A Terrible Temptation: A Story of To-Day
been lost by that sort of economy,' says the little clerk, solemnly.
Oh, and he told him Mr. Sharpe was instructed to indict him for a
trespass if he ever came there again; and handed him a written paper to
that effect, which we two had drawn up at the station; and so left him
to his reflections. We went into the house, and called the servants
together, and told them to keep the rooms warm and the beds aired,
since you might return any day.”
Upon this news Sir Charles showed no premature or undignified triumph,
but some natural complacency, and a good deal of gratitude.
The next day was blank of events, but the next after Mr. Rolfe received
a letter containing a note addressed to Sir Charles Bassett. Mr. Rolfe
sent it to him.
SIR--I am desired to inform you that I attended Lady Bassett last
night, when she was safely delivered of a son. Have seen her again this
morning. Mother and child are doing remarkably well.
“W. BODDINGTON, Surgeon, 17 Upper Gloucester Place.”
Sir Charles cried, “Thank God! thank God!” He held out the paper to Mr.
Rolfe, and sat down, overpowered by tender emotions.
Mr. Rolfe devoured the surgeon's letter at one glance, shook the
baronet's hand eloquently, and went away softly, leaving him with his
happiness.
Sir Charles, however, began now to pine for liberty; he longed so to
join his wife and see his child, and Rolfe, observing this, chafed with
impatience. He had calculated on Bassett, advised by Wheeler, taking
the wisest course, and discharging him on the spot. He had also hoped
to hear from the Commissioner of Lunacy. But neither event took place.
They could have cut the Gordian knot by organizing an escape: Giles and
others were to be bought to that: but Dr. Suaby's whole conduct had
been so kind, generous, and confiding, that this was out of the
question. Indeed, Sir Charles had for the last month been there upon
parole.
Yet the thing had been wisely planned, as will appear when I come to
notice the advice counsel had given to Bassett in this emergency. But
Bassett would not take advice: he went by his own head, and prepared a
new and terrible blow, which Mr. Rolfe did not foresee.
But meantime an unlooked-for and accidental assistant came into the
asylum, without the least idea Sir Charles was there.
Mrs. Marsh, early in her married life, converted her husband to
religion, and took him about the county preaching. She was in earnest,
and had a vein of natural eloquence that really went straight to
people's bosoms. She was certainly a Christian, though an eccentric
one. Temper being the last thing to yield to Gospel light, she still
got into rages; but now she was very humble and penitent after them.
Well, then, after going about doing good, she decided to settle down
and do good. As for Marsh, he had only to obey. Judge for yourself: the
mild, gray-haired vicar of Calverly, who now leaned on la Marsh as on a
staff, thought it right at the beginning to ascertain that she was not
opposing her husband's views. He put a query of this kind as delicately
as possible.
“My husband!” cried she. “If he refused to go to heaven with me, I'd
take him there by the ear.” And her eye flashed with the threat.
Well, somebody told this lady that Mr. Vandeleur was ruined, and in Dr.
Suaby's asylum, not ten miles from her country-seat. This intelligence
touched her. She contrasted her own happy condition, both worldly and
spiritual, with that of this unfortunate reprobate, and she felt bound
to see if nothing could be done for the poor wretch. A timid Christian
would have sent some man to do the good work; but this was a lion-like
one. So she mounted her horse, and taking only her groom with her, was
at Bellevue in no time.
She dismounted, and said she must speak to Dr. Suaby, sent in her card,
and was received at once.
“You have a gentleman here called Vandeleur?”
The doctor looked disappointed, but bowed.
“I wish to see him.”
“Certainly, madam.--James, take Mrs. Marsh into a sitting-room, and
send Mr. Vandeleur to her.”
“He is not violent, is he?” said Mrs. Marsh, beginning to hesitate when
she saw there was no opposition.
“Not at all, madam--the Pink of Politeness. If you have any money about
you, it might be as well to confide it to me.”
“What, will he rob me?”
“Oh, no: much too well conducted: but he will most likely wheedle you
out of it.”
“No fear of that, sir.” And she followed James.
He took her to a room commanding the lawn. She looked out of the
window, and saw several ladies and gentlemen walking at their ease,
reading or working in the sun.
“Poor things!” she thought; “they are not so very miserable: perhaps
God comforts them by ways unknown to us. I wonder whether preaching
would do them any good? I should like to try. But they would not let
me; they lean on the arm of flesh.”
Her thoughts were interrupted at last by the door opening gently, and
in came Vandeleur, with his graceful panther-like step, and a winning
smile he had put on for conquest.
He stopped; he stared; he remained motionless and astounded.
At last he burst out, “Somer--Was it me you wished to see?”
“Yes,” said she, very kindly. “I came to see you for old acquaintance.
You must call me Mrs. Marsh now; I am married.”
By this time he had quite recovered himself, and offered her a chair
with ingratiating zeal.
“Sit down by me,” said she, as if she was petting a child. “Are you
sure you remember me?”
Says the Courtier, “Who could forget you that had ever had the honor--”
Mrs. Marsh drew back with sudden hauteur. “I did not come here for
folly,” said she. Then, rather naively, “I begin to doubt your being so
very mad.”
“Mad? No, of course I am not.”
“Then what brings you here?”
“Stumped.”
“What, have I mistaken the house? Is it a jail?”
“Oh, no! I'll tell you. You see I was dipped pretty deep, and duns
after me, and the Derby my only chance; so I put the pot on. But a dark
horse won: the Jews knew I was done: so now it was a race which should
take me. Sloman had seven writs out: I was in a corner. I got a friend
that knows every move to sign me into this asylum. They thought it was
all up then, and he is bringing them to a shilling in the pound.”
Before he could complete this autobiographical sketch Mrs. Marsh
started up in a fury, and brought her whip down on the table with a
smartish cut.
“You little heartless villain!” she screamed. “Is this, the way you
play upon people: bringing me from my home to console a maniac, and,
instead of that, you are only what you always were, a spendthrift and a
scamp? Finely they will laugh at me.”
She clutched the whip in her white but powerful hand till it quivered
in the air, impatient for a victim.
“Oh!” she cried, panting, and struggling with her passion, “if I wasn't
a child of God, I'd--”
“You'd give me a devilish good hiding,” said Vandeleur, demurely.
“That I _would,”_ said she, very earnestly.
“You forget that I never told you I was mad. How could I imagine you
would hear it? How could I dream you would come, even if you did?”
“I should be no Christian if I didn't come.”
“But I mean we parted bad friends, you know.”
“Yes, Van; but when I asked you for the gray horse you sent me a new
sidesaddle. A woman does not forget those little things. You were a
gentleman, though a child of Belial.”
Vandeleur bowed most deferentially, as much as to say, “In both those
matters you are the highest authority earth contains.”
“So come,” said she, “here is plenty of writing-paper. Now tell me all
your debts, and I will put them down.”
“What is the use? At a shilling in the pound, six hundred will pay them
all.”
“Are you sure?”
“As sure as that I am not going to rob you of the money.”
“Oh, I only mean to lend it you.”
“That alters the case.”
“Prodigiously.” And she smiled satirically. “Now your friend's address,
that is treating with your creditors.”
“Must I?”
“Unless you want to put me in a great passion.”
“Anything sooner than that.” Then he wrote it for her.
“And now,” said she, “grant me a little favor for old acquaintance.
Just kneel you down there, and let me wrestle with Heaven for you, that
you may be a brand plucked from the fire, even as I am.”
The Pink of Politeness submitted, with a sigh of resignation.
Then she prayed for him so hard, so beseechingly, so eloquently, he was
amazed and touched.
She rose from her knees, and laid her head on her hand, exhausted a
little by her own earnestness.
He stood by her, and hung his head.
“You are very good,” he said. “It is a shame to let you waste it on me.
Look here--I want to do a little bit of good to another man, after you
praying so beautifully.”
“Ah! I am so glad. Tell me.”
“Well, then, you mustn't waste a thought on me, Rhoda. I'm a gambler
and a fool: let me go to the dogs at once; it is only a question of
time: but there's a fellow here that is in trouble, and doesn't deserve
it, and he was a faithful friend to you, I believe. I never was. And he
has got a wife: and by what I hear, you could get him out, I think, and
I am sure you would be angry with me afterward if I didn't tell you;
you have such a good heart. It is Sir Charles Bassett.”
“Sir Charles Bassett here! Oh, his poor wife! What drove him mad? Poor,
poor Sir Charles!”
“Oh, he is all right. They have cured him entirely; but there is no
getting him out, and he is beginning to lose heart, they say. There's a
literary swell here can tell you all about it; he has come down
expressly: but they are in a fix, and I think you could help them out.
I wish you would let me introduce you to him.”
“To whom?”
“To Mr. Rolfe. You used to read his novels.”
“I adore him. Introduce me at once. But Sir Charles must not see me,
nor know I am here. Say Mrs. Marsh, a friend of Lady Bassett's, begs to
be introduced.”
Sly Vandeleur delivered this to Rolfe; but whispered out of his own
head, “A character for your next novel--a saint with the devil's own
temper.”
This insidious addition brought Mr. Rolfe to her directly.
As might be expected from their go-ahead characters, these two knew
each other intimately in about twelve minutes; and Rolfe told her all
the facts I have related, and Marsh went into several passions, and
corrected herself, and said she had been a great sinner, but was
plucked from the burning, and therefore thankful to anybody who would
give her a little bit of good to do.
Rolfe took prompt advantage of this foible, and urged her to see the
Commissioners in Lunacy, and use all her eloquence to get one of them
down. “They don't act upon my letters,” said he; “but it will be
another thing if a beautiful, ardent woman puts it to them in person,
with all that power of face and voice I see in you. You are all fire;
and you can talk Saxon.”
“Oh, I'll talk to them,” said Mrs. Marsh, “and God will give me words;
He always does when I am on His side. Poor Lady Bassett! my heart
bleeds for her. I will go to London to-morrow; ay, to-night, if you
like. To-night? I'll go this instant!”
“What!” said Rolfe: “is there a lady in the world who will go a journey
without packing seven trunks--and merely to do a good action?”
“You forget. Penitent sinners must make up for lost time.”
“At that rate impenitent ones like me had better lose none. So I'll arm
you at once with certain documents, and you must not leave the
commissioners till they promise to send one of their number down
without delay to examine him, and discharge him if he is as we
represent.”
Mrs. Marsh consented warmly, and went with Rolfe to Dr. Suaby's study.
They armed her with letters and written facts, and she rode off at a
fiery pace; but not before she and Rolfe had sworn eternal friendship.