Mary Seaham Volume Ii Part 20

"When you and I parted, Eugene, nearly five years ago, it was with the sole determination on my part, never again to seek communication with a man who had acted as none other, than _a brother_, could have acted, without drawing upon himself the just retribution on my part, such conduct so justly deserved, I mean the public exposure of its villainy to society--to the world. But as it was--more in sorrow than in anger--sorrow which in the estimation of those less scrupulous and sensitive than myself, might have been deemed carried to a morbid and irrational extent--in sorrow of heart, the bitterness of death could hardly surpa.s.s, sorrow and amazement that such perfidy could exist in one I had loved as my own mother's son; the impulse of my grieved and wounded spirit prompted me to act in a manner exactly the reverse. My determination had been to repair to some distant foreign land. But mere accident, or I should say, hidden Providence, ordered it otherwise. I spent the winter in a wild unfrequented part of North Wales; and on leaving that, was taken ill at a small town, some miles distant. A few weeks more and circ.u.mstances caused me to fix my wandering steps in a secluded valley, where for the few succeeding years I a.s.sisted the clergyman of the place in the duties of his profession, and in conformity with the course of conduct I was pursuing, under the name of Edward Temple. Does this give you any clue to the motive of the present unwelcome communication? Have you ever heard that unfamiliar name pa.s.s the lips of her, whom report tells me you are to make your wife--the lips, I mean, of Mary Seaham? if so as it would have been but natural, she may have further spoken, and told you of the love she had inspired in that same Edward Temple's breast; and you smiled, no doubt, in pity at the disappointed ambition of the country curate. Eugene, now indeed, I own that you have honourably won that--to which, in comparison, all that by wrong and treachery you ever sought to rob me is as dross indeed, in my estimation--the love of as pure a heart, as angel-like a spirit as ever breathed in the form of woman. But this, Eugene, must suffice you; here your triumph must end; unless, indeed, you care to prove your affection by a stronger test than I imagine it would be able to stand; for at once I come to the point, and tell you Eugene, that I cannot suffer this concerted marriage of yours to take place, without a powerful effort on my part, to avert it--to save the pure and gentle being whom I shall ever love, from the fate that marriage, I feel, must ever entail upon her.

"That it springs from no bitter feelings of disappointment or rivalry, on my part; but is as disinterested in its nature, as if I had never loved Mary Seaham but as a brother might have loved a sister, G.o.d truly knows; but it would be throwing words away, I fear, to attempt to convince one like you--in whose imagination the possibility of any such purity and disinterestedness of motive cannot exist. Well, interpret it as you may--only break off this engagement, which, from what I hear of the sentiments of some of her friends, will not be so very difficult.

Break it off, and for what I care, the world may still think me mad; for what I care, you may still retain the position you now hold--so much as it appears, to your own satisfaction and contentment--in the eyes of society. Refuse to do this, and I come forward, and ask the world--ask her friends--ask Mary herself, whether a man who had acted as you have done, is worthy to be her husband; and then, I am much mistaken, if when that delusive veil, which now robes her idol, be thus withdrawn--she, yes, Mary, does not shrink with horror, from what is there revealed.

"Spare yourself, Eugene--spare her--spare her pure eyes, her innocent spirit this exposure. You will say, the alternative is as cruel--that her affection is too great to bear the destruction of her hopes, without such pain and grief as none who really loved her, as _I_ profess to do, would willingly inflict.

"This may be--her love may be true, and deep. The tears she may shed at its destruction be bitter--time may be required to heal the wound. But were these tears to swell the ocean's tide, or the wound to prove incurable, far better even this, than to live the life--to die the miserable death of your father's wife--of her husband's mother!

"And what in your career, Eugene, even setting aside that one crime, with which I am personally concerned, is there, which can ensure her any better destiny?

"No; your mode of life during the last five years, I have taken measures to ascertain. Can you deny that it has been one long course of sin, of profligacy?

"One dark deed, followed by atonement and remorse, might have been less baneful to her happiness, than the systematic career of vice you now habitually pursue.

"What more can I add; but that I shall expect your written answer. I feel a.s.sured you will, no less than myself, desire, if possible, to avoid all personal communication. Direct to the General Post Office, London, where, till I am a.s.sured that my object is properly secured, I shall remain; and now, Eugene, farewell! G.o.d knows, that everything in the terms and substance of this letter, which may appear dictated by a harsh or threatening spirit, springs rather from the wretched circ.u.mstances of the case, our most unnatural and unavoidable position, one towards another--not from the temper of my mind towards you. Heaven be my witness, that I would gladly give my heart's blood at this moment, to discover that the past was but a horrid dream, and that now, as in years gone by, I could without fear, that the very air would repeat the words in mocking echo, sign myself,

"Your affectionate brother,

"EUSTACE TREVOR."

CHAPTER XXV.

There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.

SHAKSPEARE.

It is not necessary to describe with much detail the effect produced by this letter, on the mind of Eustace Trevor, or the mode of conduct he pursued in the emergency.

We have already made the reader acquainted with the half measures he pursued--the crooked paths he attempted, in order to extricate himself from the threefold difficulty in which he found himself placed. His answer in the first instance, to his brother's first startling address, had been of that character which usually marks the tone of the offender, when the injured one dares to rise up and interfere with his ill-deserved security, and ill-earned joys; but though in language fierce and vindictive, he might appear to set fear and threatening at defiance, there was too much implied acquiescence, in the power these threats exercised over his mind--in the testy a.s.surance which accompanied his reply (how far true we have seen) that his marriage was not in any such immediate question as Eustace seemed to imagine--that his father's state of health rendered it an affair of most uncertain termination--till finally, a second letter from his brother, brought him, at last, to declare in terms, the bitterness of which may be well imagined, that he had put off his marriage _sine die_, in further proof of which, he was to hold no further communication by person or letter with Mary Seaham;--he then hoped that Eustace might be satisfied, and that he would have left England.

That he might prevail on Mary to consent to a private marriage, was now probably the object of Eugene's mind. For to relinquish, without a struggle, any acquisition on which he had set his heart, would have been contrary to his nature; and then there was the probability of his father's death, securing to him so large a provision, rendering him in a pecuniary point of view, independent of any threats his brother might please to put into execution; for as far as Mary was concerned, he relied too much on the power he had gained over her devoted, gentle affections, to fear that any accusation brought against him by his brother, would influence her against him. Eustace might then claim his own rights, and he would not dispute them. Nay, Mary once his own, he reckoned too much on that brother's, (in his heart, acknowledged generosity of spirit,) to fear that he would persevere in carrying out his threatened, and in that case, unavailing exposure. It was in this light, probably, that he viewed the case, when Eugene first came to London. Eustace, too, we find, had not left town. Either he had been led to doubt the truth of his brother's protestations, or was unable to resist the temptation of lingering where Mary was, when he could again, and for the last time, perhaps, hope to catch a pa.s.sing glance of her sweet face,--pale, sad, and changed, since he had last seen it--but better thus to his mind, than bright and glowing with that dangerous infatuation by which she was to be allured to certain misery.

We will not deny that Eustace Trevor's feelings and course of conduct on the occasion, may seem carried to a morbid, some may almost deem, an unwarrantable excess. But then it must be remembered, that all his lifetime through,

"From mighty wrong to petty perfidy;"

he had suffered enough to bring any man of his sensitively high-pitched tone of mind to this extremity.

There was one point especially, which had become the ruling power of his mind--that phantom which by night or day--haunted his imagination. The remembrance of his mother: her wrongs and misery.

"A potent spell, a mighty talisman, The imperishable memory of the dead, Sustained by love, and grief, and indignation, So vivid were the forms within his brain, His very eyes, when shut, made pictures of them."

Could he then image forth another? She who had filled up that yearning vacuum in his bleeding heart, the death of his mother had occasioned; imagine her, such was the horrid fancy which had taken possession of his mind--picture Mary entering that same house--a.s.suming that same position--the victim of the same evil influences to which she had been exposed. The thought would have been one almost to turn his brain, had he deemed it not to be averted. As it was, the suffering that its very idea had caused, was sufficient to produce that change in his appearance, on which Arthur Seaham had commented, when to gain more certain information concerning his sister, Eustace Trevor had visited him at the Temple; a change, which no former griefs and trials, dark and dreadful though they had been, had in so striking a manner been able to inflict. For man is G.o.dlike in his strength--his spirit may sustain him under burdens it were otherwise difficult to bear--but touch only a chord--break only a tie which binds him to a woman's delicate love,

"And his strong spirit bendeth like a reed."

On Eustace's return from the visit to the Temple, he had proof positive of his brother not having kept his pledge, in one most important respect; for he saw the lovers together, and the painful interview between the brothers was the consequence--the issue of which we need not recapitulate.

Another day, and Eustace Trevor had turned his back upon the English sh.o.r.e, to track the footsteps of his friend Mr. Wynne in his travels on the continent, still retaining the a.s.sumed name of Temple; and Eugene in as short a s.p.a.ce of time, was again breathing freely his accustomed atmosphere--a London world.

We do not mean to say that his love for Mary Seaham was so soon forgotten--that love which for the last few months had exercised a purer and more softening influence upon his spirits, than any other feeling, perhaps, had ever before effected.

It was still like some soft, sweet, dream of night, which often haunts and mingles in the thoughts and actions of the day; and his marriage with the gentle Mary, the settled purpose and intention of his heart.

But the smooth course of that love had received a check--met with a disturbing force--his love had not quality or strength to overstep.

This to a worldling is a dangerous test; for love to him is but "a thing apart." There are so many other resources wherefrom to drain, when that one silvery stream of life is checked or troubled.

Why then not plunge into these broad abounding waters, which will bear him on, no matter how turbid be their depth beneath the glittering surface--no matter where, but on only--on too smooth, open, too unrestrained a course. As to the stability of his feelings with regard to Mary, Eugene felt little doubt his affections had been called forth to an unprecedented degree. For the first time in his life, he felt what it was to have his desires fixed on an object, in every way worthy of esteem.

"Pure, lovely, and of good report,"

and a new and wonderful fascination had been the effect produced upon his mind. Whilst under its immediate influence, he had seemed to exist in another sphere, to breathe another atmosphere, to have become a new creature; and he had contemplated his marriage with a calm, tranquil delight, as the completion of a still more certain renovation and transformation of his existence.

Its untoward interruption, therefore, had provoked and disappointed him beyond measure--beyond even the fear and inconvenience of those serious consequences into which the circ.u.mstances of the case had otherwise threatened him. Irritated and embarra.s.sed by the trouble and perplexity in which the affair involved him, we will not say, however, but that in the end this one year's certain postponement of his marriage, as decided in his interview with Arthur Seaham, had not in a great degree relieved his mind in the emergency. In one year, as he had said, much might happen to change the aspect of affairs. At any rate breathing time was afforded, in which he might, without danger to himself, indulge in the consciousness of knowing that a tender heart was all his own. For the sequel time would provide.

In the meantime what had he to do, but to pursue his former career, and hush the voice of conscience in the excitement of the crowd.

"To follow all that peace disdains to seek, Where revel calls, and laughter vainly loud, False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek, And leave the flagging spirits still more weak."

That the mind of man need indeed be more than human to withstand such counter-influences has been well tested.

"Amidst such scenes, love's flower too soon is blighted."

What different courses marked the existence of Mary Seaham and Eugene Trevor, during the lengthened interval which is to follow, may easily be imagined--different as the streamlet's course through the quiet valley, to the river's, rolling its darkened waters through the streets tumultuous of defiling cities!

Let us then, now that our less pleasing task is accomplished, restrain our footsteps as much as possible to the streamlet's course; that is to say, in the ensuing pages, let us follow more closely Mary Seaham's career than that of her lover's.

"Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence, But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley: Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water Here and there, in some open s.p.a.ce, and at intervals only; Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it, Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur, Happy at length if he find the spot when it reaches an outlet."

END OF VOL. II.