Miles Tremenhere Volume I Part 21

"True--but don't trust her too soon."

"No, nor by myself. I will set another to work, who knows only what I tell him--one of the red waistcoat messengers. Tell him a woman's in the case, and he will be alert and faithful. This girl said, a sweet fair lady and tall gentleman called sometimes--these must be _the man_ and his wife."

"Well, I leave it in your hands. Fancy my being obliged to leave Uplands! Fortunately, Gray, who is the most harum-scarum host in the world, let the name escape only the day he was expected. Of course, I could not stay and meet him; I told him we had had some discussion, and that the contact would be unpleasant to both. The fellow has _nouse_ enough to keep a still tongue. No one seems acquainted with former facts; he is only known as a rising artist, of good family, they think;--well, so he is on one side. I hinted no relationship, and begged Gray to insinuate _from himself_, to the dozen a.s.sembled there, that we had been on unfriendly terms, and thus prevent my name being mentioned."

"Oh! that was best; it may be as well he should hear little of you, if he could be persuaded somehow to take her there. Lady Dora might arrange that, if she so pleased----"

"My dear fellow, the oddest thing is, no one knows he is married! Lady Ripley drew me aside, and asked as a personal favour, that I would say nothing about the scandalous marriage of her niece--this before his coming was known; how they got on, all of them, I know not."

"Whew!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Dalby, as if a thought struck him; "a bachelor, eh!

Then what do they suppose _her_ to be?"

"Her existence is unknown to his mere acquaintances, for I sifted Gray; he is like a sieve of wheat. I got all the corn, and threw the dust in his own eyes. My amount of information is this--This Miles is a capital fellow, not caring for any woman, else he were dangerous let loose amongst them; so deucedly good-looking, even Lady Dora might notice that; up to any thing--the best shot, horseman--all; so he's always welcome at Uplands--every fellow likes him."

"That is," said Burton, "as every man _likes_ the best shot, etc., who cuts him out in all ways. So with these qualities, and the friends they create for a man, get to work, Dalby, and let's hunt this impostor out of the country."

"We'll see," said the other, rubbing his hands. "I have an idea--crude, 'tis true; give me time. As your professional friend, I deem myself called upon to meet your natural wishes, and get rid of a nuisance. Poor fellow! we will award him Italy; why couldn't he go there?" and he laughed contemptuously.

These were the creatures Sylvia and Juvenal had selected for their niece! Poor Minnie! no wonder she ran away. Reader, did you ever feel a desire to be an atrocious villain for five minutes? To have all the sentiments, ideas, schemes, and infamies, engendered in the minds of such? Think how many thousand thoughts they have to which we are total strangers! What a peep into another world it would be--a world of novelties! Every spectre fancy, a mental Ethiop!

We must not make Dalby so black as Burton; the one looked upon the matter thus:--"Burton is my client; in my heart I believe Tremenhere legitimate; but we have no proof--'tis not for me to seek for it. In my client's interest I must try and get this fellow out of the country quietly; it can best be done by means of his wife--make him jealous, and he will carry her off to the antipodes. How may this be accomplished? I must devise some plan;" but in thus coldly calculating, he never once considered, that in raising a cause of jealousy in a man's mind, you destroy his happiness--you brush the bloom from the peach, and it quickly fades. A jealous man desecrates every thing by his suspicions; turning the mysterious and beautiful vapour around her he loves, to mist and gloom. Is she sad?--she is regretting some one; gay?--some secret cause for joy exists; thoughtful?--'tis of another. He feels, in short, like a man tied to a galvanized corpse; the form is there--the spirit fled.

Burton's motives were different to the others. He had a darker aim in view; he had to be revenged on both--how? he cared little, so he accomplished it. He well knew that Miles had suffered deepest wrong at his hands, but who had the proof? not himself even. He had destroyed every trace which might lead to it; he had been resolved not to seek it, thus to be enabled to say to his accusing spirit, "'Tis false, I do not _know_ it." How many like Burton trample awhile on conscience!

We have shown the position of Mary Burns. When Minnie had been a short time in town, she implored Miles to let her visit this poor girl; his natural goodness of heart had been a little warped by the world. He had become stern from the galling chain it threw around him, in the fault it accused his mother of; he judged woman harshly;--this, even now, made him frequently wish that Minnie had become his otherwise than by an elopement. At first, he peremptorily refused to permit her to go there.

Minnie, in her soul's purity, looked amazed. "Why not?" she asked.

"Why?--why? oh, because it is not a fitting place for you to go to," was the reply.

"Why not, dear Miles?"

"Minnie, though you acted like an angel in visiting this poor girl in the country, and supporting her in her sorrow, by leading her aright; yet you must not forget that she has turned from the straight road--though you may pity, you must not a.s.sociate with her."

She looked down silently some moments, then raising her full eyes to his face said, laying one fair hand on his shoulder, "Miles, dear, don't you believe Mary Burns to be a truly penitent woman?"

"Most truly and sincerely so."

"My dearest husband does not need me to recall to his mind our highest example of pardoning in a like case, I am sure? Do not be worldly and severe, my own love; think well, and from your own good heart, where would unhappy woman be if every door and heart closed against her?"

"My Minnie, my child, you are an angel!" he cried, clasping her to his bosom. "What should I be without you?--a cold, worldly wretch like those I a.s.sociate with. I feared, darling, lest the censorious, ever hearing of it, should cla.s.s your imprudence in flying with me with her deeper error. Forgive me, dearest, we will go and visit poor Mary; it will cheer her."

Our readers will see how the remembrance of his wife's fault ever haunted him; 'tis true, even in his fondest moments it would steal like a spectre across his mind. His adoration of her made this regret the more intense, and weakened the entire confidence he otherwise would have felt in her prudence--a thought beyond, never entered his imagination: but, strange though it be, such is man, naturally a _little_ self-conceited, and yet with all that, he cannot conceive that a woman may do for one from affection, what not all the world beside might win her to do for another! No, they cannot make this distinction; and thus Miles fancied Minnie too gentle, too little self-confident, to be perfectly relied upon, as he would have done on such a one as Lady Dora, or Minnie herself, had she suffered all sooner than have fled with him.

He was scarcely just; but this feeling was involuntary on his part, and, though happily unknown to her, was the thorn which rankled in his flesh.

Together they visited Mary's neat little cottage, where a quiet, peaceful hope seemed to dwell; a faint blush rose to her pale cheek as they entered. She had been then living some few months respected by all, her fault unknown, and the meeting with Miles and his wife seemed like a momentary re-union with her error, and she blushed with shame and disgust towards herself. She had not forgotten her fault, nor the repentance due to it, but she had learned self-respect, and their presence for an instant degraded her again; but all was softened to peace in the kindness of both, and the deep interest evinced in her prosperity.

The first painful feeling pa.s.sed, the interview was one of pleasure to all. Minnie had, even as a girl herself, upheld this sinking one; Miles had rescued her from shame, and placed her in comfort; and, as the girl looked from one to the other, her eyes swam in grateful tears. A lady and gentleman had been residing with her, and would return again shortly, meanwhile she hoped to let her rooms to others; then she had several pupils she visited at their own homes, and her poor dear mother had now every comfort. These words she could scarcely utter for her swelling tears of grat.i.tude. With light hearts Tremenhere and Minnie quitted, promising to return soon. As they turned away he grasped his little wife's hand and said, "Thank you, dearest, for the happiness of to-day; when can I ever pay you my debt for all, my Minnie?"

CHAPTER XXI.

This chapter of digression was necessary, to show our readers the exact position of all our various personages. We will now return to Miles at Uplands; only, however, to state, that after another day pa.s.sed there, in necessary arrangements with the lordly master, he returned to town, to the great dissatisfaction of this latter and Lady Lysson, with whom he was a great favourite; but, beyond necessity, he never now a.s.sociated with those where Minnie was a stranger. He avoided the slightest collision with Lady Dora, whose pride once more rose in the ascendant, as she beheld his evident avoidance of her. He was strictly polite; but no mortal could, from the manner of either, have imagined that they had _nearly_ loved once, or that still Lady Dora remembered that feeling, though in anger towards her own weakness--still less could the world have supposed that he had married her favourite cousin--almost sister!

These are the secrets of life, hidden from a prying world, and festering often from their bitterness in one's own heart.

He left Uplands, and was once more beside his loving wife, whose every thought had been his in absence. She was the model of what a wife should be, when left alone. She did not, like too many, cry, "I am free awhile; what shall I do, that I cannot when he is here?" Her thought was, "What shall I do to please Miles when he returns--how surprise him?" and the busy anxious heart sought through all its recesses to find one, if possible, where a warmer thought might be hidden, than any he had yet known, to welcome him with on his return.

Men of intrigue have emissaries every where; they are never above a little familiarity with servants of every description. These are their best friends; for the ones money cannot purchase, may always be bought by affability and kindness, and this without compromising one's self.

Dalby seldom was guilty of so unwary an act as this, except in extreme cases. He found out all he wished to know adroitly; even the _purchased_ were unaware they were selling secrets. It was through some channel of this sort he discovered how soon Tremenhere left Uplands, and the same day at dinner he was there.

Lady Lysson did not like the man, but her nephew a.s.sured her he was a capital fellow; above all, extremely useful; so she received him, and attributed her personal antipathy to some flaw in her organ for comprehending exactly what a capital fellow should be. Lady Dora and her mother were beyond measure vexed. This former was hourly receiving warnings enough, in an indirect way, to cure her of her false pride, only they had not the effect of doing so; she did not yet see her fault.

To make a confidant of this man, neither dreamed of; and they came down to dinner with the pleasant antic.i.p.ation of hearing a dozen persons wondering about Tremenhere's marriage, and of hearing all particulars discussed and commented upon. They had decided upon braving the storm by quietly disclaiming any acquaintanceship with his wife; and on that very morning Lady Dora, under a better feeling than of late, had been asking her mother to allow her to visit poor Minnie, when they returned to town, but ineffectually. "We are forced to meet the _man_ occasionally,"

said Lady Ripley, coldly, "but visiting one who has so disgraced her family, is quite another thing!"

Great was their surprise when Dalby bowed most respectfully, but distantly to them, merely inquiring about their health. Still greater was it, when, Lady Lysson speaking with regret of Tremenhere's absence, the politic Dalby alluded to him as scarcely one with whose name he was acquainted! They both mentally thanked him, and dinner pa.s.sed off delightfully.

Lady Dora was not the affianced bride of Lord Randolph--true, he wished her to be his--so did Lady Lysson--so did Lady Ripley; but three affirmatives in this case, were conquered by one negative. Lady Dora said, when he proposed to her, "We do not know one another sufficiently yet;" and he was quite content to wait. Her beauty, position--all made him desire to make her his wife; but in truth she was not a person to inspire mad love in any one, except indeed, her despotic pride could bend, and the woman be all woman; but as it was he took it very calmly--she would be his some day, he presumed. But his love was not that St. Vitus' genus which makes a man ever restless--hot and cold all over, if another does but look at your love; or, like that deep-seated affection which bound Lady Lysson at sixteen to her "cat's cradle"

cousin; and though a young lovely widow at twenty, deaf to every second offer, not seeing the _possibility_ of calling another--husband. Neither of these loves swayed Lord Randolph; it was a connubial and well-disposed affection, which pulls its Templar nightcap well over its ears, and falls asleep, perfectly a.s.sured of awaking as soon as ever it shall be called upon to do so.

The cloth is gone--the ladies are gone, and the gentlemen sit alone--a cosey half-dozen.

"So," said Dalby, at last, "I find Tremenhere, the artist, has been here; did he make a long stay?"

"No," answered somebody, "only a day; we were sorry he quitted so soon.

What a deuced pleasant, intelligent fellow he is!"

"I think him very _hawnsome_," drawled a greyish-looking youth, like a raw March morning.

"By jingo, yes!" chimed a third; "if I were a woman, he is just the man I'd fall over head and ears in love with."

"Now, I don't think that," said the raw one, "he's too cold; and I don't quite like his long moustache."

"Well," retracted the second speaker, "perhaps I said too much; he certainly is well-looking, but he wants style; and somehow the ladies don't seem to admire him--they are the best judges."

"I tell you what," exclaimed Lord Randolph; "I think him one of the most distinguished-looking fellows I ever saw, and, were I in the service, would give half my pay for his moustache; why, 'tis the most perfect raven's wing I ever saw, and silky like his hair. My only surprise is, that one has never heard of any love affair of his; and here, as in Florence, he always moves in the best society."

"Who is he?" asked an elderly epicure, waking up from a dream "in memoriam" of the exquisite dinner his host had set before them.

"Oh! a--n.o.body, I believe," answered some one. "A decent family, I have heard, in the country; but then he is very unpresuming--that's one thing."

"Faith!" answered Lord Randolph, "he was sought after, courted, by every one in Florence; but the fellow seemed to me to dislike society, like one absorbed either by his art, or some secret preying thoughts."

"Perhaps he was a _government spy_," drawled the one before alluded to.

All this while Dalby had sat listening and smiling to himself; just what he wanted. Lord Randolph at last noticed this, and exclaimed, "Dalby--you who know every thing, I bet my life, know more than any of us about Tremenhere."