Mohun; Or, the Last Days of Lee and His Paladins Part 86

Mohun leaned back in his chair, reflected for a moment with evident sadness, and then, with a deep sigh, said:--

"I am about to relate to you, my dear Surry, a history so singular, that it is probable you will think I am indulging my fancy, in certain portions of it. That would be an injustice. It is a true life I am about to lay before you--and I need not add that actual occurrences are often more surprising than any due to the imagination of the romance writer. I once knew a celebrated novelist, and one day related to him the curious history of a family in Virginia. 'Make a romance of that,'

I said, 'it is an actual history.' But my friend shook his head. 'It will not answer my purpose,' he replied, smiling, 'it is too strange, and the critics would call me a "sensation writer"--that is, ruin me!'

And he was right, Surry. It is only to a friend, on some occasion like the present, that I could tell my own story. It is too singular to be believed otherwise.

"But I am prosing. Let me proceed. My family is an old one, they tell me, in this part of Virginia; and my father, whose portrait you see before you, on the mantel-piece, was what is called an 'aristocrat.'

That is to say, he was a gentleman of refined tastes and habits; fond of books; a great admirer of fine paintings; and a gentleman of social habits and feelings. 'Fonthill'--this old house--had been, for many generations, the scene of a profuse hospitality; my father kept up the ancient rites, entertaining all comers; and when I grew to boyhood I unconsciously imbibed the feelings, and clung to the traditions of the family. These traditions may be summed up in the maxims which my father taught me--'Use hospitality; be courteous to high and low alike; a.s.sist the poor; succor the unhappy; give bountifully without grudging; and enjoy the goods heaven provides you, with a clear conscience, whether you are called an aristocrat or a democrat!' Such were my father's teachings; and he practised them, for he had the kindest and sweetest heart in the world. He was aided in all by my mother, a perfect saint upon earth; and if I have since that time given way to rude pa.s.sions, it was not for wanting a good example in the blameless lives of this true gentleman and pure gentlewoman.

"Unhappily, I did not have their example long. When I was seventeen my mother died; and my father, as though unable to live without her who had so long been his blessing, followed her a year afterward, leaving me the sole heir of the great possessions of the family. For a time grief crushed me. I was alone--for I had neither brother nor sister--a solitary youth in this great lonely house, standing isolated amid its twenty thousand acres--and even the guardian who had been appointed to look after my affairs, seldom came to see me and relieve my loneliness.

The only a.s.sociate I had was a sort of bailiff or steward, Nighthawk--you know him, and his attachment for me. It was hereditary--this attachment. My father had loved and trusted his; relieved the necessities of the humble family once when they were about to be turned adrift for debt. The elder Nighthawk then conceived a profound affection for his benefactor--and dying, left to his son the injunction to watch over and serve faithfully the son of his 'old master.'

"Do not laugh at that word, Surry. It is the old English term, and England is best of all, I think. So Nighthawk came to live with me, and take care of my interests. You know that he has continued to be faithful, and to serve me, and love me, to this moment.

"But in spite of the presence of this true friend, I was still lonely.

I craved life, movement, company--and this I promised myself to secure at the university of Virginia, to which I accordingly went, spending there the greater portion of my time until I had reached the age of twenty. Then I returned to Fonthill--only to find, however, that the spot was more dreary than before. I was the master of a great estate, but alone; 'lord of myself,' I found, like the unhappy Childe Harold, and Randolph of Roanoke after him, that it was a 'heritage of woe.'

There was little or no society in the neighborhood--at least suited to my age--I lived a solitary, secluded, dormant existence; and events soon proved that this life had prepared my character for some violent pa.s.sion. A philosopher could have foretold that. Every thing in excess brings on reaction. The drunkard may abstain long, but the moment he touches spirit, an orgy commences. Men love, because the time and a woman have come--and that hour and person came all at once to arouse me from my lethargy.

"One day I was inert, apathetic, sluggish in my movements, careless of all things and all persons around me. On the next I was aroused, excited, with every nerve and faculty strung. I was becoming suddenly intoxicated, and soon the drunkenness of love had absorbed all the powers of my being.

"You know who aroused that infatuation, the daughter of George Conway."

XV.

THE STORM.

"At that time she was called Miss Mortimer. The commencement of our acquaintance was singular. Fate seemed to have decreed that all connected with our relations should be 'dramatic.'

"One night I was returning at full speed from the house of a gentleman in the neighborhood, whither I had been to make a visit. The night was as dark as a wolf's mouth, and a violent storm rushed down upon me, when I was still many miles from home. I have scarcely ever witnessed a more furious tempest; the thunder and lightning were fearful, and I pushed my horse to his utmost speed to reach Fonthill before the torrents of rain drenched me to the skin.

"Well, I had entered the Fonthill woods, a mile or two from the house, and was galloping at full speed through the black darkness which the lightning only occasionally illumined now, when all at once my horse struck his chest against something. I heard a cry, and then a dazzling flash showed me a light carriage which had evidently just been overturned. I was nearly unseated by the collision, but leaped to the ground, and at the same moment another flash showed me the form of a lady whom a man was extricating from the broken vehicle. I hastened to render my a.s.sistance. The lady was lifted in our arms, and then I aided in raising the fallen horse, who lay on his side, frightened and kicking violently.

"Ten minutes afterward I was placed in possession of what the lawyers call 'the facts of the case.' Mr. Mortimer, of Georgia, was travelling home from the North, with his sick sister in his carriage, for the benefit of her health. They had lost their way; the storm had caught them; their carriage had overturned in the darkness,--where could Mr.

Mortimer obtain lodgings for the night? The condition of his sister rendered it imperative that they should not continue their journey until morning, even if the storm and broken vehicle permitted.

"I listened, and felt a warm sympathy for the poor sick girl--she was only a girl of eighteen, and very beautiful. I would gladly have offered my own house, but it was still some miles distant, and the young woman was so weak, and trembled so violently, that it would plainly be impossible to conduct her so far on foot. True, my carriage might have been sent for her, but the rain was now descending in torrents; before it arrived she would be drenched--something else must be thought of. All at once the idea occurred to me, 'Parson Hope's is only a quarter of a mile distant.' Mr. Hope was the parson of the parish, and a most excellent man. I at once suggested to Mr. Mortimer that his sister should be conducted thither, and as he a.s.sented at once, we half conducted, half carried the poor girl through the woods to the humble dwelling of the clergyman.

"The good parson received us in a manner which showed his conviction that to succor the stranger or the unfortunate is often to 'entertain angels unawares.' It is true that on this occasion it was something like a brace of devils whom he received into his mansion! The young lady threw herself into a seat; seemed to suffer much; and was soon conducted by the parson's old housekeeper--for he was a childless widower--to her chamber in which a fire had been quickly kindled. She disappeared, sighing faintly, but in those few minutes I had taken a good look at her. You have seen her; and I need not describe her. She is still of great beauty; but at that time she was a wonder of loveliness. Slender, graceful, with a figure exquisitely shaped; with rosy lips as artless as an infant's; grand dark eyes which seemed to burn with an inner light as she looked at you; such was _Miss Mortimer_ at eighteen, when I first saw her on that night in the Fonthill woods."

XVI.

ACT I.

"An hour after the scene which I have tried to describe, I was at home; and, seated in this apartment, then very different in appearance, reflected deeply upon this romantic encounter with the beautiful girl.

"It was midnight before I retired. I fell asleep thinking of her, and the exquisite face still followed me in my dreams.

"These few words tell you much, do they not, Surry? You no doubt begin to understand, now, when I have scarcely begun the real narrative, what is going to be the character of the drama. Were I a romance writer, I should call your attention to the fact that I have introduced my characters, described their appearance, and given you an inkling of the series of events which are about to be unrolled before you. A young man of twenty is commended to your attention; a youth living in a great mansion; lord of himself, but tired of exercising that authority; of violent pa.s.sions, but without an object; and at that very moment, presto! appeared a lovely girl, with dark eyes, rosy lips; whom the youth encounters and rescues under most romantic circ.u.mstances!

"Well, the 'lord of himself' acted in real life as he would have done in a novel. In other words, my dear Surry, I proceeded straightway to fall violently in love with _Miss Mortimer_; and it is needless to say that on the next day my horse might have been seen standing at the rack of the parsonage. I had gone, you see, as politeness required, to ask how the young lady felt after her accident.

"She was leaning back in an arm-chair, reading a 'good book,' and looked charming. The accident seemed to have greatly shocked the delicate frame of the young creature, but when I entered, she held out her hand, greeting me with a fascinating smile. Mademoiselle was imitated by Monsieur. I mean Mr. Mortimer. I did not fancy the countenance of that gentleman much. It was dark and forbidden, but his manners were those of a person acquainted with good society; he thanked me 'with effusion,' as the French say, for my timely a.s.sistance on the night before; and then he strolled forth with the good parson to look at the garden, leaving me _tete-a-tete_ with his sister.

"Why lengthen out my story by comment, reflections, a description of every scene, and the progressive steps through which the 'affair'

pa.s.sed? I was in love with Miss Mortimer. She saw it. Her eyes said, 'Love me as much as you choose, and don't be afraid I will not love you soon, in return.' At the end of this interview, which the worthy Mr.

Mortimer did not interrupt for at least two hours, I rode home thinking with a throb of the heart 'If she will only love me?' Then the throb was succeeded by a sudden sinking of the same organ. 'But there will be no opportunity!' I groaned, 'doubtless in two or three days she will leave this part of the country!' A week afterward that apprehension had been completely removed. Miss Mortimer was still faint and weak, 'from her accident.' All her movements were slow and languid. She had not left the good parson's house, Surry--and what is more she was not going to leave it! She had learned what she desired to know about me; heard that I was a young man of great wealth; and had devised a scheme so singular that--but let me not antic.i.p.ate! She proceeded rapidly. In our second interview she 'made eyes at me.' In the third, she blushed and murmured, avoiding my glances, when I looked at her. In the fourth, she blushed more deeply when I took her hand--but did not withdraw it. In the fifth, the fair head in some manner had come to rest on my shoulder--no doubt from weakness. And in a few days afterward the shy, embarra.s.sed, loving, palpitating creature, blushing deeply, 'sunk upon my bosom,' as the poets say, and murmured, 'How can I resist you?'

"In other words, my dear friend, _Miss Mortimer_ had promised to become _my wife_, and I need not say, I was the happiest of men. I thought with rapture of the bliss I was about to enjoy in having by my side, throughout life, this charming creature. I trembled at the very thought that the accident in the wood might not have happened, and I might never have known her! I was at the parsonage morning, noon, and night.

When not beside _her_ I was riding through the forest at full speed, with bared brow, laughing lips, and shouts of joy--in a word, my dear friend, I was as much intoxicated as ever youth was yet, and fed on froth and moonshine to an extent that was really astonishing!

"There was absolutely nothing to oppose our marriage. My old guardian, it is true, shook his head, and suggested inquiries into the family, position, character, etc., of the Mortimers; I was young, wealthy, heir of one of the oldest families, he said, and sharpers might deceive me.

But all I heard was the word 'sharpers'--and I left my guardian, whose functions had ceased now, in high displeasure at his unworthy imputations. That angel a sharper! That pure, devoted creature, guilty of deception! I fell into a rage; swore never to visit my guardian again; and returning to the parsonage urged a speedy consummation of our marriage.

"The fair one was not loth. She indicated that fact by violently opposing me at first, but soon yielded. When I rode home that night I had made every arrangement for our union in one month from that time.

"So much for Act I., Surry!"

XVII.

THE WILL.

Mohun had commenced his narrative in a mild voice, and with an expression of great sadness upon his features. As he proceeded, however, this all disappeared; gradually the voice became harsh and metallic, so to describe it, and his face resumed that expression of cynical bitterness which I had observed in him on our first meeting. As he returned thus, to the past, all its bitterness seemed to revive; memory lashed him with its stinging whip; and Mohun had gone back to his "first phase,"--that of the man, stern, implacable, and misanthropic.

After uttering the words, "So much for Act I., Surry!" he paused. A moment afterward, however, he resumed his narrative.

"What I am now going to tell you is not agreeable to remember, my dear Surry, and I shall accordingly relate every thing as briefly as possible. I aim only to give you a clear conception of the tragedy. You will form your own opinion.

"I was impolite enough in introducing _Miss Mortimer_ to you, at the parsonage, to describe that young lady as a 'devil.' No doubt the term shocked you, and yet it conveyed something very like the exact truth. I declare to you that this woman was, and is still, a marvel to me, a most curious study. How could she be such as she was? She had the lips of an infant, and the eyes of an angel. Was it not strange that, under all that, she should hide the heart of a born devil? But to continue my narrative.

"The month or two which elapsed between my engagement and my marriage was not an uninterrupted dream of bliss. The atmosphere was strangely disturbed on more than one occasion. Mademoiselle was frequently absent from the parsonage when I arrived, taking long walks with Monsieur, her brother; and when she returned from these excursions, I could see a very strange expression on her countenance as she looked at me.

Occasionally her glance was like those lurid flashes of lightning which you may have seen issue from the depths of a black cloud. Her black eyes were the cloud--admire the simile!--and I a.s.sure you their expression at such moments was far from agreeable. What to make of it, I knew not. I am not const.i.tutionally irritable, but on more than one occasion I felt a strange angry throb of the heart when I encountered those glances.

"Mademoiselle saw my displeasure, and hastened at once to soothe and dissipate it. The dark flash was always succeeded by the most brilliant sunshine; but, even in moments of her greatest apparent abandon, I would still meet suddenly, when she did not think I was looking at her, the sombre glance which appalled me.