by Mrs. West
CHAP. XIV.
Where you are liberal of your loves, and counsels, Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends, And give your hearts to, when they once perceive The least rub in your fortunes, fall away Like water from ye, never found again, But where they mean to sink ye.
Shakspeare.
The evil genius of Colonel Evellin still pursued him. He had nottravelled far before he fell into the power of the rebels, who carriedhim prisoner to London. He was recognized as one who had done wondersfor the King; and, in an enemy every where triumphant, to spare his lifewas an act of mercy. He was, however, kept in rigorous confinement, andhis name excepted out of every act of amnesty. Whether the Presbyteriansor Independents gained a temporary ascendancy; whether the Rump or thearmy struggled to get the King's person into their hands, to give acolourable pretext to their most unrighteous proceedings, a high-mindedLoyalist was alike dangerous and opposite to the vacillating humours ofmen, who, under the pretence of worshipping the God of truth and mercy,served the abominations of perverted understandings and corruptedhearts.
Eustace, accompanied by the faithful Jobson, reached Pendennis Castle,and joined its brave defenders; but Lord Hopton left it before theirarrival, to follow his royal charge, who, in compliance with hisfather's commands, quitted England, which now had only chains to bestowon its Princes. In this strong fortress, celebrated for being the lastthat held out for the King, Eustace distinguished himself for patientbravery and active courage. But he no longer fought in a conspicuousscene of action, under the eye of a renowned commander, whose praise wasglory, and whose reproof was disgrace. He gained indeed the esteem ofthe venerable Arundel, who, at the age of fourscore, bound hissilver-locks with an helmet, and kept the Royal standard flying, tillthe enemy, astonished at his fortitude and resources, acceded to themost honourable capitulation. But as soon as terms were granted, and thegarrison dispersed, Eustace lost all hope of again signalizing himself,nor could the renown gained within the walls of a fortress expunge thedisgrace which had been promulgated at the head of an army.
While undetermined how to act, or which way to employ the unvalued lifehe was bound to preserve in proof of his repentance, Eustace heard ofhis father's captivity. Another report at the same time reached him,which, as any one who has fondly loved in early youth, when every ideais most likely to be engrossed by the ardent susceptibility of onepredominant passion, will readily believe, excited still keener anguish.He was assured that Monthault was at that time an inmate in Dr.Beaumont's family, high in the estimation of all, and even believed tobe an accepted lover of Constantia.
To refute a rumour so injurious to loyal faith and female truth, I mustremind the reader, that immediately after Lord Hopton's defeat, MajorMonthault was ostentatiously pointed out as an object of Parliamentaryvengeance, and thrown into confinement. This was done to give him creditwith the Loyalists, preparatory to his being sent to Oxford, where itwas proposed he should act as a spy, and convey intelligence to thebeleaguering army, specifying also such of the inhabitants as were toozealous and determined to make safe citizens in the projectedcommonwealth. He was soon permitted to break from durance, and arrivingat Oxford under the character of a confessor in the Royal cause, he waskindly welcomed by Dr. Beaumont. He brought Constantia the first certainintelligence that Eustace was alive, and had passed through the dangersof a disastrous campaign with little injury.
The voice of fame, alike busy in circulating good and evil tidings, sooninformed the family of the public censure which Lord Hopton cast on thatunfortunate fugitive, and Monthault would have gained great credit withthe Beaumonts for not having been the first to disclose it, had not hisown conduct been implicated in the same accusation. Isabel eagerly clungto the visible proofs of his loyalty as an implicit evidence that herbrother had been most basely aspersed. "The misery of these times," saidshe, "is surely sufficient; we need not aggravate the misfortunes of ourfellow-sufferers, or the cruelty of our enemies, by crediting thecalumnies of malice, or the unfounded fabrications of busy tatlers. Ourdear Eustace is accused of treason, and his friend and constantassociate is involved in the same charge. Yet if imprisonment andforfeiture of his estates are not testimonials of loyalty, where shallwe seek more certain attestations? After having fought and bled for hisKing, he breaks from captivity and seeks an asylum among us at Oxford.Equally inconsistent is the charge aimed at my gallant brother. DearestConstantia, surely you cannot believe Eustace to be a traitor; yet yourcold looks and marked indifference to poor Monthault, and the care withwhich you avoid your lover's name, lest his friend should attempt hisexculpation, indicate, that either you suffer this futile charge todwell too much upon your mind, or that you mistook the mere attachmentof kindred for devoted affection."
"Isabel," returned Constantia, with a look of mild expostulation, "Iknow not how far to trust rumour, but this I know, that the tongue ofMonthault will corrode the fame of Eustace, either in censuring orcommending him. Do not imagine there is any change in me, or that Imistook the nature of my own feelings. Whether Eustace deserves reproachor renown, my heart will never own another possessor. It is eitherwedded to his deserts, or so estranged by his faults, that love may aswell light his fire on a monumental tablet as make me again admire inman, that fair semblance of generous integrity, by which Eustace won meto select him as the partner of my future life. Him I shall ever love,or ever mourn. But were he proved guilty of every base crime laid to hischarge, this extortioner, this debauchee, this refractory soldier, nay,even this traitor, must not be placed by the side of Monthault, unlessit be right to compare the guilt of frail man with the impiousdesperation of Satan. My greatest grief and torment proceed from a factwhich I cannot dispute: true, as you say, Eustace selected Monthault forhis constant associate and particular friend."
These remarks of Constance will disprove the rumour which had reachedthe ears of her fugitive lover, and prove that Monthault did not succeedin one of the designs which brought him to Oxford; with regard to theother, his intended services to the Parliament during the siege werefrustrated by an order extorted from the captive King, requiring thathis garrisons should be immediately surrendered to the ruling party.Oxford therefore admitted a detachment of the rebel army, but for sometime a spirit of moderation was visible in the treatment bestowed onthis honourable asylum of loyalty and learning. The covenant and otheroaths were indeed sent down, but as they were not enforced, theconscientious possessors of ecclesiastical and collegiate situationswere not ejected for contumacy. The captivity of the King imposed themost scrupulous moderation and quiet submission on all his adherents,and many persons hoped, from this apparent calm, that the nationalwounds would speedily be healed.
But the suspended fury of two powerful contending parties, concentratingtheir terrors, and perfecting their deep designs to crush each otherbefore they entirely annihilate a fallen foe, bears no more resemblanceto the wise lenity of a regular government towards the refractorysubjects it has subdued, than the fearful stillness which is theprecursor of a thunder-storm does to the serene tranquillity of asummer's day. No sooner were the Presbyterian republicans subdued by thefanatics, who had gained the entire command of the army, than the murderof the King, and the vindictive persecution of loyalty and episcopacy,plainly shewed that, in the nomenclature of these men, forbearance andliberty meant self-aggrandizement and most merciless oppression of allwho dissented from their opinions.
Major Monthault had sufficient political versatility and naturalbaseness to be a busy actor in these scenes of perfidy and depravity;but his talents were too limited to acquire distinction among men ofdeep penetration, profoundly skilled in the art of fomenting andmanaging the malignant passions; besides, the open scandal of hisprofligate manners ill suited the decorous exterior of seeming saints.His treachery to the Royal cause, therefore, only purchased him theliberty of compounding for his estate at a less fine than was extortedfrom persons of untarnished fidelity; an
d he was laid by as aninstrument equally mean and vile, incapable of further use. A bad heartcan never taste the pleasures which belong to tranquillity; and inactionis torture to those who must shun reflection. Monthault had no resourcebut in the indulgence of his brutal appetites. The beauty of Constantiaexcited desire, while the avowed contempt with which she treated himconvinced him that the blandishments of flattery and perseveringassiduity would never remove the impressions which she had conceived tohis disadvantage. The licence of these disorderly times was favourableto deeds of violence. Monthault formed the project of carrying off hismistress by force, and securing her in his parental castle; anddisbanded soldiers were easily found, alike daring and lawless, toexecute such an atrocious design.
The only difficulty attendant on this undertaking seemed to consist inwresting her from the protection of her friends; for though courts oflaw no longer afforded relief to injured loyalists, a police was stillpreserved, and the precincts of a college could not be violated withimpunity, or indeed with a prospect of success. He resorted, therefore,to stratagem, invented a tale of distress, and disguised a femaleaccomplice to pass as the widow of a soldier who had fallen at Naseby. Astory of sick children perishing for want was likely to operate on thefeelings of humane young women. Constantia and Isabel were soon drawnbeyond the walls of Oxford, and conducted along the banks of theCharwell, in search of this scene of misery. When they were at such adistance from the city as to preclude the chance of assistance, severalmen, masked and disguised, rushed out of an inclosure, seized theirfainting prey, and bore her from her shrieking companion to a carriagewhich waited to receive her. The horses set off at full speed, andIsabel, in an agony of despair, ran after it till it was out of sight,invoking the interposition of Heaven, and casting many a vain lookaround to see if any human succour was at hand. Tired and exhausted, sheat last recollected, that to return to the city and relate the event,describing to the municipal officers the road the fugitives had taken,would afford the most probable means of rescue; and, though it would beunspeakable agony to meet her bereaved uncle and aunt, she yetconsidered that her being with them would afford them some consolation,beside the advantage of her testimony for the recovery of her dearcompanion.
When Constantia revived from the state of insensibility into which thesuddenness of the assault had hurried her weak spirits, she foundherself in a chaise with Monthault, who watched the return of her sensesto pour out some passionate encomiums on her beauty, and protestationsof his insurmountable, though hopeless love. "I will speak this once,"said she, "and then for ever be silent. Hear, abandoned man andperfidious friend! I would sooner die than yield to your wishes; and Iknow my father would weep less over my corpse, than if he saw mecontaminated by your embraces. Restore me to him; nay, only give meliberty to fly back to his dear arms, and I will never disclose that youwere the ravisher; but if you persist in your cruelty, it will be of noother avail than to plunge your soul in additional guilt."
Alarmed by the determined firmness of her manner, Monthault changed histone. He protested she misunderstood his expressions; for that, thoughhe never should cease to adore her, he had merely engaged in thisenterprize as the agent of Eustace, to whom he was going to carry her.Hopeless of obtaining her father's consent (since he knew his disgracehad reached Oxford), and incapable of living without her, they hadprojected this scheme; and he besought her to be calm, as a few hourswould bring her to her plighted love. "Surely, beautiful Constantia,"said he, "you would not wish to escape from your faithful, thoughdishonoured Eustace." "The Eustace I knew and loved," returned she, "wasfaithful and honourable. Base seducer, and slanderer of unsuspectinginnocence, this subterfuge cannot deceive me a moment; and I once morewarn you to let me go, or dread my desperation."
A disposition like Monthault's is rarely threatened out of itsdeliberate purpose; but, happily for Constantia, the skill of the driverwas not proportioned to the expedition he was commanded to use, and heoverturned the carriage at the entrance of a small village. Constantia'scries soon drew several people to her assistance, who, supposing herdistress proceeded from her alarm at the accident, assured her that thegentleman who lay senseless on the ground was only stunned by the fall,and that the blood which streamed from her own face was caused by a veryslight wound. "It is from him," said she, "that I entreat to bepreserved; only hide me from him. Let him suppose I escaped in themoment of confusion, and every kind office I can do you in the course ofmy life will be too little to shew my gratitude. Beside my own prayers,I will promise you those of my dear father, the worthiest and best ofmen; these he will daily offer to Heaven for the preservers of his onlychild."
The rustic witnesses of this scene listened with stupid surprise to thisaddress. The women busied themselves in binding up the deep gash inConstantia's forehead; the men, in raising Monthault, and lifting up thecarriage. By this time the out-riders were come up, who, faithful totheir commission, prepared to place Constantia on one of the horses,when her loud shrieks, the bustle, and crowd, attracted the attention oftwo gentlemen who were travelling on the road, to whose inquiries ofwhat was the matter, one of Monthault's gang brutally answered, acarriage had been overturned and a gentleman much hurt. "But he is quietenough," said he; "whereas his wife, who is only a little scratched,screams as if she would raise the dead."
"Her distress at least requires tender treatment," said one of thegentlemen. "Why are they lifting her on that horse?" "To take her to asurgeon, your honour." "What! from her lifeless husband, while sheherself is but slightly injured? Something must be wrong here." At themoment Constantia thought herself lost, a strenuous hand grasped thebridle of the horse on which she was placed; and a commanding voicecalled to the man who held her in his arms to stop at his peril. Thevillain drew his sword, and attempted to hew down his opposer; but atthat instant Constantia had sufficient strength to loosen his clasp andthrow herself upon the ground, from which she was raised by the othergentleman, who assured her she should be protected, in a voice which,with rapture, she recognized to be that of the worthy Barton.
"Oh my guardian angel," said she, "are you come to save me again? Mysecond father, hold me in your sheltering arms till you can restore meto my kindred. I have been forced away by brutal ravishers. There liesthe master ruffian senseless; and," continued she, waving her hand,"there are his cruel accomplices."
By this time the other stranger had disarmed his antagonist, pulled himfrom his horse, and committed him to custody. "My Lord," said Barton tohim, "this is a most providential adventure. We have again rendered asignal good service to one of those pretty maidens whom you assisted atHalifax." "To which of them?" eagerly inquired the young nobleman."Mistress Constantia Beaumont," returned Barton. "But where is Isabel?""Safe at Oxford, and consoling my friends, I trust," replied Constantia."Oh, Sir! I know not by what name to address you; but if you are thepupil of the excellent Barton, you will, like him, defend the friendlesswho has been forced away from her natural protectors."
"Most willingly," answered the unknown; "but if that man is yourhusband, how can I take you out of his power?" Constantia then brieflytold her story; her morning walk with Isabel; her seizure; Monthault'sprotestations; the overthrow of the chaise, and the attempt of themyrmidons to force her away. The rest of these wretches had now madetheir escape, leaving the one who was in custody and their employer, whobegan to shew signs of life, to answer for their crimes.
Barton then took upon himself the office of restoring Constantia to herfriends, and begged his companion to remain with Monthault to see thathe had proper treatment, and was secured from escaping. They drove backto Oxford with such rapidity as to precede the return of Isabel, who hadthe happiness of seeing the beloved friend, whose loss she came toannounce, restored to the embraces of her affectionate family.
While Mr. Barton and Dr. Beaumont were exchanging those sentiments ofcordial esteem which mutual worth is sure to inspire, Isabel's eyesinquired if the gallant officer, who had so much interested her, hadgiven no signs of reciproc
al recollection. She was dissatisfied that hewas not her cousin's escort; and though, in wishing to see him again,she thought she had no other motive than to thank him for past services,she never before felt so much pain from unacknowledged gratitude.Constance was too much overpowered by the remembrance of her ownpreservation to attend to the silent perplexity of Isabel, whom a secretconsciousness of what she could scarce believe to be a fault restrainedfrom a thousand inquiries which she would not have scrupled to makeafter one to whom she was wholly indifferent.
The transport which Dr. Beaumont felt at the restoration of his daughterwas checked by a discovery of the most agonizing kind. Monthault stillcontinued in a languishing condition; but his accomplice underwent anexamination as to the purpose of his attempt, and the name of hisemployer. On promise of pardon the miscreant offered to make a fulldiscovery. His conditions were accepted; and he then named EustaceEvellin as the person who was to receive the advantage of the nefariousaction. He asserted, that being overcome with despair at the thought ofhaving forfeited his uncle's favour by his bad conduct, Eustacedetermined to possess his cousin at any hazard, and that Major Monthaulthad been wrought upon, by his earnest entreaties, to become his agent.The woman who had personated a trooper's widow, and drawn the two ladiesto the retired spot where Eustace was seized, gave such a description ofthe stranger who bribed her to fabricate a tale of distress as exactlytallied with the person of Eustace, but bore no resemblance toMonthault. Another was brought to swear that he had seen Dr. Beaumont'snephew in Oxford since its surrender to the Parliament. His long silenceto his family was an inexplicable mystery; but to visit Oxford withoutthrowing himself at his uncle's feet, and imploring pardon, was such atacit acknowledgement of conscious unworthiness, as even the candour ofDr. Beaumont could not controvert. In an agony of mind, far exceedingall that he had endured for his despoiled fortunes, and only equalled bywhat he felt for his persecuted King; he requested Mr. Barton todischarge the accomplices, and hush up the business. He then returnedhome, clasped the trembling Constantia in his arms, and conjured hernever to name her unworthy cousin. "I would bid you not think of him,"said he; "but the viper will be remembered by its sting, after we havediscovered it to be a poisonous reptile with a beautiful outside. Andmuch gratitude is due to Heaven, that the base infection of his naturehas been fully disclosed, before you were bound to him by indissolubleties." Constantia asked if Monthault was the accuser of Eustace."Monthault," replied the Doctor, "is silent. A chain of evidenceconfirms, that he was merely an agent in this iniquitous design oftearing you from me."--"Impossible," replied Constance, "never did agentembark with such eager passion in the views of another. It was forhimself, the monster pleaded; and it was only a mean attempt to quiet mycries for assistance, when he talked of carrying me to Eustace.--Fortunatedissembler, how well he contrives to throw the guilt of his own treasonson that ill-fated youth."
"Dear, credulous girl," returned the Doctor, "I have often bid you loveyoung Evellin, and do not wonder that you find it hard to unlearn thatlesson. Yet, rest assured, it is not on dubious testimony, that I foundmy conviction of his being corrupted by the lax morality of these eviltimes, in which one party deems an attachment to the antientconstitution an excuse for debauchery, and the other uses the verbiageof religion as a commutation for obedience to its precepts. It is mosttrue, Eustace was publicly disgraced by Lord Hopton, accused of crimesto which he pleaded guilty, suspected of others which he faintly denied.With horror I must tell you that his unfortunate honourable father hadthe anguish of witnessing his shame."
Constance raised her streaming eyes and clasped hands to Heaven,exclaiming, "If his crimes have been any thing worse than theprecipitation of thoughtless youth, there is no truth in man. Till hisfame is cleared I will not name him. But I shall never cease to think ofhim till this heart ceases to beat, or rather till my intellects are tooclouded to discern the difference between error and depravity. You haveoften said that one of the sorest calamities of this turbulent period isthe celebrity acquired by successful wickedness, which encouragesoffenders to traffic largely in iniquity; but the fate of poor Eustacecontinues to exhibit the severity of retributive justice. Discarded byboth his fathers, and divorced from his love, where has the pennylessoutcast funds to feed the craving avarice of criminal associates, tosuborn accomplices, and to bribe witnesses? A destitute exile has atleast presumptive evidence that he is innocent of stratagems whichwealth alone could attempt; and surely wealth is always too selfish toforego the indulgencies which it pawns its soul to purchase."
The sensibility of Constantia Beaumont was as permanent as it was acute;her sense of honour was refined and delicate; but her high-seated lovewas fixed on those unalterable properties which not only rejected everylight surmise to her lover's disadvantage, but also clung to theconviction of his integrity with a confidence which, in the presentstate of things, looked like obstinate credulity. No chain ofcircumstances, no concurring testimony could induce her to think Eustacetreacherous or depraved. By his own mouth alone could he be condemned.She must see his misdeeds and hear his confession before she woulddetermine to recall her vows. With all the vivid hope of youthfulinexperience, she continued to believe that he would return and confutehis accusers. Months, nay, years, rolled away; the hope grew fainter. Nocertain tidings of his proceedings reached them after the fatal battleof Dartmoor, when Lord Hopton precipitately doomed him to ignominy. Shehad heard that his father commanded him to live and redeem his lostfame; and she often fancied he was busily employed in obeying thatcommand. Indulging this idea, she hoped that his glory would burst uponthem with such unquestionable splendour, that every tongue wouldapplaud, while she took her hero by the hand, and asked her father torescind the injunction which forbade her to avow her unchangeableaffection.
