Chapter 11

Would that the dewy turf were spread O'er this frail form and aching head; That this torn heart and tortured brain Would never wake to grief again.--S.M.

When Anthony entered the study next morning, he found his cousin traversing the floor in great agitation.

"Anthony, you are just the person I wanted to see. My father is, I fear, a ruined man."

Anthony recoiled some steps.

"It is but too true. I have been talking to Johnstone, the steward. The account that he gives of our affairs is most discouraging. My father, it seems, has been living beyond his income for some years. The estates have all been heavily mortgaged to supply the wants of the passing hour, while no provision has been made for the future by their improvident possessor. Creditors are clamorous for their money, and there is no money to answer their demands. Mr. Haydin, the principal mortgagee, threatens to foreclose with my father, if the interest, which has been due upon the mortgage for some years, is not instantly forthcoming. In this desperate exigency I can only think of two expedients, both of which depend entirely upon you."

Anthony had never questioned the state of his uncle's affairs. He had deemed him rich, and this distressing intelligence fell upon him with stunning violence. He begged Godfrey to explain in what manner he could render his uncle the least assistance.

"It is not merely of my father I speak; the service is to us both, but it needs some prefacing."

Then stepping up to the astonished Anthony, he said in a quick abrupt manner--

"Do you love Miss Whitmore?"

"You have taken me by surprise, Godfrey. It is a question which, at this moment, I can scarcely answer."

"If your feelings towards her are of such an indefinite character, it will require no great mental effort to resign her. To me she is an object of passionate regard. A marriage with Miss Whitmore would render me the happiest of men, and retrieve the fallen fortunes of my house. Nor do I think, if you were absent, that she would long remain indifferent to my suit. But if you continue to persevere in trying to win her affections you will drive me mad."

Godfrey spoke with vehemence. Anthony remained silent, lost in profound thought. Godfrey went up to him and grasped him firmly by the hand. "Prove your love and gratitude to my father, Anthony, by an act of friendship to his son."

"God knows that I am painfully alive to the many obligations I owe to him, Godfrey; but you require of me a sacrifice I am unable to grant."

"Have you made an offer to Miss Whitmore? and has she accepted you?"

"Neither the one nor the other. Have you?"

"I spoke to her on the subject yesterday."

"Well," said Anthony, turning very pale. "Did she reject your suit?"

"She did not. She talked of her youth, and made some excuse to go to her father. But she showed no indications of displeasure. From her manner, I had all to hope, and little to fear. Few women, especially a young girl of seventeen, can be won without a little wooing. I have no doubt of ultimately winning her regard."

"Can you really be in earnest?"

"Do you doubt my word? Do you think the _miser's heir_ more likely to win the affections of the romantic child of genius than the last scion of a ruined man?"

"How have I suffered myself to be cheated and betrayed by my own vanity!" said Anthony, thoughtfully. "Alas, for poor human nature, if this statement be true!"

"You still question my words, Anthony! Upon my honor, what I have said is strictly true; nor would it be honorable in you, after what I have advanced, to press your suit upon the lady."

"If you asked me to resign the wealth you prize so highly, Godfrey, I could do it. Nay, even my life itself would be a far less sacrifice than the idea of giving up the only woman I ever loved. Ask anything of me but that, for I cannot do it!"

"Then you will compel me to do this," said Godfrey, taking from his breast a loaded pistol, and aiming it at his own head.

"Madman!" cried Anthony, striking the weapon from his hand; "what would you do?"

"Prove your gratitude to me and mine," said Godfrey with a bitter laugh. "Your father is rich, mine is poor, and has been made so by his generosity to others!"

That horrid taunt! ah, how it stung his proud sensitive cousin to the heart! Startled and alarmed at Godfrey's demeanor, he was yet very doubtful of the truth of his statements, feared that he was but acting a part, until he saw the bright cheek of his companion turn pale, and the tears tremble in his eyes. Then, all the kindness he had received from his uncle, all the love he had cherished for him from his earliest years, all the affection which he had lavished upon his hot-headed cousin, united to subdue the flame of passion which for a few moments had burnt so fiercely in his breast. He recalled the solemn promise he had made to Algernon never to forsake his son, and, dreadful as the sacrifice was, which Godfrey now called upon him to make, the struggle was over, the victory over self already won.

"You shall never say, cousin Godfrey, that Anthony Hurdlestone knowingly destroyed your peace. I love Juliet Whitmore. I believe that she loves me. But, for my uncle's sake, I renounce my claim."

Joy brightened up the handsome face of Godfrey. He was not wholly insensible to his cousin's generous self-denial. He embraced him with warmth, and the idea that he had rendered Godfrey happy partly reconciled the martyr of gratitude to the sacrifice he had made.

"You spoke of two expedients which might avert the ruin which threatened my uncle. Your marriage with Juliet Whitmore rests upon no broader basis than a mere possibility. Name the second."

"In case of the worst, to apply to your father for the loan of two thousand pounds."

Anthony shook his head, and, without thinking a reply to such a wild proposition necessary, took up his hat, and tried to still the agitation of his mind by a stroll in the park.

Anthony tried to reason himself into the belief that, in giving up the object of his affections, he had achieved a very great and good action; but there was a painful void in his heart, which all his boasted philosophy failed to fill.

Unconsciously he took the path that led to the humble dwelling of Mary Mathews. As he drew near the hawthorn hedge that separated the little garden from the road, his attention was arrested by some one weeping passionately behind its almost impervious screen. He instantly recognised Mary in the mourner; and from a conversation that followed, he found that she was not alone.

"I could bear your reproaches," she said to her companion, "if he loved me--but he has ceased to think of me--to care for me--I never loved but him--I gave him all that I had in my power to bestow--and he has left me thus."

"Did he ever promise you marriage?" asked the deep voice of William Mathews.

"Oh yes! a thousand and a thousand times."

"Then," and he uttered a dreadful oath, "he shall keep his word, or my name is not William Mathews."

"Ah! if he did but love me as he once loved me, I would not care. The shame would be joy, the disgrace happiness. The world is nothing to me--it may say what it likes--I would rather be his mistress than another man's wife. But to be forsaken and trampled upon; to know that another with half my beauty, and with none of my love, is preferred before me; is more than my heart can bear."

"Does my father know your situation?"

"No, no, I would not have him know it for worlds. I dare not tell him; and you have promised me, William, not to reveal my secret. Though father constantly transgresses himself, men are so unjust about women that he would never forgive me. I would rather fling myself into that pond," and she laughed hysterically, "than that he should know anything about it. Sometimes I think, brother, that it would be the best place for me to hide my shame."

"Live, girl--live for revenge. Leave your gay paramour to me. I have been the ruin of many a better man."

"I would rather die," returned the girl, "than suffer any injury to befall him. He is my husband in the sight of Heaven, and I will cling to him to the last!"

"You are a fool, Mary! Till this moment I always thought you a clever girl, above such paltry weakness. When your name is coupled with infamy, and you find yourself an object of contempt to the villain who has betrayed you, I tell you that you will alter your opinion."

"Alas! he despises me already," sighed the unhappy girl, "and it is that which makes me feel so bad. When I think of it there comes over me just such a scorching heat as used to sear up my brain in the bad fever. The people said I was crazed, but I was not half so mad then as I am now."

"Keep up your spirits, girl! I will compel him to make you his wife."

"What good would that do? You could not make him love me. We should only be more miserable than we are at present. I wish--oh! how I wish I were dead!"

Here the conversation between the brother and sister was abruptly terminated by Godfrey's spaniel, which had followed Anthony through the park, springing over the stile into the garden, and leaping into Mary's lap. The poor girl was sitting on the bank beneath the shade of a large elm tree. She bent her head down, and returned with interest the affectionate caresses of the dog.

"It is Mr. Hurdlestone's dog, William. Poor Fido, you love me still."

"His master cannot be far off," growled Mathews, jumping over the stile, and confronting Anthony.

The cousins were only partially known to him, and their great personal likeness made him mistake the one for the other.

A little ashamed of being caught in the act of listening to a conversation never meant for his ear, Anthony would have left the spot; but the menacing audacious air of the smuggler aroused his pride, and he turned upon him with a haughty and enquiring glance.

"I would speak a few words with you, mister!"

"As many as you please. But let me first inform you that I am not the person whom you seek."

"Humph!" said the ruffian, with a sarcastic sneer, "that dodge won't do. You might as well attempt to cheat the devil as deceive Bill Mathews. I know you too well. You and I have a heavy account to settle, and you shall know me better before we part. Take that--and that--and that--as an earnest of our further acquaintance."

And he struck Anthony several heavy blows with an oak cudgel he held in his hand.

Forced to retaliate in self-defence, Anthony closed with his gigantic opponent, and several blows had been given and received on either side, when the combatants were separated by a third person--this was no other than Captain Whitmore who, with his daughter, accidentally rode up to the spot.

"Mr. Anthony Hurdlestone engaged in such a disgraceful fray! Can I believe the evidence of my senses?"

"Not if you would judge truly, Captain Whitmore," said Anthony, striving to keep a calm exterior, but still trembling with passion, while the most bitter and humiliating feelings agitated his breast.

"I was striving to revenge the wrongs done to an injured sister by a villain!" cried the enraged Mathews. "I appeal to you sir, as a man, a father, a brave British officer, if you would suffer a sister or a daughter to be trampled upon and betrayed without resenting the injury?"

"I am incapable of the crime laid to my charge by this man," said Anthony, indignantly, when he saw the father and daughter exchange glances of astonishment and contempt. "Miss Whitmore, I entreat you not to give the least credit to this ruffian's accusation. He has uttered a base falsehood!"

The only answer the tortured lover received was an indignant flash from the hitherto dove-like eyes of Juliet Whitmore. She reined back her horse, and turned her face proudly away from the imploring gaze of the distracted Anthony.

"I must--I will be heard!" he cried, seizing the reins of her horse, and forcibly detaining her. "I see, Miss Whitmore, that this foul calumny is believed by you and your father. I demand an explanation before you leave this spot. William Mathews has accused me of being a villain--the seducer of his sister: and I here tell him to his face that his accusation is a hideous slander! Call hither your sister, Mr. Mathews--let her determine the question: she knows that I am innocent. I shrink not from the most rigid investigation of my conduct."

"Do as he bids you, Mr. Mathews," said the Captain. "Call here your sister. I consider myself bound in justice to listen to Mr. Anthony Hurdlestone's proposal."

Juliet's eyes involuntarily turned towards the garden gate; but her pale cheek flushed to crimson as it unclosed, and the unfortunate umpire, half led, half dragged forward by her brother, presented herself before them. Even Anthony's presence of mind well nigh forsook him, as, with a start, he recognised his cousin's unfortunate victim.

A few weeks had wrought a fearful change in the blooming and healthful appearance of the poor girl. She looked like a young sapling tree, on whose verdant head had fallen an incurable blight; an utter disregard of the opinions of others, or what the world would say of her, was manifested in her squalid appearance and total neglect of personal neatness. The pride of the girl's heart had vanished with her self-respect, and she stood before the strange group with a bold front and unbending brow; yet her eye wandered vacantly from face to face, as if perfectly unconscious of the real meaning of the scene.

Anthony had appealed to Mary to vindicate his character from the foul aspersion cast upon him; but when she came he was so shocked by her appearance that he was unable to speak to her.

"Mary," said her brother peremptorily, "is not this man your lover?"

Mary gazed upon Anthony sullenly, but returned no answer.

"Speak, Mary," said Anthony, addressing her with a degree of compassionate tenderness. "Did you ever receive wrong or injury from me? Did I ever address you as a lover, betray, or leave you to shame? Your brother has accused me of all these crimes. Speak out, and tell the truth."

Instead of answering his question in direct terms, the girl, who for the first time comprehended the degrading situation in which she was placed, and subdued by the kindness of Anthony's look and manner, sprang towards him, and, following the reckless disposition which had led to her ruin, seized his hand and pressing it to her lips, exclaimed,

"Oh, Mr. Hurdlestone! This from you?"

"It is enough," said Juliet, who had witnessed this extraordinary scene with an intensity of interest too great to be described; and, turning the head of her horse homewards, she rode off at full speed, murmuring through her fast-flowing tears, "What need have I of further evidence? Yes, he is guilty."

"She is gone!" exclaimed Anthony, in an agony of despair. "She is gone, and believes me to be a villain!"

Whilst he stood rooted to the spot, Mathew approached, and whispered in his ear, "Your mean subterfuge has not saved you. We shall meet again."

"I care not how soon," returned Anthony, fiercely; "but why," continued he, in a softer voice, "should I be angry with you? Man, you have mistaken your quarry--a matter of little moment to you, but a matter of life and death to me."

"Death and hell!" exclaimed the ruffian, who at last began to suspect his error. "If you are not Godfrey Hurdlestone, you must be his ghost!"

"I am his cousin; I never wronged either you or yours; but you have done me an injury which you can never repair."

"Well, hang me if that is not a good joke!" cried the smuggler, bursting into a coarse laugh, which quickened the steps of his retreating foe. "The devil had some mischief in store when he made those chaps so much alike. I would not wish my own brother to resemble me so closely as all that, lest mayhap he should murder or steal, and the halter should fall on my neck instead of his."