by James Payn
CHAPTER II.
HARLEY STREET.
While I was thus passing my time at Fairburn, at work with my tutor, inrides rendered doubly lonesome by contrast with those made so enjoyableby the company of my friend, or in rambles about the solitary Chase, thecourse of true love was running more smoothly in Harley Street than itis fabled to do. During each of my visits there, I had perceived itssilent increase even more clearly than those between whom it was growingup into the perfect flower, leaf by leaf, and bud by bud; they hadtended it together--Marmaduke and Lucy--until it was well nigh inblossom, and yet they had not said to one another, and perhaps not evento themselves, "Why, this is surely Love." Mr. Gerard had watched it,not displeased, for he had found the young man all that my heart hadforetold that he would; Mr. Clint had seen it, and won by the strongsense, as much as by the beauty of the gentle girl, forgot therevolutionary stock of which she came. This, thought he, is the wife forMarmaduke Heath; tender, but yet determined; dutiful, but indisposed tosubmit to unauthorized dictation; as fearless as kind. In her, oncewedded to this young man, so morbid, so sensitive, so yielding, SirMassingberd would find, if it should be necessary, not only a foe,resolute herself, but as firm as steel for him whom she had dowered withher love. What Marmaduke's nature wanted, hers would supply. The keenlawyer foresaw for that unhappy family, whose interests he and his hadhad in keeping so many scores of years, a future such as had never beenpromised before. It was an admission painful to me enough at that time,but which I could not conceal from myself, that the real obstacle whichprevented the open recognition of attachment between these two youngpeople was Marmaduke himself. No girl more modest or less forward thanLucy Gerard ever breathed, but I knew--ah, how well I knew!--that a wordfrom him would have brought the love-light to her eyes, which now laywaiting but for it in the careful keeping of her maiden heart. But thatword had not been spoken. Perfect love, Marmaduke did not yet feel, forhe had not quite cast out fear. How can a man offer heart and hand to awoman whom he does not feel certain that he can protect? It is for thisreason that marriage among slaves must for ever be a mockery. Therewas, of course, no danger to Lucy Gerard in her marrying with Marmaduke,although his uncle should storm "No" a thousand times; but the young manfelt that he was unworthy of her, while he entertained any terror ofhim. It was wearing away; it was weakening day by day, through genialinfluences, and the absence of all things which reminded him of Fairburnand its master, but it was not dead yet. If by these words, I lead anyof my readers to suppose that Marmaduke Heath had the least resemblanceto that thing which is called a Coward, I have done my friend a grievouswrong. Let me do away with the possibility of this most mistaken notion,at once and for ever, by the recital of an event which, although it doesnot come within the scope of the present narrative, nearly concerns oneof its most important characters.
After the peace in 1815, there were more officers--English andFrench--killed in single combat in Paris than in any one of the mostbloody battles of the late war. This desire to exterminate individualEnglishmen extended over the whole of France. A certain gentleman of myacquaintance, then a very young man, chanced to be passing through atown in Normandy, where an assemblage was collected outside the officeof the mayor. This arose from the very uncommon circumstance that thatfunctionary had been appealed to by a post-captain in the English navyto punish a bullying Frenchman, who had striven to fasten a quarrel uponhim, although entirely unprovoked on his part. Now-a-days, the captainwould have been held to have behaved rightly enough, perhaps, but inthose fire-eating times an honest man's life was at the mercy of everyworthless ruffian who chose to run an equal risk with him from powderand bullet. The decision, wonderful to relate, was given by the mayoragainst his compatriot, and the crowd were correspondingly enraged. Myfriend, whose nationality was apparent, was hustled and ill-treated, andone person, well-dressed, and evidently of good position, knocked hishat off, observing at the same time: "You will complain of me to themayor for that."
"Certainly not," returned the young Englishman quietly, picking his hatup, all broken and muddy, from the trampled ground: "I shall treat youvery differently."
"You will fight, will you? Come--I challenge you. Let us fight to-morrowmorning," exclaimed the bully, who was, as it turned out, a notoriousprovincial duellist.
"Not to-morrow, but now," rejoined my friend; "I have no time to waithere, for I must be in Paris on Tuesday."
"Then it will be in Pere la Chaise," responded the other brutally.
There was no difficulty in procuring seconds, which were even moreplentiful in those parts than principals, and the whole partyimmediately left the town for a wood outside its suburbs. The choice ofweapons of course lay with the Englishman.
"Which do you prefer," asked the Frenchman who acted as his friend uponthe occasion--"the pistol or the sword?"
"I have never fired a pistol in my life," replied the Englishman, "norhandled a sword."
"Heavens!" cried his second, "what a barbarous education, what astupendous ignorance! You are as good as dead, I fear. I know not whichto recommend you. It is, however, at least sooner over with thepistol."
"The pistol be it then," said the Englishman coolly. "I elect that onlyone shall be loaded; and that we fire within four paces of one another.We shall then have an equal chance."
The duellist turned pale as the death that threatened him, but he didnot venture to make any objection. It was manifest no other proposalwould have been fair. The seconds went apart, and placed powder and ballin one weapon, powder only in the other. The combatants drew lots forchoice. The Frenchman won. The pistols were lying on a log of wood; headvanced towards them, took one up in his hand, and retired with it,then once more came back, and exchanged it for the other. He fanciedthat the weapon was lighter than it should have been if it had a ballwithin it. My friend's second objected strongly to this course; hecalled it even unfair and shameful; he protested that the pistol takenfirst ought to be retained. But the young Englishman, who was leaningcarelessly against a tree, exclaimed, "Let the gentleman have which helikes. Whether he is right or not will be decided in a few seconds." Sothe combatants were placed opposite to one another, and advanced towithin four paces. They raised their weapons; the word was given tofire, and the Frenchman fell, pierced through the heart.
"His blood is upon his own head," exclaimed the other solemnly. "He wasbrave enough to have been a better man." Then perceiving that his helpcould be of no avail to his late antagonist, he lifted his battered hatto the Frenchman that remained alive, and returning to his carriage,immediately resumed his journey.
It is not possible, without putting some very strained and unusualmeaning on the word, to call the hero of such an adventure a coward; yetthe man who acted thus was Marmaduke Heath.
The above relation is but a clumsy method of proving him courageous, Iam well aware; but I really know not otherwise how to make him appearso, slave, as it is seen he was, to terrors which must seem almostimaginary. It is said that no man, however fearless, quite gets over hisawe of his schoolmaster. An exaggeration of this sentiment probablypossessed this unfortunate young man; added to which was the fact thatSir Massingberd was his uncle, a family tie which was doubtless notwithout its influence, notwithstanding Marmaduke's evil opinion of hisown race. I suspect, too, he entertained a morbid notion that his ownlife and that of his relative were somehow bound up together in one;and on the few occasions when I ever saw him moved to wrath, asimilarity--mental as well as physical--between him and his uncle becameapparent, which actually inspired him with a sort of awe and hatred of_himself_. A noble mind more injured and misshapen by ill-training itwas impossible to imagine. For the last few months, however, as I havesaid, it had been growing aright, and gaining strength and vigour. Nohome--even Mr. Clint and my tutor felt that--could possibly be betteradapted for him than his present one; the society of Mr. Gerard, a manindependent almost to audacity, and despising the haughty and the strongwith a supreme contempt, was the very tonic he needed. Rare
ly, however,was his uncle's name mentioned in his presence: at first, Mr. Gerard hadpurposely spoken of Sir Massingberd lightly and jestingly, but it wasfound that the subject had better be altogether avoided. It is ill tojest upon earthquakes with one who, having but just recovered fromcertain shocks of a volcanic nature, is not without apprehensions ofmore to come. This anticipation turned out to be but too well grounded.A day or two after my discovery of the baronet's poor gipsy-wife atFairburn, whose existence was well known, I found, to both the rectorand Mr. Clint, and of course to Marmaduke himself, the postman carriedmisfortune from me to Harley Street, although I was myself asunconscious of the fact as he. Marmaduke did not come in to luncheonfrom his study, as usual, and Mr. Gerard was sent with a gay message tohim by Lucy, to bid him do so. He was not wanted, he was to be assured,upon his own account at all, but she was dying to hear news of Peter,whose handwriting she had perceived upon the letter that had been sentin to him that morning. Mr. Gerard found the poor lad with his eyesriveted upon an autograph that was not mine, and upon words that I wouldrather have cut off my hand than knowingly have sent him:
"Nephew Marmaduke,--I am told, whether falsely or not, it does notmatter now, that you have not seen the letter which I previously sent toyou. I think you can scarcely have done so, or you would not have daredto disobey my orders therein contained, but would have returned toFairburn long ago. At all events, you will read _this_ with your owneyes, and beware how you hesitate to comply with it. _Return hither,sir, at once._ It is idle to suppose that I wish you harm, as those youare with would fain persuade you; but it is far worse than idle toattempt to cross my will. Come back to Fairburn, and I will behavetowards you as though you had not acted in your late undutiful manner.Delay to do so, and be sure that you will still have to return, butunder very different circumstances. Marmaduke Heath, you should know mewell by this time. When I say 'Come,' it is bad for the person to whom Ispeak to reply, 'I will not come.' I give you twenty-four hours toarrive here after the receipt of this letter; when these have elapsedwithout my seeing you, I shall consider your absence to be equivalent toa contumacious refusal. Then war will begin between us; and the strifewill be unequal, Nephew Marmaduke; although you had fifty men at yourback like lawyer Clint and this man Gerard, they could not keep youfrom my arm. It will reach you wheresoever you are, at the time youleast suspect it, and from the quarter to which you have least looked.However well it may seem to be with you, it will not be well. When youthink yourself safest, you will be most in danger. There is indeed butone place of safety for you: come you home.
"MASSINGBERD HEATH."
The wily baronet had fooled me, and doubtless, when I rose to light thetaper, had substituted the above letter for that which he had persuadedme to enclose to his unhappy nephew.
