Alice, or the Mysteries — Complete
by the starlit graves towards the village.
CHAPTER VII.
THINK you I can a resolution fetch
From flowery tenderness?--_Measure for Measure_.
THEY were on the road to Dover. Maltravers leaned back in the corner of
the carriage with his hat over his brows, though the morning was yet too
dark for the curate to perceive more than the outline of his features.
Milestone after milestone glided by the wheels, and neither of the
travellers broke the silence. It was a cold, raw morning, and the mists
rose sullenly from the dank hedges and comfortless fields.
Stern and self-accusing was the scrutiny of Maltravers into the recesses
of his conscience, and the blotted pages of the Past. That pale and
solitary mother, mourning over the grave of her--of his own--child, rose
again before his eyes, and seemed silently to ask him for an account
of the heart he had made barren, and of the youth to which his love had
brought the joylessness of age. With the image of Alice,--afar, alone,
whether in her wanderings, a beggar and an outcast, or in that hollow
prosperity, in which the very ease of the frame allowed more leisure
to the pinings of the heart,--with that image, pure, sorrowing, and
faithful from first to last, he compared his own wild and wasted youth,
his resort to fancy and to passion for excitement. He contrasted with
her patient resignation his own arrogant rebellion against the trials,
the bitterness of which his proud spirit had exaggerated; his contempt
for the pursuits and aims of others; the imperious indolence of his
later life, and his forgetfulness of the duties which Providence had
fitted him to discharge. His mind, once so rudely hurled from that
complacent pedestal, from which it had so long looked down on men,
and said, "I am wiser and better than you," became even too acutely
sensitive to its own infirmities; and that desire for Virtue, which
he had ever deeply entertained, made itself more distinctly and loudly
heard amidst the ruins and the silence of his pride.
From the contemplation of the Past, he roused himself to face the
Future. Alice had refused his hand, Alice herself had ratified and
blessed his union with another! Evelyn, so madly loved,--Evelyn might
still be his! No law--from the violation of which, even in thought,
Human Nature recoils appalled and horror-stricken--forbade him to
reclaim her hand, to snatch her from the grasp of Vargrave, to woo
again, and again to win her! But did Maltravers welcome, did he embrace
that thought? Let us do him justice: he did not. He felt that Alice's
resolution, in the first hour of mortified affection, was not to be
considered final; and even if it were so, he felt yet more deeply that
her love--the love that had withstood so many trials--never could be
subdued. Was he to make her nobleness a curse? Was he to say, "Thou hast
passed away in thy generation, and I leave thee again to thy solitude
for her whom thou hast cherished as a child?" He started in dismay from
the thought of this new and last blow upon the shattered spirit; and
then fresh and equally sacred obstacles between Evelyn and himself
broke slowly on his view. Could Templeton rise from his grave, with what
resentment, with what just repugnance, would he have regarded in the
betrayer of his wife (even though wife but in name) the suitor to his
child!
These thoughts came in fast and fearful force upon Maltravers, and
served to strengthen his honour and his conscience. He felt that though,
in law, there was no shadow of connection between Evelyn and himself,
yet his tie with Alice had been of a nature that ought to separate him
from one who had regarded Alice as a mother. The load of horror, the
agony of shame, were indeed gone; but still a voice whispered as before,
"Evelyn is lost to thee forever!" But so shaken had already been her
image in the late storms and convulsion of his soul, that this thought
was preferable to the thought of sacrificing Alice. If _that_ were
all--but Evelyn might still love him; and justice to Alice might be
misery to her! He started from his revery with a vehement gesture, and
groaned audibly.
The curate turned to address to him some words of inquiry and surprise;
but the words were unheard, and he perceived, by the advancing daylight,
that the countenance of Maltravers was that of a man utterly rapt and
absorbed by some mastering and irresistible thought. Wisely, therefore,
he left his companion in peace, and returned to his own anxious and
engrossing meditations.
The travellers did not rest till they arrived at Dover. The vessel
started early the following morning, and Aubrey, who was much fatigued,
retired to rest. Maltravers glanced at the clock upon the mantelpiece;
it was the hour of nine. For him there was no hope of sleep; and the
prospect of the slow night was that of dreary suspense and torturing
self-commune.
As he turned restlessly in his seat, the waiter entered to say that
there was a gentleman who had caught a glimpse of him below on his
arrival, and who was anxious to speak with him. Before Maltravers could
answer, the gentleman himself entered, and Maltravers recognized Legard.
"I beg your pardon," said the latter, in a tone of great agitation, "but
I was most anxious to see you for a few moments. I have just returned
to England--all places alike hateful to me! I read in the papers--an--an
announcement--which--which occasions me the greatest--I know not what I
would say,--but is it true? Read this paragraph;" and Legard placed "The
Courier" before Maltravers.
The passage was as follows:
"It is whispered that Lord Vargrave, who is now at Paris, is to be
married in a few days to the beautiful and wealthy Miss Cameron, to whom
he has been long engaged."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed Legard, following the eyes of Maltravers, as
he glanced over the paragraph. "Were not _you_ the lover,--the accepted,
the happy lover of Miss Cameron? Speak, tell me, I implore you!--that it
was for you, who saved my life and redeemed my honour, and not for that
cold schemer, that I renounced all my hopes of earthly happiness, and
surrendered the dream of winning the heart and hand of the only woman I
ever loved!"
A deep shade fell over the features of Maltravers. He gazed earnestly
and long upon the working countenance of Legard, and said, after a
pause,--
"You, too, loved her, then? I never knew it,--never guessed it; or, if
once I suspected, it was but for a moment; and--"
"Yes," interrupted Legard, passionately, "Heaven is my witness how
fervently and truly I did love--I do still love Evelyn Cameron! But when
you confessed to me your affection--your hopes--I felt all that I
owed you; I felt that I never ought to become your rival. I left Paris
abruptly. What I have suffered I will not say; but it was some comfort
to think that I had acted as became one who owed you a debt never to
be cancelled nor repaid. I travelled from place to place, each equally
hateful and wearisome; at last, I scarce know why, I returned to
England. I have arrived this day; and now--but tell me, is it true?"
"I believe it true," said Maltravers, in a hollow voice, "that Evelyn is
at this moment engaged to Lord Vargrave. I believe it equally true
that that engagement, founded upon false impressions, never will be
fulfilled. With that hope and that belief, I am on my road to Paris."
"And she will be yours, still?" said Legard, turning away his face:
"well, that I can bear. May you be happy, sir!"
"Stay, Legard," said Maltravers, in a voice of great feeling: "let us
understand each other better; you have renounced your passion to your
sense of honour." Maltravers paused thoughtfully. "It was noble in you,
it was more than just to me; I thank you and respect you. But, Legard,
was there aught in the manner, the bearing of Evelyn Cameron, that could
lead you to suppose that she would have returned your affection? True,
had we started on equal terms, I am not vain enough to be blind to your
advantages of youth and person; but I believed that the affections of
Evelyn were already mine, before we met at Paris."
"It might be so," said Legard, gloomily; "nor is it for me to say that a
heart so pure and generous as Evelyn's could deceive yourself or me.
Yet I _had_ fancied, I _had_ hoped, while you stood aloof, that the
partiality with which she regarded you was that of admiration more than
love; that you had dazzled her imagination rather than won her heart.
I had hoped that I should win, that I was winning, my way to her
affection! But let this pass; I drop the subject forever--only,
Maltravers, only do me justice. You are a proud man, and your pride has
often irritated and stung me, in spite of my gratitude. Be more lenient
to me than you have been; think that, though I have my errors and my
follies, I am still capable of some conquests over myself. And most
sincerely do I now wish that Evelyn's love may be to you that blessing
it would have been to me!"
This was, indeed, a new triumph over the pride of Maltravers,--a new
humiliation. He had looked with a cold contempt on this man, because he
affected not to be above the herd; and this man had preceded him in the
very sacrifice he himself meditated.
"Legard," said Maltravers, and a faint blush overspread his face, "you
rebuke me justly. I acknowledge my fault, and I ask you to forgive
it. From this night, whatever happens, I shall hold it an honour to be
admitted to your friendship; from this night, George Legard never shall
find in me the offences of arrogance and harshness."
Legard wrung the hand held out to him warmly, but made no answer; his
heart was full, and he would not trust himself to speak.
"You think, then," resumed Maltravers, in a more thoughtful tone,--"you
think that Evelyn could have loved you, had my pretensions not crossed
your own? And you think, also--pardon me, dear Legard--that you could
have acquired the steadiness of character, the firmness of purpose,
which one so fair, so young, so inexperienced and susceptible, so
surrounded by a thousand temptations, would need in a guardian and
protector?"
"Oh, do not judge of me by what I have been. I feel that Evelyn could
have reformed errors worse than mine; that her love would have elevated
dispositions yet more light and commonplace. You do not know what
miracles love works! But now, what is there left for me? What matters it
how frivolous and poor the occupations which can distract my thoughts,
and bring me forgetfulness? Forgive me; I have no right to obtrude all
this egotism on you."
"Do not despond, Legard," said Maltravers, kindly; "there may be better
fortunes in store for you than you yet anticipate. I cannot say more
now; but will you remain at Dover a few days longer? Within a week you
shall hear from me. I will not raise hopes that it may not be mine to
realize. But if it be as you think it was, why little, indeed, would
rest with me. Nay, look not on me so wistfully," added Maltravers, with
a mournful smile; "and let the subject close for the present. You will
stay at Dover?"
"I will; but--"
"No buts, Legard; it is so settled."
BOOK XI.
"Man is born to be a doer of good."--MARCUS ANTONINUS, lib. iii.
CHAPTER I.
His teeth he still did grind,
And grimly gnash, threatening revenge in vain.--SPENSER.
IT is now time to return to Lord Vargrave. His most sanguine hopes were
realized; all things seemed to prosper. The hand of Evelyn Cameron was
pledged to him, the wedding-day was fixed. In less than a week she was
to confer upon the ruined peer a splendid dowry, that would smooth all
obstacles in the ascent of his ambition. From Mr. Douce he learned that
the deeds, which were to transfer to himself the baronial possessions of