The Mother's Recompense Volume I Part 17

"Why? because on you more than on many others has the light of our blessed religion dawned," answered Herbert, calmly; "because you know what others think not of, that the law of our Master forbiddeth blood; that whosoever sheds it, on whatever plea, his shall be demanded in return; because you know, in seeking vengeance by blood, His law is disobeyed, and His vengeance you would call upon yourself. Percy, you will not, you dare not act as this overwhelming pa.s.sion dictates."

"Dare not," repeated the young man, light flas.h.i.+ng from his eye as if his spirit chafed at that word, even from his brother, "dare not; you mistake me, Herbert. I will not sit tamely down beneath an injury such as this. I will not see that villain triumph without one effort to prove to him that he is known, and make the whole world know him as he is."

"And would a hostile meeting accomplish this? Would that proclaim his villainy, of whatever nature it may be, to the world? Would they not rather side with him, their present minion, and even bring forward your unjustifiable conduct as a fresh proof in his favour? How would they give credit to the terms they may hear you apply to him, when even in your family you speak not of the true cause of this strange agitation and indignant anger."

Percy continued to pace the room for some minutes without answering.

"My honour has been insulted in the person of my sister," he muttered, at length, as if speaking more to himself than to his brother; "and am I to bear that calmly? Were the truth made known, would not the whole world look on me with scorn as a spiritless coward, to whom the law of honour was as nothing; who would see his sister suffering from the arts of a miscreant, without one effort to revenge her?"

"The law of honour," replied Herbert, bitterly; "it is the law of blood, of murder, of wilful, uncalled-for murder. Percy, my brother, banish these guilty thoughts. Do not be one of those misguided beings who, from that false deceiving plea, the law of honour, condemn whole families to misery, and themselves, without preparation, without prayer, nay, in the very act of disobeying a sacred commandment of their G.o.d, rush heedless into His presence, into awful eternity."

He paused, but not vainly had he spoken. Percy gazed on his brother's features with greater calmness, and more kindly, but still impetuously, said--

"Would you then have me stand calmly by and behold my sister a suffering victim to his arts, though actual sin, thank G.o.d, has been spared, and thus permit that villain Alphingham to continue his course triumphant?"

"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, and I will repay it," answered Herbert, instantly, twining his arm within that of his brother, and looking up in his face with that beseeching glance of affection which was so peculiar to his features. "Dear brother, rest on those words and be contented. It is not for us to think of vengeance or to seek for retribution; justice is, indeed, ours to claim, but in this case, there is no point on which we can demand it. Let Alphingham, even granting you know him as he is, pursue his course in peace. Did you endeavour to inflict chastis.e.m.e.nt, is it not doubting the wisdom and justice of the Almighty? And suppose you fell instead of your adversary, in the meeting you would seek--what, think you, would be the emotions of all those who so dearly love you, when they gazed on your bleeding corse, and remembered you had sought death in defiance of every principle they had so carefully instilled? Think of my mother's silent agony; has not Caroline's conduct occasioned sufficient pain, and would you increase it? you, whose most trifling action is dictated by love for her; you, in whom she has every reason to look for so much virtue, honour, and self-control; whom she so dearly, so devotedly loves? Remember what she would feel; and, if no other consideration have effect, surely that will bid you pause."

Percy still paced the room, but his head was averted from his brother as he spoke, and his step bespoke contending and painful emotions. He did not answer when Herbert ceased to speak, but his brother knew him well, and remained silent.

"You have conquered, Herbert," he exclaimed at length, firmly clasping his brother's hand in his and raising his head; anger still lingered on his cheek, but his eye was softer. "I could not bear my mother's wretchedness; I could not thus repay her love, her cherished care. I will not seek this base and heartless man. I tremble for my present resolution, if he chance to cross my path; but, for her sake, I will avoid him; for her sake, his villainy shall be still concealed."

"Endeavour to think of him more charitably, my dear Percy, or forget him entirely, which you will."

"Think of him charitably; him--a fas.h.i.+onable, fawning, seducing hypocrite!" burst from Percy, in a tone of renewed pa.s.sion. "No! the gall he has created within me cannot yet be turned to sweetness; forget him--that at least is impossible, when Caroline's coldness and reserve remind me disagreeably of him every day. It is plain she looks on me as the destroyer of her happiness; thinks, perhaps, had it not been for my letter my father would have given his consent, and she might have peacefully become the wife of Alphingham. It is hard to bear unkindness from one whom I have endeavoured to preserve from ruin."

"Nay, do not be unjust, Percy; are you not cool and reserved yourself?

How do we know why Caroline is somewhat more so than usual? Poor girl, we may find excuses for her, but I know no reason why you should treat her as you do."

"Her whole conduct demands it. How did she use that n.o.ble fellow St.

Eval; encourage him, so that their union was confidently a.s.serted, and then reject him for no cause whatever; or, if she had a cause, for love of a villain, who, it appears, in secret, possessed all the favour she pretended to lavish on St. Eval,--both false and deceiving."

"Percy, you are determined to be angry with everybody to-day. I flattered myself my influence had allayed your pa.s.sion, and behold, it is only withdrawn from one object to be hurled upon another. Can you not find some good cause now to turn it from Caroline on me? Is it nothing that I should dare face the tempest of your wrath, and tell my impetuous and headstrong brother exactly what I thought--nothing, that I should have ventured to say there was a thing on earth you dared not do?"

Percy turned sharply towards him, as if in that moment he could be angry even with him; but Herbert met his fierce glance with a smile so full of affectionate interest, that all Percy's displeasure and irritation seemed at once removed.

"Displeased with you!" exclaimed Percy, when involuntary admiration had taken the place of anger, and unconsciously the n.o.ble serenity of Herbert's temper appeared to soothe the more irritable nature of his own. "Ay, Herbert, when we two have exchanged characters, such may be, till then I am contented to love and reverence the virtue, the gentleness I cannot make my own."

"We are better thus, my brother," replied Herbert, feelingly; "were we the same, could I have been the happy being you have made me at college?

Much, very much happiness do I owe to your high spirit, Percy. Without your support, my life, spite of the charms of study, would have been a painful void at college; and though I feel, you know not perhaps how often and how bitterly, that in many things I cannot hope to be your companion, yet to think my affection may sometimes check the violence that would lead you wrong, oh, that is all I can hope for or desire."

"Have you not my love, my confidence, my fondest, warmest esteem?"

exclaimed Percy, impetuously, and twining his arm, as in fondness he often did, around his brother's neck. "Is there one among my gay companions I love as you, though I appear to seek their society more?"

Herbert was silent.

"You do not doubt me, Herbert?"

"Percy--no!" exclaimed the youth, with unwonted ardour. To speak more at that moment he could not, and ere words came at his command, the library door slowly opened, and Caroline languidly entered.

Herbert somewhat hurriedly left the room, to conceal the agitation the interview with Percy had occasioned him.

For some little time Caroline remained in the library, seeking, it appeared, a book, without a word pa.s.sing between her and Percy. Both evidently wished to speak, but neither liked to begin; at length Caroline approached him.

"Percy," she began, and her voice trembled sufficiently to prevent more.

Percy was softened.

"Well, dear Caroline, am I so very terrible you cannot speak to me? I have been angry and unjust, and you, perhaps, a little too reserved; so now let us forgive and forget, as we did when we were children, and be friends for the future."

He spoke with all his natural frankness, and extended his hand towards her. Caroline's spirits were so depressed, that the least word or token of kindness overcame her, and pressing her brother's hand in both hers, she turned away her head to conceal the quickly-starting tears, and Percy continued, trying to smile--

"Well, Caroline, will you not tell me what you were going to say? I cannot quite penetrate your thoughts."

Again Caroline hesitated, but then with an effort she said, fixing her heavy eyes on her brother's face--

"Percy, had you a real cause for writing to my father as you did some few weeks ago, or was it rumour alone which actuated your doing so? I implore you to answer me truly."

"I had all-sufficient cause," he answered, instantly. "It was from no rumour. Do you think that, without good reason, I would have endeavoured to traduce the character of any man?"

"And what was that cause? Why did you implore my father, as he valued my future peace, not to expose me to his fascinations?"

Caroline spoke slowly and deliberately, as if every word were weighed ere it was uttered, but with an expression on her features, as if life and peace depended on his answer.

Percy looked earnestly at her.

"Why should you ask this question, my dear sister?" he said. "If I answer it, what good will it do? Why should I solve a mystery, that, if you love this Alphingham, as this extreme depression bids me believe, must bring but increase of pain?"

"Percy," replied Caroline, raising her head, and standing with returning dignity before him, "Percy, do not let the idea of my love bid you hesitate. Increase of pain I do not think is possible; but yet, do not mistake me, that pain does not spring from disappointed affection.

Percy, I do not love Lord Alphingham; I have been fascinated, and the remembrance of the past still clings to me with remorse and suffering; but I never loved him as, had I not been infatuated and blind, had I not rejected the counsels and confidence of my mother, I might have loved another. You know not how I have been led on, how I have permitted myself to be but a tool in the hands of those whose independence I admired, and aided them by my own reckless folly--the wish to prove, however differently I was educated, still I could act with equal spirit.

Had it not been for that self-will, that perverse spirit, I might now have been a happy and a virtuous wife, loving and esteeming that superior being, whose affections I wilfully cast away; but that matters not now," she added, hurriedly. "My mother was right, I was unworthy to share his lot; but of this rest a.s.sured, I do not love, I never have loved, for I cannot esteem Lord Alphingham."

"But why then wish to know more concerning him?" Percy said, much relieved by his sister's words, and more pleased than he chose to appear by her allusion to St. Eval. "Is it not enough your connection with him is entirely broken off?"

"No, Percy; I have rejected him, dissolved our engagement, I scarcely know wherefore, except that I felt I could not be his without my father's consent; but there are times I feel as if I had treated him unjustly, that I have had no cause to think ill of him; my conduct had encouraged him. To me he has been devoted and respectful, and though I could not, would not be his wife, yet these thoughts linger on my mind, and add most painfully to the chaos already there."

Twice Percy slowly traversed the room, with a countenance on which anxious thought was deeply imprinted. He paused opposite to Caroline, took both her hands in his, and spoke in a voice which, though low, was so solemn that it thrilled to her inmost soul.

"Caroline, I had hoped the fatal secret made known to me would never have pa.s.sed my lips, but for the restoration of your peace it shall be divulged, nor will the injured one who first intrusted it to me, to preserve you from ruin, believe I have betrayed her trust. You have not suspected the whole extent of evil that would have been yours, had you indeed fled with that hypocritical villain. Caroline, Lord Alphingham is a married man--his wife still lives!"

Had a thunderbolt fallen at her feet, or the earth yawned beneath her, not more pale or transfixed would Caroline have stood than she did as those unexpected words fell clear and shrill as a trumpet-blast upon her tortured ear. Amid all her conjectures as to the meaning of Percy's words, this idea had never crossed her mind; that Alphingham could thus have deliberately been seeking her ruin, under the guise of love and honour, was a stretch of villainy that entered not into her conception.

Now that the truth was known, she stood as if suddenly turned to marble, her cheek, her very lips bearing the colour of death. Then came the thoughts of the past; had it not been for those recollections of her childhood, her mother's love, devotion, what would she now have been? In vain she struggled to bear up against that rus.h.i.+ng torrent of thought; every limb was seized with violent trembling, her brain reeled, and she would have sunk to the ground, had not Percy, alarmed at the effect of his words, led her tenderly to a seat, and kneeling by her side, threw his arms around her. Her head sunk on his shoulder, and she clung to him as if evil and guilt and wretchedness still hovered like fiends around her, and he would protect her from them all. Fire again flashed from the eyes of the young man as he thought on Alphingham, but for her sake he restrained himself, and endeavoured by a few soothing words to calm her.

"Tell me all--all you know, I can bear it," she said at length, almost inaudibly, and looking up with features as deathlike as before. Percy complied with her request, and briefly related as follows:

He had become acquainted during his college life, he told her, with a widow and her daughter, who lived about four or five miles from Oxford.

Some service he had rendered them, of sufficient importance as to make him an ever welcome and acceptable guest within the precincts of that cottage, which proclaimed a refined and elevated taste, although its inmates were not of the highest cla.s.s. Both Percy fancied were widows, although he scarcely knew the foundation of that fancy, except the circ.u.mstance of their living together, and the husband of the younger lady never appearing; nor was his name ever mentioned in the confidential conversations he sometimes had with them, which the service he had had in his power to do demanded. Mrs. Amesfort, the daughter, still possessed great beauty, which a shade of pensive thought, sometimes amounting to deep melancholy, rendered even more lovely. Her age might have been six or seven and twenty, she could not have been more. At an earlier age, there was still evidence that she had been a sparkling, lively girl, and her mother would frequently relate to the young man the change that sorrow--and sorrow, she hinted, of a peculiarly painful nature--had made in one who, ten years previous, had been so full of life and glee. Decline, slow but sure, it seemed even to Percy's inexperienced eye, was marked on her pale features; and at those times when bodily suffering was greatest, her spirit would resume a portion of its former lightness, as if it rejoiced in the antic.i.p.ated release. There was a deep thrilling melody in her voice, whether in speaking or, when strength allowed, in warbling forth the pathetic airs of her native land; for Agnes Amesfort was a child of Erin, once enthusiastic, warm, devoted, as were her countrywomen--possessing feelings that even beneath that pale, calm exterior would sometimes burst forth and tinge her cheek, and light up her soul-speaking eye with momentary but brilliant radiance, and whispered too clearly what she had once been, and what was now the wreck.

The gaiety, the frankness, and una.s.suming manner of Percy rendered him a most acceptable visitant at Isis Lodge, so the cottage was called; he was ever ready with some joyous tale, either of Oxford or of the metropolis, to bring a smile even to the lips of Mrs. Amesfort. It was not likely that he should so frequently visit the cottage without exciting the curiosity and risibility of his college companions; but he was enabled cheerfully and with temper to withstand it all, feeling secure in his own integrity, and confident that the situation in which he stood relative to the inmates of that cottage was mutually understood. Several inquiries Percy made concerning these interesting females; but no intelligence of their former lives could he obtain; they had only settled in the cottage a few months previous to the period of his first acquaintance with them; and whence they came, and who they were, no one knew nor cared to know. It was enough for the poor for many miles round, that the a.s.sistance of the strangers was extended towards them, with kind words and consolation in their troubles; and for the Oxonians, that though they received with extreme and even grateful politeness the visits made them, they were never returned.