Tales of the Wonder Club Volume II Part 30

Fancy poor Claribel, who was like a nun in her love of solitude and retirement, having to walk out of church through a crowd of people all the way home again with a duplicate of herself following in her footsteps!

You must not suppose that the matter stopped here. The remarks of the rustics who met her on the way, the village gossip that now broke out afresh--worse than ever before--the suspicious looks she received on all sides, all contributed to mortify her; but what appeared to completely break her spirit was the sudden falling off of one half of her pupils.

Of course, she could make no doubt as to the cause of this. Even the rest of the pupils, she thought, grew colder to her, and they, too, dropped off one by one, until the poor girl had not a single pupil left.

When matters arrived at this point it was hinted to her by the school-mistress that on account of the great damage this unfortunate peculiarity of hers had done the school, that it was better for her on the whole, to leave. The school-mistress added that she was aware that it was no fault of my young friend's, and it was with much regret that she was obliged to part with her; yet what could she do? She could not afford to lose all her pupils; and thus it was my poor friend lost a situation upon which she depended to begin her little savings. Much and bitterly did she weep over her cursed existence, and earnestly prayed that she might be liberated from her tormentor.

Since she had left her position as a school teacher she had led a life of such rigid retirement that it was with the greatest difficulty she could be persuaded to leave the house, even in my company, to take the air and exercise that her health required. She refused to see anyone unless it was the rector, who would occasionally call in the evening to take a dish of tea with us.

It was on one of these visits, when we were seated round the fire, conversing agreeably--the rector was relating some amusing anecdote, to which we were all listening attentively, the rector himself laughing at his own story--when suddenly we noticed that he stopped short in the middle of his laughing, turned pale, and rose from his chair.

The cause of this sudden change immediately became apparent to us all.

There, immediately behind the chair of Claribel, who had been listening attentively to the rector, with her chin resting on her hand, was her double in exactly the same position, with its eyes fixed intently on the rector's face. The rector having started to his feet, a.s.sumed a tone and manner which he in vain strove to render firm, and conjured the figure in the name of the Holy Trinity, if it were a thing of evil, to come out of her and trouble her no more; but his exorcism fell as upon the wind, the spectre apparently not hearing his words, and departing at its leisure some two or three minutes afterwards, appearing again once or twice in the same evening during the rector's visit.

The following Sunday prayers were read publicly in the church, with the view of dispelling the evil spirit, as it was called, and mention of the phenomenon was made in the rector's sermon, but all to no purpose. The spectre would appear and disappear whenever it chose, its coming being never heralded by any particular signs, and its vanishing just as uncertain.

If anyone particularly wished it to appear, it was as if the spectre took a malicious delight in disappointing them; if, on the other hand, its presence was exceedingly undesirable, it would be almost certain to appear.

Of the numerous admirers of Claribel it will be necessary for me only to mention two. The first was one John Archer, an ardent and virtuous youth, aged twenty-one, whose honest English face revealed the sincerity of his heart. He held the post of gamekeeper on the estate of Lord Edgedown. He was bold and generous, but of a nature so bashful and timid in matters regarding our s.e.x, that he would have allowed himself to be cut out in a love affair by a man not possessing one half his merit or his good looks.

As my father was on good terms with the father of John Archer, John was always a welcome visitor at our house, and thus began his acquaintance with Claribel. I really think if he had persisted in his suit, as a more courageous lover would have done, that he must at last have won the love of Claribel. I know that Claribel had the highest esteem for him, and had learnt to sympathise with him as one n.o.ble nature sympathises with another.

They grew to treat each other as brother and sister, but this was all.

The other lover was a totally different sort of man. Richard de Chevron was a scion of a n.o.ble house, had received the education of a gentleman, and could mix in the highest society; but he was debauched, profligate, a gamester, and a drunkard, of a mean and spiteful disposition, with nothing n.o.ble whatever in his character and not even good looking, but he had that persistency in wooing which John lacked, added to a very smooth tongue and plentiful flow of language. Neither was he quite without accomplishments; he could both play and sing well, and dance to perfection; qualities which might have won the heart of a less austere maiden than my friend Claribel. But Claribel retired, as she was, in disposition and a perfect dunce in that education which mixing in the world gives, had yet by nature, by way of compensation, such a marvellously acute perception of human character, that it bordered on the prophetic in many instances. In a word, she was a physiognomist.

On seeing Richard de Chevron for the first time, she had taken an instant aversion to him, without ever having heard anything against his character, and though De Chevron tried hard to dispel the sinister impression with which he could not fail to observe he had inspired her--and I must own that he did his best--yet that impression never left her, but, on the contrary, deepened after every visit.

Now, Richard de Chevron was nephew to Lord Edgedown, and heir-apparent to that earl's fortune and estates; at least, he often used to hint as much, but this was evidently more brag, as he was a younger son, and was known to be no particular favourite with his uncle on account of his dissipated habits. He had also the hopes of coming in for another fortune, so he said; that of Squire Broadacre, a relative on his mother's side, whose estate joined that of Lord Edgedown's; but whether all this were true or not, it made not the slightest difference to Claribel in her estimation of the man. She still saw in him a low, debauched, false, and perjured villain, seeking to hide under a mask of studied courtesy the evil promptings of his reptile heart.

Even had De Chevron succeeded in making Claribel marry him, such a match could have brought nothing but misery to her, even from a pecuniary point of view, for at the time we knew him he had not a penny of his own, and was, besides, head over ears in debt.

Men of the De Chevron cla.s.s do not often mean marriage when they go a-courting, unless it happens to be particularly to their interest. What they want is a fortune, and not a wife. If the former can be had without the latter, why so much the better; if not, they are content to put up with the latter inc.u.mbrance for the sake of being able to pay off their debts.

Now, poor Claribel was an orphan, without a penny in the world. What good could his attentions bode the poor child? Claribel, however, was not mercenary, and had she been capable of loving any man, she would have been contented to live on a crust, and to have worked hard for it; but she appeared not to be destined for earthly affection. The nearest approach she ever made towards that pa.s.sion commonly called love was the deep friendship she had entertained for the youthful gamekeeper.

Now, to meet with a rival in the person of his uncle's gamekeeper was gall and wormwood to Richard de Chevron. He knew that John Archer was a young man of trust who received a good salary, and was of a rank nearer to that of Claribel's than his own was, and his attentions would be more readily looked upon as earnest.

Besides, John was good looking and n.o.ble, and had it not been for his excessive modesty in coming forward, would have been the very man of all men most likely to ensure the love of such a girl as Claribel. The intentions of De Chevron were not honourable, whatever his protestations might have made them out. He could not afford to marry Claribel, nor did he ever for a moment meditate such a thing.

Had an intimate friend asked him in confidence if he really entertained thoughts of marriage towards the girl he so ardently professed to love, he would have burst out laughing in his face, and asked him if he took him for a fool. No; he simply desired to win the heart of Claribel, and succeeding in that, he looked upon his prey as certain. But as yet he had not succeeded; nay, more, he had a favoured rival--a young man of good natural advantages, and in every way qualified to make Claribel happy, even though he were only his uncle's gamekeeper and had not received a gentleman's education. He thought of the difference of Claribel's treatment of this young boor and that of himself--he, the scion of a n.o.ble house!

Then jealously began to gnaw his heart, and he found it to his interest that John Archer should be removed for ever from his path. Being perfectly unscrupulous and selfish, he cared not what means he employed to execute his design, as long as no suspicion should be attached to himself.

He could have waylaid and murdered his rival, if he chose; have introduced poison in his cup, or bribed an a.s.sa.s.sin to murder him, but none of these modes suited De Chevron. The law was vigilant, inquiries would be made, and the murder probably traced to his own door. His reputation would suffer, to say nothing of his own life being endangered. He would have no accomplices, as he knew that no man was to be depended upon; he would trust to no one but himself and his own resources.

Like a wily Jesuit, he would work in the dark, would be the cause of all the mischief that his own atrocious brain could dictate, but himself remain hid. Now, when Richard de Chevron first met John Archer at my father's house, he treated him with coldness, not to say haughtiness. He now completely changed his tactics. He saw that the least show of contempt or dislike towards the young gamekeeper, who was a general favourite--and especially with Claribel--would be construed into jealously on his part; and though this was really the case, it did not suit him that everyone should know it; therefore he entirely altered his conduct towards his rival, and nothing now could be more kind and courteous, more apparently generous than his treatment of his uncle's gamekeeper.

He apologised if by any former brusqueness of manner he had offended him, pleading that he had not had the opportunity hitherto of studying his estimable character, but that after long observation he had learnt to appreciate his n.o.ble qualities, and should henceforth entertain for him the highest esteem and friendship. He would pat him playfully on the shoulder, call him his friend, would make him every now and then some trifling present, and even put in a good word for him to my friend Claribel.

All this had the appearance of generosity, as De Chevron designed it should have, and thus avert suspicion from himself. We were all of us at home much surprised and pleased at this extraordinary change, especially as he had ceased for a time to persecute Claribel with his attentions.

Richard de Chevron appeared to be turning over a new leaf. When I say we were all deceived in De Chevron's behaviour, I must not omit to state that there was one exception, and that was Claribel herself, who from the first had behaved with a freezing coldness towards De Chevron, and, little as she knew of the world and its wickedness, had such an instinctive distrust of this man, that when he began to speak favourably to her of John Archer, she trembled violently, and looked into his face with such a searching glance that it seemed to peer into the inmost recesses of his soul.

De Chevron cowered beneath her gaze; he felt himself distrusted, and was probably little flattered at the opinion of himself he saw written in her eyes. Nevertheless, he would not have shown for the world that he was disconcerted; he was a practised dissembler, and instead of being abashed, grew more witty and talkative than ever, more and more friendly to his rival, only I noticed that he avoided the eyes of Claribel as much as possible.

The fact was, he feared her; he, the artful, experienced man of the world, crouched like an abject slave before a simple village maiden. His guilty soul could not brook the chaste glance of innocence. He knew himself to be a false degraded wretch, and quailed before her moral superiority.

However, Richard de Chevron had worked himself into favour with all of us; in fact, we grew delighted with him, still excepting Claribel, who seemed very unreasonably prejudiced against him, as we all thought. She would declare to me in private that from the very first the aspect of De Chevron had been repulsive to her; but of late, so far from having overcome her impression, he had grown perfectly intolerable in her eyes; nay, that she was seized with such horror and loathing when he was in the room as she could not find words to express.

She had a presentiment of evil, and it seemed to her, moreover, as if he were using some occult power over her that she, however, was determined to resist.

I tried to laugh her out of these fancies as being quite unfounded, and attributed them to her nerves being over-wrought from want of sufficient air and exercise; but all without avail; she remained as confirmed as ever in her prejudices. It is now some time since I made allusion to Claribel's spiritual visitant. She had long been undisturbed by its visits; indeed, ever since De Chevron and John had commenced calling at the house, and even before. It is uncertain whether either of them had ever heard of the phenomenon. I rather think not, as De Chevron, who mixed almost entirely in the upper circles, would not easily have come in the way of our village cackle, especially as he was often absent from the village for months at a time; and as for John, being constantly engaged on Lord Edgedown's estate, he knew comparatively little of the world without. But whether they did or not, it is certain that the subject was never broached during all that time.

We have mentioned before that Claribel's spiritual visitor was fitful and capricious in its visits. It might appear at any moment; but then we had been free from its company for so long, that we had dared to hope that it had forgotten all about us and would never return, until one morning new fears arose in my mind from a little circ.u.mstance which I shall now relate to you.

Observing that my young friend rose from her couch looking poorly, I inquired into the cause of her jaded looks.

"Oh, Molly," she replied, "I've had such a dreadful dream about poor John. I am sure that some danger threatens him."

"What danger do you imagine threatens him, Claribel?" said I. "Tell me your dream."

"I really do not know if I can," she replied; "it was so very confused.

I thought that John Archer stood in danger of his life at the hands of Richard de Chevron, and yet it was not Richard de Chevron, but another; then, again, it was. I remember something about a murdered man, and fearing it was John Archer, but on examining the corpse it was another.

Then I remember seeing John Archer handcuffed, and in great agony of mind, and I thought him guilty of the murder, and then he was not guilty. Then the dream began to change in such a manner as it would be impossible to relate it; but throughout I remember the fiendish face of Richard de Chevron. I was seized with an inexpressible horror, and could bear it no longer; then I awoke."

"My dear Claribel," said I, "pray do not disturb yourself for such a ridiculous dream. You ought to know that all dreams are mad, the offspring of impaired digestion or----"

But she impatiently cut me short by a wave of the hand, as if she were determined to believe in the warning character of her dream, despite all my sophistry.

However, I attempted a second time to account for the dream by the aversion she had taken to Richard de Chevron at first sight and her constantly brooding over her unfounded impressions. I tried argument, I tried ridicule; but finding her proof against either, I held my tongue and took up a piece of work.

Claribel had thrown herself into an arm-chair, and there sat listlessly, without occupying herself or hardly exchanging a word with me. Once, indeed, she gasped out to herself "Oh, that I could save him!" and then relapsed into her usual silence.

About five minutes after, chancing to look up, I observed that my friend appeared to be more languid than ever. She was dreadfully pale, her lips colourless and slightly parted, the eyes half-closed. I thought she was in a swoon, and now somewhat alarmed, I rose and advanced towards her.

"Claribel," I cried, "what ails you--are you unwell?"

She waved me away with her hand, so imagining it was nothing more than a little weakness, I withdrew myself and resumed my work. Soon afterwards she appeared to rally, and sat up in her chair. Her colour had returned somewhat, and her eye seemed brighter, but her voice was still weak as she muttered, "I have seen him. Oh! why did you disturb me?"

"Seen him!" I exclaimed. "Seen whom?"

"John Archer," she replied.

"Nonsense," said I; "you have been dreaming."

"I tell you, Molly," she replied, rather pettishly, "I have seen him, and would have warned him had you not disturbed me."

"Silly child," said I; "you have been dreaming; but you looked so very ill that I grew alarmed, for I thought you were in a swoon."