by Walter Scott
CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.
I hear a voice you cannot hear, Which says, I must not stay; I see a hand you cannot see, Which beckons me awry. Tickell.
I have already told you, Tresham, if you deign to bear it in remembrance,that my evening visits to the library had seldom been made except byappointment, and under the sanction of old Dame Martha's presence. This,however, was entirely a tacit conventional arrangement of my owninstituting. Of late, as the embarrassments of our relative situation hadincreased, Miss Vernon and I had never met in the evening at all. She hadtherefore no reason to suppose that I was likely to seek a renewal ofthese interviews, and especially without some previous notice orappointment betwixt us, that Martha might, as usual, be placed upon duty;but, on the other hand, this cautionary provision was a matter ofunderstanding, not of express enactment. The library was open to me, asto the other members of the family, at all hours of the day and night,and I could not be accused of intrusion, however suddenly andunexpectedly I might made my appearance in it. My belief was strong, thatin this apartment Miss Vernon occasionally received Vaughan, or someother person, by whose opinion she was accustomed to regulate herconduct, and that at the times when she could do so with least chance ofinterruption. The lights which gleamed in the library at unusualhours--the passing shadows which I had myself remarked--the footstepswhich might be traced in the morning-dew from the turret-door to thepostern-gate in the garden--sounds and sights which some of the servants,and Andrew Fairservice in particular, had observed, and accounted for intheir own way,--all tended to show that the place was visited by some onedifferent from the ordinary inmates of the hall. Connected as thisvisitant probably must be with the fates of Diana Vernon, I did nothesitate to form a plan of discovering who or what he was,--how far hisinfluence was likely to produce good or evil consequences to her on whomhe acted;--above all, though I endeavoured to persuade myself that thiswas a mere subordinate consideration, I desired to know by what meansthis person had acquired or maintained his influence over Diana, andwhether he ruled over her by fear or by affection. The proof that thisjealous curiosity was uppermost in my mind, arose from my imaginationalways ascribing Miss Vernon's conduct to the influence of some oneindividual agent, although, for aught I knew about the matter, heradvisers might be as numerous am Legion. I remarked this over and over tomyself; but I found that my mind still settled back in my originalconviction, that one single individual, of the masculine sex, and in allprobability young and handsome, was at the bottom of Miss Vernon'sconduct; and it was with a burning desire of discovering, or rather ofdetecting, such a rival, that I stationed myself in the garden to watchthe moment when the lights should appear in the library windows.
So eager, however, was my impatience, that I commenced my watch for aphenomenon, which could not appear until darkness, a full hour before thedaylight disappeared, on a July evening. It was Sabbath, and all thewalks were still and solitary. I walked up and down for some time,enjoying the refreshing coolness of a summer evening, and meditating onthe probable consequences of my enterprise. The fresh and balmy air ofthe garden, impregnated with fragrance, produced its usual sedativeeffects on my over-heated and feverish blood. As these took place, theturmoil of my mind began proportionally to abate, and I was led toquestion the right I had to interfere with Miss Vernon's secrets, or withthose of my uncle's family. What was it to me whom my uncle might chooseto conceal in his house, where I was myself a guest only by tolerance?And what title had I to pry into the affairs of Miss Vernon, fraught, asshe had avowed them to be, with mystery, into which she desired noscrutiny?
Passion and self-will were ready with their answers to these questions.In detecting this secret, I was in all probability about to do service toSir Hildebrand, who was probably ignorant of the intrigues carried on inhis family--and a still more important service to Miss Vernon, whosefrank simplicity of character exposed her to so many risks in maintaininga private correspondence, perhaps with a person of doubtful or dangerouscharacter. If I seemed to intrude myself on her confidence, it was withthe generous and disinterested (yes, I even ventured to call it the_disinterested_) intention of guiding, defending, and protecting heragainst craft--against malice,--above all, against the secret counsellorwhom she had chosen for her confidant. Such were the arguments which mywill boldly preferred to my conscience, as coin which ought to becurrent, and which conscience, like a grumbling shopkeeper, was contentedto accept, rather than come to an open breach with a customer, thoughmore than doubting that the tender was spurious.
While I paced the green alleys, debating these things _pro_ and _con,_ Isuddenly alighted upon Andrew Fairservice, perched up like a statue by arange of bee-hives, in an attitude of devout contemplation--one eye,however, watching the motions of the little irritable citizens, who weresettling in their straw-thatched mansion for the evening, and the otherfixed on a book of devotion, which much attrition had deprived of itscorners, and worn into an oval shape; a circumstance which, with theclose print and dingy colour of the volume in question, gave it an air ofmost respectable antiquity.
"I was e'en taking a spell o' worthy Mess John Quackleben's Flower of aSweet Savour sawn on the Middenstead of this World," said Andrew, closinghis book at my appearance, and putting his horn spectacles, by way ofmark, at the place where he had been reading.
"And the bees, I observe, were dividing your attention, Andrew, with thelearned author?"
"They are a contumacious generation," replied the gardener; "they hae saxdays in the week to hive on, and yet it's a common observe that they willaye swarm on the Sabbath-day, and keep folk at hame frae hearing theword--But there's nae preaching at Graneagain chapel the e'en--that's ayeae mercy."
"You might have gone to the parish church as I did, Andrew, and heard anexcellent discourse."
"Clauts o' cauld parritch--clauts o' cauld parritch," replied Andrew,with a most supercilious sneer,--"gude aneueh for dogs, begging yourhonour's pardon--Ay! I might nae doubt hae heard the curate linking awaat it in his white sark yonder, and the musicians playing on whistles,mair like a penny-wedding than a sermon--and to the boot of that, I mighthae gaen to even-song, and heard Daddie Docharty mumbling hismass--muckle the better I wad hae been o' that!"
"Docharty!" said I (this was the name of an old priest, an Irishman, Ithink, who sometimes officiated at Osbaldistone Hall)--"I thought FatherVaughan had been at the Hall. He was here yesterday."
"Ay," replied Andrew; "but he left it yestreen, to gang to Greystock, orsome o' thae west-country haulds. There's an unco stir among them a'e'enow. They are as busy as my bees are--God sain them! that I suld eventhe puir things to the like o' papists. Ye see this is the second swarm,and whiles they will swarm off in the afternoon. The first swarm set offsune in the morning.--But I am thinking they are settled in their skepsfor the night; sae I wuss your honour good-night, and grace, and muckleo't."
So saying, Andrew retreated, but often cast a parting glance upon the_skeps,_ as he called the bee-hives.
I had indirectly gained from him an important piece of information, thatFather Vaughan, namely, was not supposed to be at the Hall. If,therefore, there appeared light in the windows of the library thisevening, it either could not be his, or he was observing a very secretand suspicious line of conduct. I waited with impatience the time ofsunset and of twilight. It had hardly arrived, ere a gleam from thewindows of the library was seen, dimly distinguishable amidst the stillenduring light of the evening. I marked its first glimpse, however, asspeedily as the benighted sailor descries the first distant twinkle ofthe lighthouse which marks his course. The feelings of doubt andpropriety, which had hitherto contended with my curiosity and jealousy,vanished when an opportunity of gratifying the former was presented tome. I re-entered the house, and avoiding the more frequented apartmentswith the consciousness of one who wishes to keep his purpose secret, Ireached the door of the libra
ry--hesitated for a moment as my hand wasupon the latch--heard a suppressed step within--opened the door--andfound Miss Vernon alone.
Diana appeared surprised,--whether at my sudden entrance, or from someother cause, I could not guess; but there was in her appearance a degreeof flutter, which I had never before remarked, and which I knew couldonly be produced by unusual emotion. Yet she was calm in a moment; andsuch is the force of conscience, that I, who studied to surprise her,seemed myself the surprised, and was certainly the embarrassed person.
"Has anything happened?" said Miss Vernon--"has any one arrived at theHall?"
"No one that I know of," I answered, in some confusion; "I only soughtthe Orlando."
"It lies there," said Miss Vernon, pointing to the table. In removing oneor two books to get at that which I pretended to seek, I was, in truth,meditating to make a handsome retreat from an investigation to which Ifelt my assurance inadequate, when I perceived a man's glove lying uponthe table. My eyes encountered those of Miss Vernon, who blushed deeply.
"It is one of my relics," she said with hesitation, replying not to mywords but to my looks; "it is one of the gloves of my grandfather, theoriginal of the superb Vandyke which you admire."
As if she thought something more than her bare assertion was necessary toprove her statement true, she opened a drawer of the large oaken table,and taking out another glove, threw it towards me.--When a tempernaturally ingenuous stoops to equivocate, or to dissemble, the anxiouspain with which the unwonted task is laboured, often induces the hearerto doubt the authenticity of the tale. I cast a hasty glance on bothgloves, and then replied gravely--"The gloves resemble each other,doubtless, in form and embroidery; but they cannot form a pair, sincethey both belong to the right hand."
She bit her lip with anger, and again coloured deeply.
"You do right to expose me," she replied, with bitterness: "some friendswould have only judged from what I said, that I chose to give noparticular explanation of a circumstance which calls for none--at leastto a stranger. You have judged better, and have made me feel, not onlythe meanness of duplicity, but my own inadequacy to sustain the task of adissembler. I now tell you distinctly, that that glove is not the fellow,as you have acutely discerned, to the one which I just now produced;--itbelongs to a friend yet dearer to me than the original of Vandyke'spicture--a friend by whose counsels I have been, and will be,guided--whom I honour--whom I"--she paused.
I was irritated at her manner, and filled up the blank in my own way--"Whom she _loves_, Miss Vernon would say."
"And if I do say so," she replied haughtily, "by whom shall my affectionbe called to account?"
Die Vernon and Frank in Library--234]
"Not by me, Miss Vernon, assuredly--I entreat you to hold me acquitted ofsuch presumption.--_But,_" I continued, with some emphasis, for I was nowpiqued in return, "I hope Miss Vernon will pardon a friend, from whom sheseems disposed to withdraw the title, for observing"--
"Observe nothing, sir," she interrupted with some vehemence, "except thatI will neither be doubted nor questioned. There does not exist one bywhom I will be either interrogated or judged; and if you sought thisunusual time of presenting yourself in order to spy upon my privacy, thefriendship or interest with which you pretend to regard me, is a poorexcuse for your uncivil curiosity."
"I relieve you of my presence," said I, with pride equal to her own; formy temper has ever been a stranger to stooping, even in cases where myfeelings were most deeply interested--"I relieve you of my presence. Iawake from a pleasant, but a most delusive dream; and--but we understandeach other."
I had reached the door of the apartment, when Miss Vernon, whosemovements were sometimes so rapid as to seem almost instinctive, overtookme, and, catching hold of my arm, stopped me with that air of authoritywhich she could so whimsically assume, and which, from the _naivete_ andsimplicity of her manner, had an effect so peculiarly interesting.
"Stop, Mr. Frank," she said, "you are not to leave me in that wayneither; I am not so amply provided with friends, that I can afford tothrow away even the ungrateful and the selfish. Mark what I say, Mr.Francis Osbaldistone. You shall know nothing of this mysterious glove,"and she held it up as she spoke--"nothing--no, not a single iota morethan you know already; and yet I will not permit it to be a gauntlet ofstrife and defiance betwixt us. My time here," she said, sinking into atone somewhat softer, "must necessarily be very short; yours must bestill shorter: we are soon to part never to meet again; do not let usquarrel, or make any mysterious miseries the pretext for fartherembittering the few hours we shall ever pass together on this side ofeternity."
I do not know, Tresham, by what witchery this fascinating creatureobtained such complete management over a temper which I cannot at alltimes manage myself. I had determined on entering the library, to seek acomplete explanation with Miss Vernon. I had found that she refused itwith indignant defiance, and avowed to my face the preference of a rival;for what other construction could I put on her declared preference of hermysterious confidant? And yet, while I was on the point of leaving theapartment, and breaking with her for ever, it cost her but a change oflook and tone, from that of real and haughty resentment to that of kindand playful despotism, again shaded off into melancholy and seriousfeeling, to lead me back to my seat, her willing subject, on her own hardterms.
"What does this avail?" said I, as I sate down. "What can this avail,Miss Vernon? Why should I witness embarrassments which I cannot relieve,and mysteries which I offend you even by attempting to penetrate?Inexperienced as you are in the world, you must still be aware that abeautiful young woman can have but one male friend. Even in a male friendI will be jealous of a confidence shared with a third party unknown andconcealed; but with _you,_ Miss Vernon"--
"You are, of course, jealous, in all the tenses and moods of that amiablepassion? But, my good friend, you have all this time spoke nothing butthe paltry gossip which simpletons repeat from play-books and romances,till they give mere cant a real and powerful influence over their minds.Boys and girls prate themselves into love; and when their love is like tofall asleep, they prate and tease themselves into jealousy. But you andI, Frank, are rational beings, and neither silly nor idle enough to talkourselves into any other relation than that of plain honest disinterestedfriendship. Any other union is as far out of our reach as if I were man,or you woman--To speak truth," she added, after a moment's hesitation,"even though I am so complaisant to the decorum of my sex as to blush alittle at my own plain dealing, we cannot marry if we would; and we oughtnot if we could."
And certainly, Tresham, she did blush most angelically, as she made thiscruel declaration. I was about to attack both her positions, entirelyforgetting those very suspicions which had been confirmed in the courseof the evening, but she proceeded with a cold firmness which approachedto severity--"What I say is sober and indisputable truth, on which I willneither hear question nor explanation. We are therefore friends, Mr.Osbaldistone--are we not?" She held out her hand, and taking mine,added--"And nothing to each other now, or henceforward, except asfriends."
She let go my hand. I sunk it and my head at once, fairly _overcrowed,_as Spenser would have termed it, by the mingled kindness and firmness ofher manner. She hastened to change the subject.
"Here is a letter," she said, "directed for you, Mr. Osbaldistone, veryduly and distinctly; but which, notwithstanding the caution of the personwho wrote and addressed it, might perhaps never have reached your hands,had it not fallen into the possession of a certain Pacolet, or enchanteddwarf of mine, whom, like all distressed damsels of romance, I retain inmy secret service."
I opened the letter and glanced over the contents. The unfolded sheet ofpaper dropped from my hands, with the involuntary exclamation of"Gracious Heaven! my folly and disobedience have ruined my father!"
Miss Vernon rose with looks of real and affectionate alarm--"You growpale--you are ill--shall I bring you a glass of water? Be a man, Mr.Osbaldistone, and a firm one. Is your father--is he
no more?"
"He lives," said I, "thank God! but to what distress and difficulty"--
"If that be all, despair not. May I read this letter?" she said, takingit up.
I assented, hardly knowing what I said. She read it with great attention.
"Who is this Mr. Tresham, who signs the letter?"
"My father's partner"--(your own good father, Will)--"but he is little inthe habit of acting personally in the business of the house."
"He writes here," said Miss Vernon, "of various letters sent to youpreviously."
"I have received none of them," I replied.
"And it appears," she continued, "that Rashleigh, who has taken the fullmanagement of affairs during your father's absence in Holland, has sometime since left London for Scotland, with effects and remittances to takeup large bills granted by your father to persons in that country, andthat he has not since been heard of."
"It is but too true."
"And here has been," she added, looking at the letter, "a head-clerk, orsome such person,--Owenson--Owen--despatched to Glasgow, to find outRashleigh, if possible, and you are entreated to repair to the sameplace, and assist him in his researches."
"It is even so, and I must depart instantly."
"Stay but one moment," said Miss Vernon. "It seems to me that the worstwhich can come of this matter, will be the loss of a certain sum ofmoney;--and can that bring tears into your eyes? For shame, Mr.Osbaldistone!"
"You do me injustice, Miss Vernon," I answered. "I grieve not for theloss of the money, but for the effect which I know it will produce on thespirits and health of my father, to whom mercantile credit is as honour;and who, if declared insolvent, would sink into the grave, oppressed by asense of grief, remorse, and despair, like that of a soldier convicted ofcowardice or a man of honour who had lost his rank and character insociety. All this I might have prevented by a trifling sacrifice of thefoolish pride and indolence which recoiled from sharing the labours ofhis honourable and useful profession. Good Heaven! how shall I redeem theconsequences of my error?"
"By instantly repairing to Glasgow, as you are conjured to do by thefriend who writes this letter."
"But if Rashleigh," said I, "has really formed this base andunconscientious scheme of plundering his benefactor, what prospect isthere that I can find means of frustrating a plan so deeply laid?'
"The prospect," she replied, "indeed, may be uncertain; but, on the otherhand, there is no possibility of your doing any service to your father byremaining here. Remember, had you been on the post destined for you, thisdisaster could not have happened: hasten to that which is now pointedout, and it may possibly be retrieved.--Yet stay--do not leave this roomuntil I return."
She left me in confusion and amazement; amid which, however, I couldfind a lucid interval to admire the firmness, composure, and presence ofmind which Miss Vernon seemed to possess on every crisis, however sudden.
In a few minutes she returned with a sheet of paper in her hand, foldedand sealed like a letter, but without address. "I trust you," she said,"with this proof of my friendship, because I have the most perfectconfidence in your honour. If I understand the nature of your distressrightly, the funds in Rashleigh's possession must be recovered by acertain day--the 12th of September, I think is named--in order that theymay be applied to pay the bills in question; and, consequently, that ifadequate funds be provided before that period, your father's credit issafe from the apprehended calamity."
"Certainly--I so understand Mr. Tresham"--I looked at your father'sletter again, and added, "There cannot be a doubt of it."
"Well," said Diana, "in that case my little Pacolet may be of use to you.You have heard of a spell contained in a letter. Take this packet; do notopen it until other and ordinary means have failed. If you succeed byyour own exertions, I trust to your honour for destroying it withoutopening or suffering it to be opened;--but if not, you may break the sealwithin ten days of the fated day, and you will find directions which maypossibly be of service to you. Adieu, Frank; we never meet more--butsometimes think of your friend Die Vernon."
She extended her hand, but I clasped her to my bosom. She sighed as sheextricated herself from the embrace which she permitted--escaped to thedoor which led to her own apartment--and I saw her no more.
END OF VOLUME ONE.
