Chapter 11

MY FIRST LOVE.

I found my uncle sipping his coffee, as if nothing of importance had occurred during the night, to disturb his slumbers. I took my seat at the table in silence. My heart was full to bursting, and I dared not trust my voice, to offer him the common salutations of the morning.

My face, I have no doubt, betrayed the agitation which I endeavoured to conceal.

"You are late this morning, Geoffrey."

"Yes, Sir--I passed a very restless night, and the result is a bad headache."

"How did that happen?" surveying me attentively, with his clear, glittering eyes.

"I was harassed by frightful dreams, and only awoke from one fit of nightmare to fall into a worse."

"Are you often troubled with bad dreams?" said he, without removing his powerful gaze from my pale face.

"Not often with such as disturbed me last night."

I detected my uncle's drift in using this species of cross-questioning, and I determined to increase his uneasiness without betraying my own.

"I wish, uncle, I had never seen that old woman who visited the office yesterday; she haunted me all night like my evil genius. Sir Matthew Hale might have condemned her for a witch, with a safe conscience."

"She is not a very flattering specimen of the fair sex," said my uncle, affecting a laugh, "but ugly as she now is, I remember her both young and handsome. What was the purport of your dream?"

"That I should like to know. The Josephs and Daniels of these degenerate modern days, are makers of money, not interpreters of dreams. But, I hope you don't imagine that I place the least importance on such things. My dream was simply this:

"I dreamed that that ugly old woman, whom you call Dinah North, came to my bedside with an intent to murder me." I paused, and fixed my eyes upon Mr. Moncton's face. The glitter of his bright orbs almost dazzled me. I thought, however, that his cheek paled for a moment, and that I could perceive a slight twitching movement about the muscles of the mouth.

"Well," said he, quite calmly, "and what then?"

"For a long time I resisted her efforts to stab me with a long knife, and I received several deep wounds in my hands, in endeavouring to ward off her home-thrusts; till, faint with loss of blood, I gave up the contest, and called aloud for aid. I heard steps in the passage--some one opened the door--it was you, Sir, and I begged you to save my life, and unloosen the fiend's grasp from my throat, but instead of the assistance I expected, you seized the knife from the old woman's hand, and with a derisive laugh, plunged it to the hilt in my heart. I awoke with a scream of agony, and with the perspiration streaming from every part of my body."

The dream was no invention of the moment, but had actually occurred, after Dinah North and Mr. Moncton had left my chamber. I wished to see what impression it would make upon him.

He leaned back in his chair with his eyes still fixed on my face. "It was strange, very strange--enough to excite a nervous, irritable fellow like you. Did you hear me come into your room last night?"

Taken by surprise, I gave an involuntary start, but regained my presence of mind in a moment. "Did you suspect, sir, that I was in the habit of leaving the house at night, that you thought it necessary to ascertain that I was in my bed?"

"Petulant boy! How ready you are to take offence at trifles. How do you expect to steer your way through the world? Business brought me into your room last night. Some papers belonging to the woman, whom your fertile imagination has converted into a witch or fiend, were in the iron chest. Anxious to satisfy her that the papers were safe, I went to look for them. You were making a sad noise in your sleep. I was half inclined to waken you, but thought that my presence in your chamber at that hour of the night would only increase your uneasiness. The sound of my steps in the passage, I have no doubt, was the immediate cause of your dream."

This was a masterly stroke, and those who knew Robert Moncton in a moment would recognize the man. The adroitness with which he mingled truth with falsehood, almost made me doubt the evidence of my senses, and to fancy that the events of the past night were a mental delusion.

"Did you find the papers you wanted, Sir?"

His eye flashed, and his lip curled. "What business is that of yours, Sir? I don't allow an impertinent boy to pry into my private affairs."

"My question was one of idle curiosity."

"Even as such, never dare to repeat it."

I was struck dumb, and concluded my breakfast without speaking to him again. When the tea equipage was removed, I rose to leave the room, but he motioned me to remain.

His anger had passed away, and his really handsome face wore a more agreeable expression than usual.

"Sit down, Geoffrey. I have long wished to converse with you upon your future prospects. What progress have you made in your profession?"

Astonished at his condescension, I told him candidly how I had of late improved my time, and studied late and early to acquire a competent knowledge of it in all its branches.

He was surprised, and appeared agreeably so.

"I had no idea of this, Geoffrey. Your industry has won for you a higher position than an office drudge. You cannot, however, make an able lawyer, without some knowledge of the world. To make a man of you it is absolutely necessary for you to go more into society."

"You forget, Sir, that I have no means to indulge such a wish. I cannot consent to go into company under existing circumstances."

"Oh, we can manage all that," said he, tapping me on my shoulder. "Be obedient to my orders, and attend to my interest, and you shall not long want the means of gratifying your wishes. Mr. Harrison has left the office. It is my intention that you supply his place.

"Harrison gone!" cried I in a tone of vexation and regret; "then I have lost my best friend."

"Harrison was a clever, gentlemanly young man," said Mr. Moncton, coldly; "but, to tell you the plain truth, Geoffrey, I did not like the close intimacy which existed between you."

"Why, it is to him that I am indebted for all the knowledge I have acquired. His society was the only pleasure I had, and it seems hard to be deprived of it, without any fault on his side."

"Geoffrey, it is of no consequence to me what your opinion may be on the subject; I am master of my own actions, and please myself as to whom I retain or employ. Clear up that scowling brow, and be very thankful to obtain a handsome salary for services which I can command without remuneration."

The loss of my friend, my only friend, was a dreadful blow. I was too much overcome to thank my uncle for his offer, and left the room.

I had been so little accustomed to think for myself, that I relied upon George as my counsellor in all matters of importance. Besides, I had an idea that he could throw some light upon the mysterious events of the night, and I was anxious to unburden to him the important secret.

Having to obtain the signature of a gentleman who resided in Fleet Street, to some legal documents, and knowing that Harrison lodged in the same street, I snatched up my hat and sallied forth, determined to consult him with regard to the change in my prospects, as I felt certain, that some sinister motive was concealed beneath my uncle's unlooked-for condescension.

I was again doomed to disappointment. On reaching Harrison's lodgings, I learned that he had left town that morning, for a visit of some weeks into the country, but to what part his landlady did not know. At parting, he told her she might let his rooms until he gave her notice of his return.

"Gone! without seeing or writing one line to inform me of his departure. That is not like his general conduct," I muttered, as I turned from the door.

With a heavy heart, I sauntered on, almost unconscious of the path I had taken, until I found myself entangled among the crowds which thronged Oxford Street.

A scream, echoed by several voices from the crowd, "that the lady would be crushed to death!" startled me from my unprofitable musings; and following the direction of the general gaze, I saw that a young female, in attempting to cross the street, had just fallen between the horses of two carriages advancing in opposite directions.

It was but the impulse of the moment to dash across the intervening space, and hinder the young lady from being trampled to death beneath the horses' hoofs. She fortunately was unconscious of her danger, and could not by useless screams and struggles frighten the horses, and frustrate my endeavours to save her.

The coachmen belonging to the vehicles, succeeded in stopping the horses, and I bore my insensible burden through the crowd to an apothecary's shop, which happened to be near at hand. The gentleman in attendance hastened to my assistance. We placed the young lady in a chair, and he told me to remove her bonnet, while he applied restoratives to her wrists and temples.

She was exceedingly fair; her rich, black, velvet pelisse, setting off to great advantage the dazzling whiteness of her skin, and the rich colouring of her sunny brown hair.

My heart throbbed beneath the lovely head that rested so placidly above it; and the arm that supported her graceful form, trembled violently. The glorious ideal of my youthful fancy had assumed a tangible form, had become a bright reality; and as I looked down upon that calm, gentle face, I felt that I loved for the first time. A new spirit had passed into me, I was only alive to the delicious rapture that thrilled through me.

First passion is instantaneous--electrical. It cannot be described, and can only be communicated through the same mysterious medium.

People may rave as they like about the absurdity of love at first sight; but the young and sensitive always love at first sight, and the love of after-years, however better and more wisely bestowed, is never able to obliterate from the heart the memory of those sudden and vivid impressions made upon it by the first electrical shocks of love.

How eagerly I watched the unclosing of those blue eyes; yet, how timidly I shrunk from their first mild rays.

Blushing, she disengaged herself from my arms, and shaking the long, sunny ringlets from her face, thanked me with gentle reserve for the service I had rendered.

"But for your prompt assistance, I must have lost my life, or at the very least been seriously injured. My poor thanks will never convey to you the deep gratitude I feel."

She gave me her hand with a charming frankness, and I touched the white slender fingers with as much reverence as if she had been a saint.

At this moment, we were joined by a handsome elderly lady, who ran into the shop, exclaiming in hurried tones:

"Where is she?--where is my child? Is she safe?"

"Yes, dear aunt, thanks to this gentleman's timely aid, who risked his own life to save mine."

"How shall we thank you--how shall we thank you, Sir?" exclaimed the elderly lady, seizing my hand, and all but embracing me in an ecstacy of gratitude. "You have rendered me a great service--a great service indeed. Without that dear girl, life would be a blank to me. My Kate, my Kate!" she cried, clasping the young lady in her arms, and bursting into tears, "you don't know how dreadfully I felt when I saw you under the hoofs of those horses. My child! my child I--I can hardly yet believe that you are safe."

The charming Kate tenderly kissed her weeping relative, and assured her that she could realize it all--that she must not fret, for she was quite herself again--not even hurt; only frightened a little.

And then she turned her lovely face to me, on which a tear rested, like a dew-drop upon the heart of a rose, with such a sweet, arch smile, as she said, "My aunt is very nervous, and is so fond of me that her fears for my safety have quite upset her. The sooner we get her home the better. Will you be so kind, Sir, as to tell me if a carriage is at the door. Ours is blue, with white horses."

The carriage was there. How I wished it at Jericho. The old lady again repeated her thanks in the warmest manner, and I assisted her and her charming niece into the equipage. The young lady waved her hand and smiled, the powdered footman closed the door, and they drove off, leaving me spell-bound, rooted to the door-sill of the shop.

"Who are those ladies?" asked the apothecary, looking complacently down upon the sovereign the elder lady had slipped into his hand.

"I was just going to ask that question of you," said I.

"How! not know them--and let them go away without inquiring their names! Arn't you a simple young fellow? If it had been me now, I should have done my best to improve such a golden opportunity. Gratitude you know begets love, and I'll be sworn that the pretty young woman has a good fortune, by the anxiety the old one felt in her behalf."

I was in the maddest heroics of love. "What do I care about her property," said I disdainfully. "Such a beautiful, elegant creature is a fortune in herself."

"Yes--to those who have enough of their own. But my dear young sir, beauty won't boil the pot."

To joke me at the expense of the beautiful unknown was sacrilege, and casting upon my tormentor, a look of unmitigated contempt, I left the shop with a lofty step, and an air of offended dignity.

As I passed into the street, I fancied that the term "ridiculous puppy!" was hissed after me.

I strode back into the shop. The apothecary was waiting upon a new customer.

"Was that insult intended for me?" I demanded, in a haughty tone.

"What did I say, Sir?"

"You called me a ridiculous puppy," said I.

"You are mistaken, young man. I am not in the habit of speaking my thoughts aloud."

I deserved this cut for my folly, and felt keenly that I had placed myself in an absurd position.

"My uncle is right," said I, to myself, as I retraced my steps to Hatton Garden. "I am a babe in my knowledge of the world. I must go more into society, or I shall for ever be getting into such ridiculous scrapes."

At dinner my uncle met me with a serious face.

"What kept you from the office, Geoffrey, this morning?"

I, willing to act openly with him, narrated to him the adventure I had met with.

"I think I know the lady," said he. "She is not very tall--is fair complexioned, with blue eyes and light brown hair. _Rather_ pretty than otherwise."

"_Rather_ pretty. She is _beautiful_, Sir."

"Phew!" said Mr. Moncton. "_We_ see with other eyes. Young men are always blind. The girl is well enough--and better still, she is very rich. Did she tell you her name?"

"I did not ask her."

"Where was your curiosity?"

"I wished very much to put the question, for I was anxious to know; but really, uncle, I had not the face to do it. But you can tell me."

"If she did not tell you herself, I am not going to betray her secret. What use would the knowledge be to you?"

"It would be pleasant to know her name."

My uncle looked hard at me; and something like a sarcastic smile passed over his lips.

"Boy, it would render you miserable."

"In what way?"

"By leading you to neglect business, and by filling your head with hopes which could never be realized."

"And why not?" I demanded, rather fiercely.

"Young ladies in our days seldom commit matrimony with penniless clerks."

This was said with a strong sneer.

"It may be so--and they are right not to involve themselves in misery. I am penniless at present. But that is no reason that I am always to remain so. I am young, healthy, industrious, with a mind willing and able to work--why should I not make a fortune as others have done? As my grandfather, for instance, did before me?"

"This is all true," said he, calmly, "and I admire your spirit, Geoffrey; but, nephew" (this was the first time I ever remember his calling me so), "there are other difficulties in the way of your making a high and wealthy alliance, of which you have no idea."

I know not why--but a sudden tremor seized me as he said this. But mastering my agitation, I begged him to explain his meaning.

"I have long wished to do so," said he, "but you were so violent and unreasonable, that I thought it prudent to defer unpleasant communications until you were older, and better able to take things calmly. You have thought me a hard task-master, Geoffrey--a cruel unfeeling tyrant, and from your earliest childhood have defied my authority and resisted my will; yet you know not half the debt of kindness you owe to me."

I was about to speak. He held up his hand for me to maintain silence; which I did with a very bad grace; and he continued in the same cold methodical way--

"Children are naturally averse to control, and are unable to discern between sternness of manner, and a cold unfeeling hardness of heart; and construe into insults and injuries the necessary restraint imposed upon their actions for their good. Yours, I admit, was a painful situation, which you rendered still more unpleasant by your obstinate and resentful disposition."

"But, uncle!" I exclaimed, unable longer to hold my tongue, "you know I was treated very ill."

"Who treated you so? I am very certain, that Rebecca indulged you, as she never did one of her own children."

"My dear aunt! God bless her! she was the only creature in the house who treated me with the least kindness. The very servants were instructed to slight and insult me by your _amiable_ son, and his servile tutor."

"He was a fool," said Mr. Moncton, refilling his glass. "As to Theophilus, it was natural for him to dislike the lad who had robbed him of his mother's affections, and who left him behind in his lessons. You were strong enough, and bold enough to take your own part, and if I mistake not, did take it. And pray, Sir, who was it that freed you from the tyranny of Mr. Jones, when he found that the complaints you brought against him were just?"

"But not until after I had been first condemned, and brutally maltreated. The less said on that score, uncle, the better."

He laughed--his low, sarcastic, sneering laugh, but did not choose to be angry.

"There are circumstances connected with your birth, Geoffrey, that evidently were the cause of these slights. People will not pay the same respect to a natural child, which they do to a legitimate one."

"Good God!" I exclaimed, starting from my chair. "You don't mean to insinuate--you dare not say, that I am a bastard?"

"Such is the fact."

"It is a falsehood! invented to ruin me!" I exclaimed, defiantly. "One of these days you shall be forced to prove it such."

"I shall be very happy to do so--if you will only give me the proofs."

"_Proofs!_" I exclaimed, bitterly, "they are in your own possession--or you have destroyed them!"

"What interest can I have in trying to make you a bastard? Is the boy mad?"

"You never act without a motive," I cried; "you know that I am heir to a title, and property that you covet for yourself and your son!"

His pretended calmness was all gone. His pale face crimsoned with rage. Yet it was wonderful how instantaneously he mastered his passion.

"Who told you this _probable_ story? Who put such absurd notions into your head?"

"One, upon whose word I can rely. My friend, Mr. Harrison."

"I would like to ask Mr. Harrison what he knows of our family affairs," sneered Mr. Moncton. "He has proved himself a scoundrel by inventing this pretty little romance to get up a quarrel between us, and rob you of the only real friend you have. I will repay Mr. Harrison for this base falsehood, one of these days."

I felt that I had, betrayed my friend, and perhaps by my foolish rashness marred my own fortunes. Inwardly I cursed my imprudence, and loaded myself with reproaches. Then the thought suggested itself, "Could my uncle be right--was I indeed illegitimate?"

"No, no," I exclaimed, unconsciously aloud; "it is not true--I feel that it is false. A base falsehood got up to rob me of my good name--the only treasure left me by Providence when she deprived me of my parents. Uncle," I exclaimed, standing erect before him, "I will never part with it. I will maintain my equality with you and your son to the last moment of my life."

Overcome by excitement and agitation, I sank down into a chair, my head dropped upon the table and I sobbed convulsively.

"Geoffrey," said my uncle, in a low voice, in which an unusual touch of kindness mingled, "calm down this furious passion. Poor lad! I pity and excuse your indignation; both are natural in your case."

"Such sympathy is worse than hate," I muttered.

"Well, believe me the author of all your wrongs, if it pleases you, Geoffrey; but first listen to what I have to say."

I was too much exhausted by the violence of my emotions to offer the least opposition, and he had it entirely his own way--commencing his remarks with a provoking coolness which cut me to the heart.

"When you lost your parents, Geoffrey, you were too young to have formed a correct estimate of their characters."

"I have a very indistinct recollection of my father. I remember my mother well."

"You may imagine that. Your father had a fine, manly face, and nature had endowed him with those useless but brilliant qualities of mind, which the world calls genius, and like many of the same class, he acted more from impulse than from principle. Your mother was a beautiful young woman, but with little discretion, who loved unwisely and too well. Her father saw enough of my brother Edward's character, to awaken his suspicions that his attentions to his daughter were not of an honourable nature, and he forbade him the house.

"This impolitic step brought matters to a crisis. The young people eloped together, and the old man died of a broken heart. Your mother went by the name of Moncton, and was introduced to his sporting friends as my brother's wife. But no evidence exists of a marriage having taken place; and until such evidence can be procured, the world will look upon you as illegitimate.

"You will soon be of age, Geoffrey, and if you are prepared with these indispensable documents, I will assist, to the best of my professional abilities, in helping you to establish your claims. It is not in my power to destroy or invalidate them. Why then these base suspicions--these unmerited reproaches--these hurricanes of passion? Why doubt my integrity at the very moment when I am most anxious to serve you?"

"Because in no instance have you ever proved yourself my friend, and I cannot help doubting your sincerity!"

"A want of candour is certainly not among your failings," said Mr. Moncton, with a slight curl of his proud lip. "You have studied the law long enough to know the impolicy of such conduct."

"I judge, not from fair words but deeds. Sir, the change in your behaviour to me is too sudden for me to believe it genuine."

"Strange," mused Mr. Moncton, "so young and so suspicious!" then turning to me, he said, without the least appearance of resentment at my violence,

"Geoffrey, I know your faulty temper, and forgive you for using such insulting language. The communication I have just made was enough to irritate your sensitive nature and mortify your pride; but it is not reasonable that your anger should be directed against me. I considered it absolutely necessary, to apprise you of these important facts, and conveyed the knowledge of them to you, as gently as I could, just to show you that you must depend upon your own exertions to advance your position in society."

"If your statement be true, what have I to do with society?" said I. "What position could I obtain in a world which already regards me as an outcast?"

"Not here, perhaps. But there are other countries, where the conventional rules which govern society in this, are regarded with indifference--_America_, for instance."

He fixed his keen eye upon me. An electric flash passed into my mind. I saw his drift. I recollected Harrison's advice that the only way to obtain my rights and baffle my uncle's cunning, was _non-resistance_. I formed my plans in a moment, and determined to foil his schemes, by appearing to countenance them, until I could arrive at the truth, and fathom his designs--and I answered with composure.

"Perhaps, I have done you injustice, Sir. The distracted state of my mind must be my excuse. I will try and submit with patience to my hard fate."

"It is your only wise course. Hark you, Geoffrey! I am rich, trust in me, and the world shall never sneer at you as a _poor relation_. Those whom Robert Moncton takes by the hand may laugh at doubtful birth and want of fortune."

The scoundrel! how I longed to knock him down, but that would have done me no good, so I mastered my indignation and withdrew.