich was seen when the door opened, but the stout square substance ofMr. Peregrine Touchwood.