The Adventures of Hugh Trevor Part 70

This hint was quite sufficient. Neither the drawing room nor the best parlour were now to be had; and I was shewn into a dirty back place, which was little more than a closet, decorated with a wooden cut of Lord Lovat over the mantle piece, and corresponding pictures of the king and queen on each side.

Before she shut the door, Charlotte demanded 'if I chose to have some more coals on the fire? And whether I would have two candles or one?'

'Whatever you please madam,' I replied. 'Nay, sir,' said she pertly, 'that is just as you please.' I made no answer, and she shut the door with a dissatisfied air; which she locked on the outside.

At any other time, this George and Charlotte, with their drawing-room, would have presented many whimsical a.s.sociations to my mind: but at present my attention was called to the iron bars of the one window of my prison hole; and to the recollection that, in all probability, I was now shut up for life. The weight of evil was so oppressive that I sat motionless, in sullen stupefaction, for a considerable time.

Hearing no sound whatever, the bailiff I suppose was alarmed: for he unlocked the door, and coming in abruptly exclaimed 'Oh! I thought it could not be!' Meaning probably that I could not possibly have escaped through the window. Recollecting himself, he asked 'if I did not think proper to send to some friends?' To which I laconically answered, 'No.'

'But I suppose you mean to give bail, sir?'

'I have none to give.'

'I perceive how it is, sir. You are not used to the business; and so you are cast down. You must bethink yourself: for I dare say a young gentleman like you will find bail fast enough; _becase_ why, the sum is not quite four hundred and forty pounds. We have people enough _which_ will go of any message for you; so I would advise you to send, though it is late; _becase_, as you _says_ you don't drink, there will be no good much in your staying here. Not but what we have as good beds, and as good wines and all sorts of liquors, and can get any thing else as good as a gentleman needs lick his lips to. There _is_ never _no_ complaints at our house. So you had better take my advice, and cheer up your spirits; and get a little something good in your belly, in the way of eating and drinking; and send to let your friends know as how you are _nabbed_: _becase_ nothing can come of it otherwise, neither to you nor _no_body else.'

His discourse awakened me enough to remind me of the necessity of sending to the gentleman, with whom I had intended to travel the next day, and inform him of the impossibility of my taking the journey.

This led me to reflect further. The remark of the bailiff was just: delay was prejudicial. What had happened could not be kept secret, secrecy was in itself vicious, and to increase evil by procrastination was cowardly. Thus far roused, I presently conceived and determined on my plan. I saw no probability of avoiding a prison: but, being in this house, I was resolved first to see my friends. I had already sold my horses, and discharged my servant. Clarke, I knew, would reproach me, if I did not accept his goods offices in my distress; when such good offices as he could perform would be most necessary. I intended therefore to request him the next morning to go round and inform such of my friends as I wished to see: but, as the bailiff told me it would be proper to send for my attorney immediately, I thought proper to dispatch a messenger; with one note to him, and another to the gentleman with whom I was to have travelled.

Mr. Hilary was at home and came instantly on the receipt of my billet.

When he saw me, he endeavoured to smile; and not appear in the least surprised, or affected. But his feelings betrayed him; the tears started into his eyes, and he was obliged to turn away his face. He made an effort, however, and recovered himself: after which, he rather endeavoured to enter into easy conversation than to talk of business.

By this I suspected that he neither durst trust himself nor me; till a little time should have reconciled us to the scene.

This was a proper opportunity for enquiries which my sudden misfortune had not made me forget. I questioned him concerning the stranger, whose person I described; and mentioned my having seen Mr. Hilary light him out of the house, the moment before I was arrested.

'What do you know of him?' said Mr. Hilary, with an eager air. 'Have you ever seen him before?'

'Yes; if I am not very much mistaken.'

'Nay but tell me, what do you know?'

'First answer me concerning who and what he is?'

'A gentleman of large fortune, the last of his family, and a great traveller.'

'Has he met with any accident lately?'

'Yes. But why do you ask?'

'And why do you seem so much awakened by the question?'

'Because he is excessively desirous of discovering some gentleman, who found him after he had been robbed, and left, supposed to be dead; that he may if possible reward his preserver. Now there are some circ.u.mstances, as related by the people of an inn to which he was taken, that have suggested a thought to me which, should it prove true, would give me inexpressible pleasure.'

'What are they?'

'That the good Samaritan, who performed this act of humanity, was a young gentleman with a servant out of livery; that he and his man rode two blood horses, both bright bays; that the servant's name was Samuel; and that the master was in person very like you. All which correspond; and I really believe, by your smiling, that it actually was you.'

'Suppose it: what then?'

'Why then I am sure you have gained a friend, who will never suffer you to go to prison.'

The word friend conjured up a train of ideas, which almost overcame me. 'I have lost a friend,' said I, 'who would not have suffered me to go to prison. But he is gone. I accepted even _his_ favours with an aching and unwilling heart; and prison itself will not, I suspect, be so painful to me as more obligations of the same kind, and conferred by a person who, though I am strongly prepossessed in his favour, I scarcely can hope should equal Mr. Evelyn. And, if he even did, an extravagant supposition, I should still hesitate: I doubt if a prison itself be so hateful as a knowledge that I am only out of one on sufferance; and that, when any caprice shall seize my creditor, I may be hunted like a ferocious beast; and commanded to my den, like a crouching cur.

Mr. Hilary endeavoured to combat this train of thinking: but it was not to be conquered. The short period of trial since the death of Mr. Evelyn had afforded me too many proofs of the painful sensations which such a knowledge can excite; and of the propensity which I had to give them encouragement. To be as I have said the slave of any man's temper, not as an effort of duty but from a sense of fear, was insufferable. A prison, locks, bolts, and bread and water, were to be preferred.

Mr. Hilary sat with me till bed time; and, not only to put the bailiff in good humour, but to cheer my heart and his own, ordered supper, and drank more plentifully of wine than was his custom: urging me to follow his example. I did not refuse: for I had a contempt for any thing that had the appearance of an incapacity to endure whatever the tyranny of rancorous men and unjust laws could inflict. The stranger, he told me, was gone down into the country; from whence he would return within a week: but he forbore to mention his name, as he had been instructed; the stranger having enquiries to make, which induced him to keep it secret.

Before he left me, Mr. Hilary received instructions from me to be given to Clarke: after which we quitted the best parlour, into which we had been introduced with great ceremony to sup; and I retired to try how soundly I could sleep, in one of the good beds of a lock-up house.

CHAPTER XV

_Morning visitors: A generous proposal rejected: The affectionate friends.h.i.+p of Miss Wilmot: A very unexpected visitor: His extraordinary conduct, and a scene of reconciliation: A letter which excites delightful sensations_

The morning came, the diligence of Mr. Hilary was that of a friend, and the best parlour was soon filled: the reader will easily guess by whom. There is an undescribable pleasure, when we are persecuted by one set of human beings, to receive marks of affection from another.

It is a strong consolation to know that kindness and justice have not wholly forsaken the earth.

Wilmot, Clarke, and Turl were with me. I called for breakfast; and felt a gratification at enjoying another social meal, before being immured in I knew not what kind of dungeon. Charlotte and her maid, Pol, were very alert; and I believe she almost repented that I was not in the drawing-room, since she found I had so many friends.

Clarke was asked to partake; but answered with a 'no thank you, Mr.

Trevor.' I supposed it was awkward bashfulness. I did him wrong. He had a more refined and feeling motive: for, when I pressed him very earnestly, he replied--'At another time, Mr. Trevor, such a favour would make me happy; and you know I have not refused: but, just now, why it would look as if, because you are under misfortunes, I might take liberties.'

Honest-hearted generous fellow! He was still the same. But he breakfasted with us. Be a.s.sured, good reader, he breakfasted with us.

And now I had a contest to undergo, which was maintained with so much obstinacy that it became truly painful. Wilmot, in consequence of the success of his comedy, had the power to discharge my debt; and on this at first he peremptorily insisted. But it was what I could not accept.

He was, I knew, an Evelyn in soul: but I too panted to be something.

I could not endure to rob him of the labour of a life, and walk at large oppressed by the consciousness of impotence: of a depressed and sunken spirit; of which groveling meanness would be the chief feature.

Such at least were my sensations: and they were too impetuous to be overcome.

In the ardour we mutually felt, Turl was appealed to by both. At first he strongly inclined to the side of Wilmot: but, hearing my reasons and perceiving the anguish which the proposal gave, he at length said--'Let us pause awhile. We are friends. Imprisonment is a detestable thing; and there is no danger that, as friends, we should suffer each other to endure it long, if there should be any possible and honest means of imparting freedom. We need make no professions. In one part of his argument, Mr. Trevor is undoubtedly right. If he can relieve himself, by his abilities and industry, which he is persuaded he can, it is his duty. For it will not only increase his immediate happiness, but it will give confidence to his efforts, and strength to his mind: qualities that are inestimable. Impediments serve but to rouse the man of genius. To reject aid from a sentiment of haughtiness is a vice: but to despair of our own resources is the death of all true greatness of character. In any case, suspend your contest; in which, though from the best of motives, you are both too warm. Examine your arguments at leisure. If Mr. Trevor can be rendered most happy and useful by accepting your offer, it will then be just in him to cede: but remember once more we are friends, that know each other's worth; and it will be just that I should partake in his release. To this I know you will both joyfully consent. If good can be done, you will not deny me my share!'

It was characteristic of Turl never to speak on serious occasions without leaving a deep impression on his hearers. Wilmot heaved a profound sigh, but was silent.

Having thus far prevailed, I was desirous of being immediately removed to prison: but to this they both vehemently objected. It had an air of ostentation: of affecting to love misery for misery's sake. Time ought to be taken for consideration; and evil should not be sported with, though when unavoidable it ought to be endured with fort.i.tude.

While these debates took place, it was no uninteresting spectacle to contemplate the changes in the countenance of Clarke. Before the adventure of Bath, he had risen much above the level of his companions: but now, when he saw a man willing to part with all he possessed to rescue another from prison, and heard strong reasons why it was probable the offer ought not to be accepted, his feelings were all in arms. His pa.s.sions, while Wilmot pleaded, were ready to break their bounds; and, when he listened to the answers that were returned, his mind was filled and expanded. He discovered that there is a disinterested grandeur in morality, of which he had no previous conception. He was in a new world; and a dark room, with barred windows, was heaven in all its splendor.

Having agreed to follow their advice, Wilmot and Turl left me; with a promise to return early in the evening: but poor Clarke said 'he had no heart for work that day; and he could not abide to leave me shut up by myself. He saw plainly enough I had true friends; such as would never forsake me: and no more would he, though he could do me no good.' When however I represented to him my wish to be alone, that I might consider on my situation, and requested he would dine with his family, and bring some books from my lodgings in the evening, he complied.

The morning of the day was chiefly consumed; and I was not suffered long to remain alone. I had scarcely dined before a coach stopped at the door, and Charlotte came in with demure significance in her face.

'There is a young lady, sir,' said she, '_which_ says her name is Wilmot, _which_ wants to see you.'

At this moment, she was the most agreeable visitor that could have arrived. Her heart was full, her eyes were swollen, and red with weeping, and, as soon as she entered the room, she again burst into tears.

It has often been asked why sorrows like these should excite so much gratification? The answer is evident. They are not only tokens of personal respect and affection, but they are proofs that injustice cannot be committed without being perceptibly and often deeply felt by others, as well as by those on whom it is exercised.