But Mary's lips could not utter a reply, her breath seemed choked, a mist was before her eyes, though the once most beloved face on earth was bending down upon her, so near that his very breath fanned her cheek. She saw it, but as in a frightful dream changed into the face of a demon, and she felt that breath to be upon her brow like a burning and a blighting flame. Yet in the strange terror, the perplexity of feeling which had come over her, a kind of fascination, which something in that dark, lurid glance fixed so steadfastly upon her, seemed to enthral her senses. She might perhaps, had it been possible, have forced her lips to give the required promise. But though they moved, they uttered no sound.
She grew paler and paler, more and more heavily she pressed against the retaining arm which encircled her, till finally her head lay back on the cushion of the couch; and Eugene Trevor started at perceiving her closed eyes and ghastly countenance, released her from his hold, for she had fainted!
CHAPTER XII.
For thee I panted, thee I prized, For thee I gladly sacrificed Whate'er I loved before; And shall I see thee start away, And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say-- Farewell! we meet no more.
COWPER.
Eugene Trevor's first impulse was to step back shocked and amazed; but the first paroxism of passion into which he had worked himself, in a degree cooled by this unlooked for catastrophe, he felt that he had acted in a weak and unreasonable manner.
Yes, to say that he stood there, looking on that good and gentle being, whose pitiful condition only showed the climax to which he had distressed and unnerved her guileless spirit, by the course of conduct he had so unjustifiably pursued--the peace and happiness of whose life he had so selfishly blighted.
That he had looked on her thus, and thought chiefly of himself, was but too true a proof of the purity and genuineness of the feelings, which had prompted him to press upon her their union in so urgent and unjustifiable a manner.
Yes--dark and perplexing considerations as to the position of his own affairs came crowding upon his mind. Mary's suspicions, nay, even amounting to certainty, as to his brother's identity, he had himself recklessly confirmed; but that mattered little, for suspicion once awakened on the subject, the truth in any case, must sooner or later have transpired.
No, he should have long ago have broken off with Mary, as his brother had required; that would have been the only means of keeping that mad enthusiast quiet till his father's death, and his own affairs satisfactorily settled. What infatuation had kept him hankering after that "mess of pottage," which after all, he felt had become far less valuable to him, than all that had been risked through its cause. He had been in love with Mary Seaham three years ago; then he was really and truly in love--in love with her sweet youth--her gentle excellence; and could he then have made her his wife without the trouble and annoyance to which the engagement had since subjected him, he had little doubt that the step would have been for his happiness and benefit; but as it had turned out, he should have long since have given up the inauspicious business--the strength and purity of his affection had not been such as could stand the test of their protracted separation. The crystal stream would soon have palled upon his vitiated taste, had it not been for the excitement of opposition, and the triumph over his brother it procured him.
Added to this, we must in justice say, there had ever remained in Eugene's heart at all times--and under every circumstance, a sort of fascinated feeling towards Mary which had never been wholly extinguished--an influence over his nature wonderful even to himself.
But this was nothing to the disquieting fears which now assailed him for the future; he could not well see his way before him, and impatiently--with feelings in which every bad passion was combined, he turned away from the poor girl, who lay there so wan and faded before him; in this moment of excitement, considering her but as the source of the disturbance and perplexity, in which through her, he had involved himself. With but one more glance, therefore, at the pale, prostrate form, he rang the bell with careless violence; and leaving the room, contented himself with desiring the servant whom he met hurrying to obey the summons, to send Miss Seaham's maid to her, and hastily quitted the house.
In no happy mood of mind, Eugene Trevor regained his own hotel, and having made inquiries as to conveyances, started by the night mail from ----, and reached Montrevor the following afternoon.
His first inquiry was for Marryott. He was told that she had expired soon after his departure. "Had any one been with her?" he asked.
"No one; they had supposed her to be asleep for some hours; but at length she had been found by the housemaid who took up her gruel, stiff and cold."
Yes--the sin of that hardened and unrighteous woman had surely found her out. The curse breathed from the pale, meek features of the corpse of her, whose angel heart she had crushed and broken--whose death she had rendered lone and desolate as her life, had come back "on her bosom with reflected blight," she too had breathed forth her expiring sigh in agony unrelieved.
But who wept over her remains--who cared for, who mourned her death? not one within that mansion. Old Mr. Trevor heard of the event, with the satisfaction of a child released from the dominion of a harsh attendant, and took advantage of his disenthralment to creep from his chamber to his study, to enjoy the long restricted luxury of gloating over his beloved treasures; and from whence, overcome by that unwonted exertion, he had but just been carried back to his chamber by his servant, who had discovered him thus employed, when his son arrived.
Eugene's first act was to order the property of Marryott to be submitted to his inspection, and he had but just satisfied himself of there being no more forged notes in her possession, when the officers of the crown employed to make inquiries into the business, arrived at Montrevor.
Their examination of the deceased's effects proved, of course, equally unproductive, as was every inquiry which was afterwards made. A few questions put to the bewildered Mr. Trevor, to whose presence Eugene tremblingly admitted the officials, showed him incompetent to give any available evidence. Their warrant went no further.
With the death of the self-accused offender, ended every possibility of further enlightenment. She had gone to give an account of her actions to a Judge from before whom all hearts are open and no secrets are hid; and who require no human testimony to decide His just and terrible judgment.
They departed, and Eugene breathed more freely, though far was the removal of this one weight of anxiety from leaving peace and comfort at his heart. The gloom and darkness which brooded over the house of sin and death, lay with a leaden weight upon his soul. For the first time he seemed to be sensible of the foulness of the atmosphere in which for years he had breathed so contentedly--the dark maze in which he had entangled himself. Perhaps it was the influence of _her_ presence, which even still, as it had ever done, exercised a power over his feelings--a wish, a transitory yearning for better, purer things; for happiness such as he had never tasted in his world of sensuality.
From whatever it might have arisen, certainly his was no enviable frame of mind, and in the perplexity of the moment he was almost prompted to relax his immediate hold of all his anxious schemes and purposes; put his father under proper guardianship, and leaving the house, the country, for a time, abandon the issue to the future--to fate. If the old man died soon, well and good; he knew his present will would secure him the bulk of his large and long accumulated unentailed property. If he lingered on for years, why even then, he little feared his brother taking advantage of his absence. No, not his brother perhaps, but his friends. Might they not rise up in Eustace Trevor's behalf; and the old man become, as in his present state he was likely to do, a ready tool in their hands, to effect his ruin--for ruin to him any alteration in that will must prove--that will made under his own auspices; at the same time that the deed was executed, which in favour of his brother's alleged incompetency, put all power into his hands, with regard to the management of the entailed property.
No, he must retain his post even to the death, and above all he must gain assurance as to the security of the deed, on which so much depended, and which it had been necessary to humour the old man, at the time, in the whim of keeping secreted in his own possession, without the farther security of a copy--a legal expense against which, he had strongly protested. There was another point too on which he was still painfully anxious. Were the remainder of those forged notes, which his father had evidently neglected to destroy, still in existence, and in the same place from which the rest had been extracted?
With these thoughts on his mind, Eugene went to his father, and with the usual address of which he was full master, broke to him the nature and the cause of the intrusion with which he had that day been terrified and annoyed--in short the whole history of Marryott's share in the forgery case, the origin of which he recalled to his darkened recollection.
The old man was confounded and dismayed--his old panic as regarded his son's youthful delinquency reviving in full force. He, however, held out still, that the notes had been destroyed, and that Marryott must have been a witch to have restored them to existence.
Eugene combated the folly of this idea, at the same time impressing upon him the necessity of ascertaining the better security of any papers of importance, than Marryott's abstraction of the forged notes, proved them to be in at the present moment.
For that purpose he conducted the miserable old man to his study, or rather private room; and with great difficulty induced him to go through an examination under his inspection of all places he thought it likely, the will and the remainder of the notes might be secreted.
But the old man's cunning avarice was a match for the younger one's cupidity.
He had his own peculiar feelings with respect to the will. A jealous tenacity in preserving to the last his power over the disposal of his riches, however other powers might have departed from him, and as to giving up his will to Eugene, that he would never do. He knew where it lay snug and secret, and if Eugene treated him ill, and stole the money over which even now his eyes gloated, and his hands passed so graspingly, he knew what he could do, and as for the notes, he had in truth forgotten that secret hiding-place.
So the search ended for that day without the desired results, for the old man grew faint and feeble, and said he could do no more that time, but would continue the search on the morrow, so, content for the present, his son supported him back to his chamber. He did not leave his bed for the following week, before the end of which period Mabel Marryott was carried out to be buried. And there she lies--the same sun which shines upon the evil and the good, gleams upon the decent stone which perpetuates the dishonoured memory of the wicked--as upon the tomb of mocking grandeur, in which the weary had found rest--that rest "which remaineth for the people of God."
CHAPTER XIII.
Desolate in each place of trust, Thy bright soul dimmed with care, To the land where is found no trace of dust.
Oh! look thou there.
The servant had either not understood, or had neglected the orders of Eugene Trevor. Her own faithful attendant had not accompanied Mary, and Miss Elliott's maid, who waited upon her, had gone to the hall to be in attendance in the cloak-room upon her young lady. So that when the poor girl recovered from her temporary insensibility, she found herself quite alone, and nearly in darkness with but a dim and bewildered recollection of what had occurred, the sense of physical indisposition preponderating at the moment. She feebly arose, and managed to drag her chilled and heavy limbs to her own room.
In the morning she awoke restored to a full consciousness of the reality of the last night's events; very dark appeared to her the world on which she opened now her eyes; a vague sense of misery oppressed her--a feeling as if the end of all things was come--that the truth, light and beauty of existence had passed from her for ever--that her life had been thrown away--the best powers of her mind--the affections of her heart wasted on an object suddenly stripped of every false attribute which she had so ignorantly worshipped.
She did not feel inclined, as may be supposed, to face the glare and bustle of the court, and under plea of a headache excused herself from accompanying Miss Elliott and her brother, who, having been obliged to be in attendance at an early hour, had only exchanged a few words with his sister at her room-door previous to his departure.
Mary would, therefore, have been left alone all the morning had it not been for a visit from Jane Marryott, who came to say farewell; and to express her grateful thanks, both for the aid she had received from her legal advocate and the kindness shown to her by the young ladies after the trial.
Mary received her with much kindness, and encouraged her by the sweet sympathy of her manner, to relate "the tale of her love with all its pains and reverses." There was something in the subdued and chastened tone of the poor woman's happiness, as soothing to Mary's own troubled heart, as her meek and patient demeanour during her affliction had been touching; and as to look upon the "grief so lonely" of her upon whose patient countenance, she had read a tale of baffled hopes, and disappointed affection, which had made her think with tears upon her own; so now she did not feel it impossible to accede a smile of melancholy rejoicing in her pious joy, though no answering chord vibrated in her own sorrowful bosom--and she felt that the sea of trouble, and the ocean wide, which had hitherto disunited Jane Marryott from her affianced lover, was nothing to the deep gulf which must, from henceforth, roll between her soul and his, whom she had so long looked upon in that light.
But the faint mournful smile did not perhaps escape the observation of her humble visitor, or fail to touch the scarce less delicate sympathies of one doubly refined in the furnace of affliction. Jane Marryott could not repress a glance of anxious interest on the pale young lady's face, as at the close of her own recital, she respectfully proceeded to express her wishes for the health and happiness of her brother and herself.
She had heard, she continued timidly to say, that Mr. Eugene Trevor was the favoured gentleman who was to make Miss Seaham his wife--then paused, humbly apologising if she had offended by her boldness, for she marked the momentary spasm of painful emotion which passed over Mary's countenance.
She would not have ventured to speak on the subject she added, had it not been for the interest, painful though it had become in its character, which bound her to that family. Mr. Eugene Trevor being as Miss Seaham probably was aware, her foster-brother.
Mary bent her head in sign of acquiescence, and then murmuring that Jane Marryott had not offended, enquired in a low and faltering voice if she had been thrown much in contact with the Trevor family of late years, that if so, she would be much obliged by any particulars respecting it: she need not fear to speak freely on a subject which indeed was one of such peculiar interest to herself, though not now in the manner to which Jane had made allusion. She had indeed been long engaged to Mr. Eugene Trevor, but----. Mary felt not strength to complete the communication; her voice died away, leaving her listener to frame her own conclusions from the dejected pause and broken sentence.
"I would do anything to oblige or serve you, dear young lady, though there is little on the subject of that family which can be connected in my mind but with shame and sorrow. However, with the exception of one unhappy visit of mine to Montrevor last year, I have not entered the house, or lived in its neighbourhood, since I was quite a young child; then I remember just having been taken there once or twice to see my mother, and being allowed to play with little Master Eugene, and most distinctly of all going with him into the room where was Mrs.
Trevor--such a sweet and gentle looking lady--who spoke very kindly to me; and there too was Master Eustace, a beautiful boy, who seemed very fond of his mother, whilst Master Eugene would not do a thing that he was bid--he was but a child then you know," she added apologetically, "and they say was never taught much to love and honour that parent, by those who took him as an infant from her breast. Alas! that I, my mother's own child, should have to say it--but such visits were not many; my mother did not care for me enough to run the risk of offending her master by having me about the place. He hated strange children in the house, and when I was taken there it was by stealth. So at a very early age I was sent away to some distant relations in Wales, who apprenticed me to the trade, and all I have since heard of the family has been by hearsay; for there was nothing of all that reached my ear, which made Montrevor a place I could have visited with any comfort or pleasure.
"My mother, when I had grown up, offered me a situation in the establishment, and because I refused to accept it, speaking my mind perhaps too freely, she never afterwards noticed me in any way, withdrawing all support in my necessity; till the unlucky hour, I was induced to give up that patient waiting on God's own time I had hitherto maintained, and turned aside to seek to bring it to pass by ways and means that were not of his pointing out. I might have seen that no good could have come out of gold taken from that house, no blessing be attached to bounty drawn from such a polluted source. God has been very merciful, and made all things to work together for my good; but still even now I rejoice with trembling, and were he again to withdraw his favour--I should only feel that it were due to my past unfaithfulness. Oh, dear young lady! it is a good thing to wait patiently on the Lord, to believe that good is hid behind every cloud of seeming evil; that grief or disappointment, if dealt us, is intended for our future happiness either here or hereafter. May you find this to be the case, and feel it also to your comfort, if I am right in guessing from your countenance that you stand in need of consolation. I am very bold, a humble stranger to speak thus to you, young lady--but you have encouraged me by your kindness and condescension, and we are told never to neglect, to speak a word in season to the weary, and even when you hung over me in my fainting fit yesterday, I marked the contrast between your sad pale face, and that of the bright young lady by your side."
Mary put her hand into the speaker's for a moment as if both in grateful acknowledgement of her sympathy, and as encouragement for her to proceed. There was something inexpressibly soothing to her wounded spirit in the simple earnestness of the poor woman's speech--strength and calm resolution to meet the darkened future, seemed to infuse itself into her own soul as she sat and listened.
At length in a low sad voice she responded:
"Thank you very much for speaking to me in that manner. I feel already that it has done me good, for you are indeed quite right in supposing that I am not quite happy, though my present unhappiness springs from a cause of which you, with all your troubles, have never, I think, experienced the bitterness. I have much on my mind just now, doubts and fears on a subject, on which I am unable to gain any clear enlightenment. You, who perhaps have received information from more authentic sources, may be able to tell me what you may have heard concerning Mr. Eugene Trevor."