CHAPTER VI.

A CRUSHED HEART.

In detailing plot and counterplot, cunning and selfishness, doubt, despair, and no small agony of spirit, we have much to compress in the latter pages of this our history.

As the squire of Finglecombe, Rookleigh was, in every way, a more eligible _parti_ than his sailor brother; thus, confident in having eventually the countenance of Lord Oakhampton, the former cared very little about the opposition of Clara, his whole anxiety being to play his cards well, and have her completely in his power, ere the return of Derval upset his plans, and this unexpected voyage to Batavia gave him far more time to do so than he could at first have hoped for.

Into his nefarious schemes his mother entered _con amore_. Derval removed or circumvented in any way, _her_ son would marry the heiress of Lord Oakhampton, and eventually might succeed to the title. Every scruple died in her heart!

"Do you make any progress with her, Rookleigh?" that amiable lady asked one day.

"None--as yet," he answered sulkily.

"Why, dear?"

"She is always brooding over Derval."

"Though all letters have been intercepted?"

"Yes; but I have plenty of time, however, before he returns--if he returns at all."

"At all! Why not get up a rumour that he is drowned--or married?"

"Not a bad idea, Mother; anyway I shall be sure to succeed," replied Rookleigh, laughing, with something of the contemptuous confidence of youth, and ignorance of the world.

Unaware of the secret impulses that were working, Clara disliked the apparent intimacy between her father and young Rookleigh Hampton. She disliked his constant visits and something in the bearing he was assuming towards herself. The little toleration she had for him at first, as Derval's brother, passed away with the hope of ever hearing of Derval more, and she had--she knew not why--a secret antipathy to Rookleigh.

The latter felt this, and all his attempts to gain her confidence, even to engage her in a pleasant conversation came to nothing.

Coming upon her one day as she sat on the beach, she seemed so unconscious of his approach, that he came close to her side quite unnoticed.

Then she looked up at him and bowed, but her face scarcely wore the semblance of a smile as she did so.

"Of what were you thinking?" he asked, as he lay down on the pebbles by her feet.

"Nothing," she replied curtly.

"How smooth and pleasant the water looks--will you let me row you out a little way?"

"No, thanks," she replied almost with asperity.

"You always seem to--to doubt me, Miss Hampton."

"You think so?" said she, with her lip curling slightly.

"I am sorry to say that I feel it instinctively."

"I do not doubt your honour, at all events."

"My truth, then?" said he, colouring.

"Are they not the same thing?"

"Not always--unless I deceive myself.

"You may--but not me," replied the girl, almost sharply, for his manner worried her, and she rose up.

He grew pale with anger, love, and even hate, curiously mingled, and thought, as he started to his feet, and walked on by her side, "I'll crush you yet, my proud damsel!"

After a little pause, he said:

"Whatever you think of me, Miss Hampton, I trust you do not deem me a worshipper of Mammon?"

Now, as this was precisely what she did think of him, young though he was, she laughed and replied:

"The conversation is becoming, to say the least of it, peculiar and personal. What can it possibly matter to you, how or what I think of you?"

Dissembling his rage at this contemptuous question, he said:

"It matters much, indeed; all would wish to stand well in your estimation--and I more than all, Miss Hampton."

"Well--are not most people worshippers of Mammon?"

"More, I hope, worshippers of beauty."

His smile became a leer, and while irritation gathered in her heart, she said:

"I know nothing of either--I have lived only some eighteen years in the world, Mr. Hampton. But why do you cross-question me?" she added impetuously.

"Pardon me; because to me all your thoughts are of the deepest interest, and I----"

"I do not understand all this," interrupted Clara, with increasing annoyance; "but here is our gate, and I must wish you good morning, Mr. Hampton."

"Good morning." He lifted his hat and turned away, with a baffled and angry emotion in his mind, and an expression in his eyes, that, had Clara seen it, would certainly have startled her; but so far as she was concerned, sorrow, annoyance, and evil were fated to come thick and fast now.

Rookleigh's law agents were meanwhile perfecting the evidences of his own and his brother's claims successively to the title held then by Lord Oakhampton. We have already detailed the angry interview between his lordship and Mr. De Murrer, and the alarm with which it inspired him; and this emotion was renewed when, from that gentleman, acting ostensibly in the interest of the absent Derval, but in reality under the secret pressure of Rookleigh, came a terrifying legal missive, to the effect that the whole chain of evidence was now complete and would shortly be laid before the world!

"There is but one way of compromising with the absent heir," wrote Mr. De Murrer, good-naturedly: "your lordship has no direct heir; Mr. Derval Hampton, and then his brother, are the next in succession; thus, if you do not marry again, the claim may take its course after your demise, if the heirs assent thereto."

"Marry again--and at my years!" thought Lord Oakhampton, bitterly; "of that there is no danger"; but as he thought of his daughter, the beads of perspiration started on his brow. He thought of the mutual regard his daughter and Derval had for each other; he saw a means of compromise the lawyer did not think of, and wrote him to that effect, begging him not to move in the matter until the return of Derval; but kept his own counsel, and said nothing to Clara on what he deemed their impending ruin; and his natural _hauteur_ made him shrink from speaking on the matter, as yet, to Rookleigh Hampton.

The latter continued his visits as usual--the whole impending suit being supposed to be Derval's; but Clara kept so sedulously out of his way, that he could not use the opportunities he had, of urging his regard for her; thus, he left no means untried to win over Lord Oakhampton to his side.

Old, far beyond his years, in calculating villany, Rookleigh knew well, that though he might persuade Clara, by a false newspaper notice, that Derval was dead, the truth or falsity thereof would soon be proved; he thought it would be better to assure her in some manner of his supposed perfidy, and hence make her more open to the proposals of a new suitor, and the dedication of that time to revenge, which otherwise might be naturally dedicated to grief; and at Bideford he was not long in discovering one to be his accomplice in this deceit--a broken-down actress, or rather a dancing-girl belonging to a travelling troupe, whose acquaintance he had made with considerable facility about this time.

The girl was pretty, clever, and attractive in appearance, while destitute of nearly every scruple--so far as conscience was concerned.

"You will do this for me, my dear Sally?" said Rookleigh, as he sat toying with her over some wine, in one of the inn windows that overlooked the river and beautiful valley at Bideford.

"Of course I will--like a bird, old fellow, if you pay me," was the confident reply.

"Pay you--that I will, my pet--and well, too! You will have to act the dear, dear little devoted but deserted wife."

"To the life, Rook--to the life."

"Then a hundred pounds shall be yours," said Rookleigh, with something like a groan, as he deeply loved his money, and the girl had flatly refused to be his accomplice for less, and received half the sum in the first instance.

"Then give me a kiss, you dear old fellow, and I will soon earn the other instalment," said the young lady airily, as she got a vehicle and drove off at once to Finglecombe, kissing her hand to Rookleigh as long as he was in view.

We shall soon see the result of their compact.

It was autumn now, the fields were no longer yellow with billows of golden grain, as the breeze swept over the uplands; the white cups of the water-lilies had disappeared from pool and pond; the beeches changed their hue from green to russet, and the oak leaves were turning red; the evening sun had sunk beyond the waters of the bay, and Clara, seated alone, in the recess of a window, with an unread book in her lap, and her eyes fixed dreamily on the deepening shadows of the land and sea, felt more than usually depressed, when she was startled by a servant announcing "Mrs. Hampton," and a girl of somewhat attractive appearance, though rather flippant and nervous in manner, and somewhat shabbily clad, was ushered in.

Clara's first thought was of Rookleigh's mother, but the years of the visitor showed she was mistaken.

"You gave the name of Hampton?" said Clara, inquiringly, as her visitor remained silent.

"Yes, Ma'am--yes, Miss--Mrs. Derval Hampton, I am."

"You--you?" exclaimed Clara, startled and bewildered; "I do not understand."

"But you soon will," replied the girl, affecting to sob; "if I might take a seat, Miss--I am weary and faint and ill, and very sick at heart, too."

Clara trembled very much, though unaware of what all this was to lead to, but pointed to a chair, on the extreme edge of which the visitor seated herself, and seemed very far from being at ease. She was a little awed by her surroundings; then came an emotion of envy and anger at Clara for her perfect costume and beauty, her superior position and supreme purity of aspect, manner, and character; but no emotion of compunction for the pain she was about to inflict, or of shame for the deliberate falsehood she was about to tell, came to the soul of Miss Sally Trix.

"And what may your business be with me?" asked Clara.

"Only to know, Miss, if you have heard of late from my husband, as he has ceased to write to me?"

Clara felt herself grow sick and pale at this degrading question; but she asked with much apparent calmness:

"And, pray, who may your husband be, girl, that I should know aught of him?"

"Mr. Derval Hampton of the ship _Amethyst_, who, I understand, engaged himself to you, while knowing well that I--his lawful wife, whom he left to starve--was living! I don't blame you, Miss," she continued, weeping to all appearance, for she could act her part well and professionally, "for you knew no better; but, thank heaven, I come in time to save you and unmask him!"

There ensued a pause now--but a pause in which Clara could hear the beating of her heart, and then she asked:

"When, and where, were you married?"

"In London, Miss, and just after his last voyage; Captain Talbot knows me well, and so does his brother Mr. Rookleigh."

"And why did he leave you?" asked Clara, with a strange and husky voice.

"Because I am poor; he despised me as soon as he knew you, and used to go off with you in a boat on the bay, and leave me to break my heart weeping on the shore; for many a time I saw you both. For what was I but a toy to be played with, and cast aside when he was tired of me; but I am his wedded wife, as this ring and the register can testify!"

The stroller played her part to perfection, with every word planting a knife in the heart of the shrinking listener; and deeming that now she had said and done enough by the few details she threw in to convince the latter that she had been cruelly deceived, Miss Trix sobbed heavily, bowed herself out, and quitted Bayview Villa with all speed, considering that the character she had taken in this "cast" was--in a monetary sense--the best engagement she had ever made.

Clara sat long in the dusk as if turned to stone, but not a tear escaped her. This sudden revelation of Derval's supposed perfidy could not give her now the pain it might have done in time past; his conduct had partly prepared her for some such catastrophe as this; and yet how antagonistic--how unlike his open, gentle, candid, and earnest outward character, did this accumulation of secret perfidy seem!

And that tawdrily dressed damsel had declared herself his wife! _His wife!_

She recalled the time when that word, as a term of endearment to herself, had fallen so sweetly on her startled ear; then a bitter, bitter sense of having been insulted and degraded, was added to her still more keen sense of utter disappointment in Derval; and to her guileless and innocent mind, no doubt, no thought of suspicion that she might be deluded, ever occurred.

"You have had an unexpected visitor, Miss Hampton?" said Rookleigh, eyeing her pale face keenly next day.

"Yes."

"Ah--so have I, one who has explained all."

"All?"

"My brother's peculiar perfidy, I mean."

"Yes."

"A perfidy for which I blush! You see that it has been as I suggested, sailors have entanglements everywhere; but this is rather more than that--a legal marriage."

"Oh, how dared he--how dared he!" she exclaimed, as she clenched her little white hands, and the look of firm resolve she would assume at times stole swiftly into her sweet face.

Some weeks passed on; Rookleigh became impatient for action, and during these weeks a thoughtful and shadowy expression deepened in the once bright face of Clara, till it became one of such woeful fear, that the heart of the father alternately bled with sorrow for her, and swelled with indignation against Derval.

Every way Clara was a desirable wife, one of whose beauty, at least, any man might well be proud. She had inflamed the senses and fired the vanity of Rookleigh Hampton--not touched his heart, for he had none, in the way of a lover, to touch; thus, in the pursuit of his scheme he could think, speak, and act, with consummate coolness of head and demeanour.

He was well-pleased to find that--thanks to the hints of his mother--the gossips of Finglecombe, to whom all his actions and motives were objects of interest, already coupled his name seriously with that of Clara Hampton.

"Self-contained and well-balanced as she deems herself, this appearance of Derval's wife _has_ knocked her off her perch!" thought Rookleigh, with a chuckle, when one day his eye fell on her white hand, as it rested on the arm of a sofa, and he remarked that the ring, which he knew Derval had given to her, was no longer on her engaged finger. She had removed it--relinquished it--and Rookleigh took this as an infallible sign that she now concluded all was over between the absent one and herself.

"Good!" thought he, "good; I'll make my innings now!"

And with a coolness and confidence far beyond his years, he, with the greatest deliberation, took the earliest opportunity of obtaining Lord Oakhampton's permission to address his daughter.

"I should like to repair, if I possibly can do so, the evil my brother has done her, my lord. I do not understand how it is," said he, "that I have gone on so far with her without the least encouragement; but a love for her has grown rapidly upon me, and this love has become a part of my life--my very existence."

"You are very young to talk in this fashion," said Lord Oakhampton, uneasily.

"If she would but care for me!" sighed Rookleigh, assuming humility and timidity.

"It is not my Clara's way to care for any man as he may probably care for her."

"Have I, then, your lordship's permission to propose?"

"Yes," said Lord Oakhampton, huskily, as he thought of his last communication from Mr. De Murrer of Gray's Inn, and felt himself, for the first time, the slave of circumstances, and between the horns of a dilemma. Indeed, life--save for the few monetary troubles that sent him to Bermuda--had gone so smoothly with his lordship that, until now, when the claim to his coronet began to take a tangible and legal form, he had no reason to suspect Fate of having the least intention of treating him scurvily.

And with that invincible effrontery and coolness which were a part of his nature, Rookleigh, feeling that to a certain extent both father and daughter were in his power, went at once to the latter, whom he found in the drawing-room alone; and, no longer abashed as he had been at first by her rare beauty and stately presence--for stately and patrician was the presence of Clara, even in her girlhood--he seated himself by her side, and endeavouring to take and retain her hand, said, with a nervousness which we thoroughly believe was assumed:

"Miss Hampton, I have your father's permission to drop the mask I have worn so long.

"What do you mean?" she asked, with unfeigned surprise.

"To learn, if I can, from your own lips, my fate."

"Your fate, Sir!"

"The fate of the love I bear you. Miss Hampton--Clara, I love you, as you must have known ere now--I love you; and in return for mine will you give me back truth for truth, love for love, trust for trust, your heart, your life, as fully and freely as I give you mine?"

How glibly he rattled it all out! He had, probably, learned it out of some novel, for one might have thought he was in the habit of proposing every day.

Clara was, at first, astonished and startled, and a thousand things that she had taken no heed of, or entirely misunderstood, rushed clearly on her memory now. Already insulted, mocked, and deluded by one brother, was she to endure the deliberate and insolent lovemaking of another?

She rose and looked at him in silence, and with an expression of eye not favourable to his suit, at all events; but Rookleigh was by no means abashed, for he was one of those men to whom the apparently unattainable has a peculiar fascination. Clara, with difficulty, restrained her tears.

"Will you pardon me, if I have been presumptuous?" said he.

"On one condition."

"Oh, name it!"

"That you never dare address me in this manner again, and never intrude upon me more!"

She was sweeping away with a queenly grace, when his voice arrested her:

"Miss Hampton, you had better think twice over this," said he, coarsely; "you may not disdain the hand of a man of wealth and position some day."

Her only reply was to ring the bell,

"Show this gentleman out," said she to the servant who appeared; and Rookleigh, baffled for the time, retired, with his heart swollen by passion and resentment.

When next he appeared before Clara, his manner was changed, and her appearance too.

Her father had set before the astounded girl the claim these brothers, Derval and Rookleigh Hampton, could advance to his title, his estates, and all that he possessed. That with them lay the power, or alternative, of waiting till his death gave them the means of quiet accession, or now declaring open war, and sweeping away wealth, position, rank, influence in Church, in State, and in society, by degrading him in his old age to the state of the merest commoner, and having him laughed at as a sham and interloper; and the gentle heart of Clara died within her, as she beheld her father's agony, and read some of the communications that had lately come from Gray's Inn.

"To save me, darling--oh, my darling, you will consent to marry the young fellow," urged Lord Oakhampton, piteously.

"Yes, Papa," she replied in a whisper, as he withdrew, saying, "God bless you, darling!" and Rookleigh took his place.

"Your father has placed all this matter plainly before you," said he, and triumph and passion glittered together in his eyes, as he surveyed the beauty of the crushed girl, who stood before him now with downcast face; "there is but one way to escape the evils that may--nay, must--come upon you and him, and that is a refuge under the shelter of my name."

"I do not quite understand you, Sir," she replied, with a dazed look in her eyes.

"As my wife, Clara?"

The words fell distinctly enough upon her ear--distinctly and deliberately were they uttered. She did not stir, moan, or weep, but every drop of blood left her face and lips--even the delicate hands he grasped so daringly in his; and a strange hunted and desperate yet defiant expression stole into her beautiful face and remained there.

"Speak, Clara; is your answer that which I venture now to hope and have a right to expect?"

Endearment was unnatural to him, and his tone and manner were more those of authority.

Still more deathly pale she grew; but her voiceless lips moved, and she sunk on the sofa insensible; but from that moment the arrangements for the wedding were carried forward without delay.

Still more did Fate seem to be playing into the hands of Rookleigh, when in the shipping intelligence appeared a notice to the effect that the _Amethyst_ had perished in a storm in the Indian Ocean, and that a vessel answering her description, with the flag of the Royal Naval Reserve flying at her gaff-peak, upside down in token of distress, had been seen to founder; and Rookleigh knew that in the fulness of time _he_ would be Lord Oakhampton, if he had the grace to be patient and wait. Of this catastrophe Rookleigh made no mention to Clara, whose spirit seemed so low now that nothing could depress it further.

"Child, child," her father would often say, while caressing her fondly and with great commiseration, "by your marriage with one or other of these men I may die in possession of my title undegraded--undegraded, and at my death, it will go to one or the other."

"Oh that Derval had been worthy of me!" wailed the girl in her heart.

Old Patty Fripp was gone now to God's Acre, and with her ended another of "the innumerable simple and honest lives of pain and love, that are swept away like the dead leaves by the winds of autumn," and there was no one in Finglecombe now, save Mr. Asperges Laud, to lament for Derval Hampton, and, aware of Rookleigh's hatred of the latter, he bewailed his sorrowful destiny in strong language.

"Destiny brings stranger things to pass than ever you dream of," said Rookleigh, with a grimace of triumph.

"This bearing of yours is shameful!" exclaimed the old curate; "yea, it is indecent! What says the gospel of St. John?"

"Nothing that affects me."

"Listen, ingrate! 'He that loveth not, abideth in death. Whoso hateth his brother is a murderer. And you know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in himself.'"

But Rookleigh only laughed, and shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, at St. John and his gospel too.