Sword and Gown Part 15

"Yes, I will be as brief as possible," Mark answered at length. "Neither of us will be tempted to prolong this interview unnecessarily. I have promised to deliver a letter to you, and when you have read it I shall have but very few words to say."

A stronger proof than Keene had ever yet given of superhuman control over his emotions was the fact that, neither by quivering of eyelid, change of color, or motion of muscle, did he betray the faintest astonishment or concern as he took the letter from Waring, and recognized Cecil's hand on the cover. It was not a long epistle, for it scarcely extended beyond two sides of a note-sheet. The writing was hurried, and in places almost illegible: it had entirely lost the firm, even character which usually distinguished it, from which a very moderate graphiologist might have drawn successful auguries. Perhaps this was the reason that Royston read it through twice slowly. As he did so his countenance altered fearfully; the deadly white look of dangerous pa.s.sion overspread it all, and his eyes began to gleam. Yet still he spoke calmly--"You knew of this being written?"

"I am happy to say I was more than pa.s.sively conscious of it," Mark replied. "I did all in my power to bring about the result that you are now made aware of, and I thank G.o.d that I did not fail."

While the other was speaking Royston was tearing up the paper he held into the smallest shreds, and dropping them one by one. The act might have been involuntary, but seemed to have a savage viciousness about it, as if a living thing were being tortured by those cruel fingers. (The poor letter! whatever its faults might have been, it surely deserved a better fate: it was doubtless not a model of composition, but some of the epistles which have moved us most in our time, either for joy or sorrow, might not in this respect emulate Montague or Chapone.) Still he controlled himself, with a mighty effort, enough to ask, steadily, "Were you weary of your life, to have done all this, and then come here to tell me so?"

Waring laughed drearily.

"Weary? So weary that, if it had not been for scruples you can not understand, I would have got rid of it long ago. But I need not inflict my confidences on you, and I don't choose to see the drift of your question."

The devil had so thoroughly by this time possessed Royston Keene, that even his voice was changed into a hoa.r.s.e, guttural whisper. "I asked, because I mean to kill you."

Mark's gaze met the savage eyes that gleamed like a famished panther's, with an expression too calm for defiance, though there might have been perhaps a shade of contempt.

"Of course I shall guard my own life as best I may, either here or elsewhere, but I do not apprehend it is in great danger. There is an old proverb about 'threatened men;' they are not killed so easily as women are betrayed. Beyond the simplest self-defense, I warn you that I shall not resent any insult or attack. I will not meet you in the field; and as for any personal struggle, I don't think that even you would like to make Cecil Tresilyan the occasion for a broil that might suit two drunken peasants."

Though shorter by half a head, and altogether cast in a less colossal mould, as he stood there, with his square, well-knit frame, and bold Saxon face, he looked no contemptible antagonist to confront the swarthy giant. In utter insensibility to fear and carelessness of consequences (so far as they could affect a steady resolve), the Cool Captain had met his match at last. Even then, in the crisis of his stormy pa.s.sion, he was able to appreciate a hardihood so congenial to his own character; pondering upon these things afterward, he always confessed that at this juncture, and indeed all throughout, his opponent had very much the best of it. Ferocity and violence seemed puerile and out of place when contrasted with that tranquil audacity. He covered his eyes with his hand for a moment or so, and when he raised his face it had recovered its natural impa.s.sibility, though the ghastly pallor still remained.

Besides, the truth of Waring's last words struck him forcibly. He muttered under his breath, "By G--d, he's right _there_, at all events;"

then he said aloud, "Well, it appears you won't fight, so there is little more to be said between us. You think you can thwart my purposes or mould them as you like. We'll try it. I told you I had many things to do to-night: I have one more than I dreamed of on hand. I wish to be alone."

Mark gazed wistfully at the speaker without stirring from his seat. "I know what your intention is perfectly well. You mean to follow her. I believe it would be quite in vain; you have misjudged Cecil Tresilyan, if you fancy that she would alter her determination twice. But you might give her great pain, and compromise her more cruelly than you have done already. There are obstacles now in your way that you could not encounter without causing open scandal. Her brother's suspicions are fairly roused by this time, and he can not help doing his duty: he may be weak and credulous, but he is no coward. There is no fear of farther interference from me: my part is played. But I do beseech you to pause.

Supposing the very worst--that you could still succeed in persuading Cecil to her ruin--are you prepared deliberately to accept the consequences of the crime? You are far more experienced in such matters than I: do you know a single instance of such guilt being accomplished where _both_, before the year was ended, did not wish it undone? I do not pretend to be interested about your future; but I believe I am speaking now as your dearest friend might speak. You both delude yourselves miserably if you think that Cecil could live under disgrace.

I do you so much justice. You would find it unendurable to see her withering away day by day, with no prospect before her but a hopeless death. In G.o.d's name, draw back while there is time. It is only a sharp struggle, and self-command and self-denial will come. Loneliness is bitter to bear: _I_ know that; but what is manhood worth if it can not bear its burdens? I have put every thing on the lowest grounds, and I will ask you one question more--you might guard her from some suffering by hiding her from the world's scorn--could you guard yourself against satiety?"

He spoke without a trace of anger or animosity, and the grave, kind tones made some way in the winding avenues leading to Royston's heart.

Besides this, the last word struck the chord of the misgiving that had haunted him ever since he proposed the flight, and had already made him half repent it. But the fortress did not yet surrender.

"All this while you have had some idea of improving your own position with Cecil. It is natural enough: yet I fancy you will find yourself mistaken there."

Instead of flushing at the taunt, Waring's face grew paler, and there shot across it a sharp spasm of pain.

"So you can not understand disinterestedness," he said. "Before I ventured on interference, I was aware of the certain consequences, and weighed them all. Miss Tresilyan thought she had done me some wrong; and I trusted to her generosity to help me when I spoke for the right. But I knew that the spell could only be used once, and that the canceled debt could not be revived. I shall never speak to her--perhaps never see her--on earth again. Do you imagine I love her less for that? Hear this: I suppose I have as much pride as most men; but I would kneel down here and set your foot on my neck if I thought the humiliation would save her one iota of shame or sorrow."

Keene was fairly vanquished. He was filled with a great contempt for his own guilty pa.s.sion, compared with the pure self-sacrifice of Mark's simple chivalry. He raised his eyes from the ground, on which they had been bent gloomily while the other was speaking, and answered without hesitation, "I owe you some amends for much that has been said to-night; and I will not keep you in suspense a moment unnecessarily. I shall leave Dorade to-morrow; but it will not be to follow Cecil Tresilyan.

More than this: if there is any chance of our meeting hereafter, on my honor, I will avoid it. I wish many things could be unsaid and undone; but nothing has occurred that is past remedy. As far as any future intentions of mine are concerned, I swear she is as safe as if she were my sister."

Waring drew a long breath, as if a ponderous weight had been lifted from his chest. "I believe you," he said simply: then he rose to go. He had almost reached the door, when he turned suddenly and stretched out his hand. It was a perfectly unaccountable and perhaps involuntary impulse; for he still could not absolve the other from dark and heavy guilt. The major held it for a few seconds in a gripe that would have paralyzed weaker fingers: even Mark's tough joints and muscles were long in forgetting it. He muttered these words between his teeth as he let it go--"_You_ were worthy of her." So the interview ended--in peace.

Nevertheless, there was little peace that night for Royston Keene; he pa.s.sed it alone--how, no mortal can know; but the next morning his appearance fully bore out the truth of the ancient aphorism, "There is no rest for the wicked." His face was set in the stoniest calmness, but the features were haggard and drawn, and fresh lines and furrows were there deeper than should have been engraved by half a score of years. A violent, pa.s.sionate nature does not lightly resign the one object of its aims and desires. Larches and firs will bear moving cautiously, for they are well-regulated plants, and natives of a frigid zone; but transplanting rarely succeeds in the tropics.

Harry Molyneux came to his friend's apartments early on the following day, in a very uncomfortable and perplexed frame of mind. In the first place, he was sensible of that depression of spirits which is always the portion of those who are left behind when any social circle is broken up by the removal of its princ.i.p.al elements. There is no such nuisance as having to stay and put the lights out. Besides this, he was quite uncertain in what temper Royston would be found; and apprehended some desperate outbreak from the latter, which would bring things, already sufficiently complicated, into a more perilous coil.

Keene's first abrupt words in part rea.s.sured him.

"Well, it is all over; and I am going straight back to England."

Harry felt so relieved that he forgot to be considerate: he could not repress his exultation.

"Is it really all over? I am so very glad!"

"And I am not sorry," was the reply. The speaker probably persuaded himself that he was uttering the truth; but the dreary, hopeless expression of his stricken face gave his words the lie. It cut deep into Molyneux's kind heart; he felt more painfully than he had ever done the difficulty of reconciling his evident duty with the demand of an ancient friendship; on the whole, a guilty consciousness of treachery predominated. He was discreet enough to forbear all questions, and it was not till long afterward that he heard an outline of part of what had happened in the past night; it was told in a letter from Miss Tresilyan to his wife. Had he been more inquisitive, his curiosity would scarcely have been gratified. To do Keene justice, he guarded the secrets of others more jealously than he kept his own: and he would have despised himself for revealing one of Cecil's, even to his old comrade, without her knowledge and leave. If the feeling which prompted such reticence was not a high and delicate sense of honor, it was at least a very efficient subst.i.tute for a profitable virtue.

"You go to England?" Molyneux went on, after a brief pause. "When do you start? and what do you mean to do?"

Royston looked up, and saw his own discontent reflected in the countenance of his faithful subaltern; he knew he had found there the sympathy that he was too proud to ask of any living man.

"I start to-night," he replied; "so you see I have no time to lose. I can hardly tell you what I mean to do, Hal. Do you remember what we said about the best way of spending our resources? Well--I have broken into my last large note; and I suppose I must get rid somehow of the change."

Harry's answer was not very ready, nor very distinct when it came. "I wish--I wish, I could help you!"

For one moment, there returned to Keene's disciplined face a good, natural expression, which had been a stranger there since the days of his hot youth; when he first went forth to buckle with the world--frank, and honest, and fearless; his voice, too, had softened almost to tenderness. "Old friend, the time has come to say good-by. Our roads have been the same--for longer than I like to think of: but henceforth they must lie so far apart, that I doubt if they will ever cross again.

You will see me off, I know; but I may not be able to say then a dozen words that I should be sorry to leave unsaid. I'll do you this justice--in no one instance have I ever seen you flinch when I wanted your help; though often you had no object of your own to serve. I believe no man ever had a cheerier comrade, or a better backer. I don't like you the worse for standing aloof during the last five weeks. I never had one unpleasant word from you; but if any of mine have vexed or offended you--see now--I ask your forgiveness from the bottom of my heart."

It is no shame to Harry's manhood that he could not answer intelligibly; but ten sentences of elaborate sentiment would hardly have been so eloquent as the pressure of his honest hand.

Later in the day, Keene went to take leave of _la mignonne_. He did so with pain and reluctance. Men, utterly hard and merciless toward their own species, have been very fond of their pets; even when these last belonged to an inferior order of creation. Couthon would fondle his spaniel while he was signing a sheaf of death-warrants; and the Prophet, who could contemplate placidly a dozen cities in flames, and watch human hecatombs falling under the sword of Omar or Ali, cut off the sleeve of his robe rather than disturb a favorite cat in her slumbers.

Nevertheless, when two people agree to ignore carefully the one subject that is uppermost in the thoughts of both, the result must be an uncomfortable constraint and reserve. So the adieus, up to a certain point, were rather formal. But just as he was going, the same impulse overcame Royston which had affected him in his interview with Harry Molyneux. Considering that the age of miracles is past, it was remarkable that twice in one day the Cool Captain should have approached so near to the verge of sentimentalism.

"I hope that I shall see you again before long," he said, "but nothing seems certain--not even the meeting of friends. I should like to thank you now for some pleasant days and evenings. You have brought a good deal of sunshine into my life, since I knew you first. I like to think that, neither in deed nor intention, I have ever deliberately done you or Harry any harm. I hope you will go on taking as much care of him, and making him as perfectly happy as you have done. Perhaps I have vexed you both, lately; but all that is over, and I fancy the punishment will be proportionate to the offense before it is ended. Farewell. Don't forget me sooner than you can help; and while you do remember me, think of me as kindly as you can."

He leaned over her as he finished speaking, and his lips just brushed her smooth forehead. When Charles the martyr embraced his children an hour before his death, they received no purer or more sinless kiss. A sob choked f.a.n.n.y's voice when she would have replied; and the beautiful brown eyes were so dim with rushing tears, that they never saw him go.

Keene's last visit in Dorade was to the Vicomte de Chateaumesnil. The latter manifested no surprise at the sudden departure, and expressed his regrets with a perfectly calm courtesy. But, at the moment of leave-taking, he detained the other's hand for a second or so and said, looking wistfully in his face, "Ainsi, vous partez seul? je ne l'aurais pas cru; et, je l'avoue franchement, ca me contrarie. N'importe; je connois votre jeu; et je ne vous tiens pas pour battu, quand c'est manche a. Ce serait une betise, de dire--'au revoir.' Adieu; amusez vous bien."

Royston shook his head impatiently; he was too proud to save his credit by dissembling a defeat; and his reply was quick and decisive.

"Vous me flattez, M. le Vicomte. Quand on perd, on doit, au moins l'avouer loyalement, et payer l'en jeu. Cette fois j'ai tant perdu, que je ne prendrai pas la revanche."

Not another word was exchanged between them; but Armand had accepted repulses in his time with more equanimity than he could muster when ruminating afterward on the discomfiture of Royston Keene.

Some days later the subject was discussed at the Cercle, and one of the _habitues_ hazarded several cunning conjectures, and more than cynical surmises. (Did you ever hear a thoroughly profligate Frenchman sneer a woman's character away? It is almost worth while overcoming your disgust to listen to the diabolical ingenuity of his innuendoes. The scandal of our bitterest dowagers sounds charitable by comparison.) The savage outbreak of the Algerian's temper, that every one had long been expecting, came at last with a vengeance.

"Tu mens, canaille! C'est le meilleur eloge de M. Keene, que les marans comme toi, ne puissent le comprendre. Quand a Mademoiselle--elle vaut mille fois tes soeurs, et ta mere. Si tu as le coeur de pousser l'affaire, je te donnerai raison sur mes bequilles. Pour le pistolet, ma main n'est pas encore percluse." He held it out, as steady and strong as it was in the old days when it could sway the sabre from dawn to twilight and never know weariness.

If the other persuaded himself that consideration for the invalid's infirmities made him patient under the insult, his friends were less romantically credulous: the stigma of that night cleaves to him still.

Brazen it out as he may, the hang-dog look remains, telling us that the barriers have been at least once broken down which separate the man from the serf. There would be, perhaps, less mischief abroad if slander were always so promptly and amply avenged.

CHAPTER XXII.

Not long after the events here recorded came a time that we all remember right well, when, without note of preparation, the war-trumpets sounded from the east and the north; when Europe woke up, like a giant refreshed, from the slumber of a forty years' peace, and took down disused weapons from the wall, and donned a rusted armor. It was a time rife with romantic episodes, and, as such seasons must ever be, fraught with peril to the prudence of womankind. There was perpetual recurrence of the striking ant.i.thesis which happened at Brussels before Waterloo, when the roll of the distant cannon at Quatre Bras mingled with the music of the d.u.c.h.ess's ball. The coldest reserve is apt to melt rapidly, and the most skillful coquetry is brought to bay, when opposed to pleading urged possibly for the last time. Those were days of rebuke and blasphemy to "the gentlemen of England who sat at home at ease;" and even the Foreign Office "irresistibles" could hardly hold their own.

What chance have the honeyed words of the accomplished civilian against the simple eloquence of the soldier, who speaks with his life in his hand? Truly there were many conquests then achieved of which the world knew nothing, for the victor never came back to claim his prize.

When the funeral of the Great Duke went by, it was easy to find fault with some of the details of that pretentious pageant; but which of us was cool enough to criticise, on the gray February morning, when the Guards marched out? There were practiced veterans enough to be found in their ranks; and each of these perhaps could number some who loved him dearly; but none in the column won such hearty sympathy as those "trim subalterns, holding their swords daintily," who went forth to their doom gayly and gallantly, as if pestilence were not lying in ambush at fever-stricken Varna, and lines of hungry graves waiting for their prey in the bleak Chersonese. Surely there were sadder faces at home than any that lined the road; and the anxious crowd at the station represented very inadequately the "girls they left behind them."