CHAPTER XXII.
Two days elapsed, and on the third morning Lady Malcolm was sitting in her drawing-room alone, when the servant threw open the door, and announced "Colonel Lieberg." Her visitor upon the present occasion was personally known to her, so far as a mere bow went, when they met in society. But this was the first time that he had ever presented himself at her house; and Lady Malcolm, therefore, as she well might, looked somewhat surprised when she received him. Her demeanour, however, was perfectly courteous, though somewhat distant withal, and after begging him to be seated, she enquired what fortunate circumstance procured her the honour of his visit.
"I beg your ladyship's pardon," said Lieberg, "for intruding upon you, especially at this hour of the morning; but, in truth, though I asked for you--thinking it would be more proper so to do--my visit is intended for a young lady, who is, I find, under your kind care and protection, and to whom I have some intelligence to communicate, which may, perhaps, give her pleasure."
Lady Malcolm, however, had lived long enough in the great world to have the faculty of misunderstanding, when she thought proper; and she therefore replied--"I am really very sorry, Count, but Miss Carr is out, and probably will not return till the evening."
"Your ladyship is under a mistake," replied Lieberg; "my visit was not intended for the lady you mention, but for Miss Barham, who, her brother informs me, is residing at your house."
"He is quite in error," replied Lady Malcolm; "Miss Barham did, indeed, do me the favour of passing a few days with me, but she left me yesterday morning."
Lieberg's cheek grew hot; and though he still maintained the appearance of the utmost suavity, there was a certain degree of sharpness in his tone, which shewed how mortified and disappointed he was.
"Then, of course," he said, "your ladyship can favour me with her address."
"No, indeed," replied Lady Malcolm, "I cannot. All I can tell you is, that she is gone into the country."
"May I humbly enquire," rejoined Lieberg, "whether your difficulty, in regard to telling me her address, is voluntary, or from ignorance of where she is?--beg pardon," he added, in a softer tone "if I am asking anything extraordinary; but as I have matters of importance to communicate to Miss Barham, it is very necessary that I should learn her address by some means, in order to write to her speedily."
"To answer you candidly, Count Lieberg," replied Lady Malcolm, "and as you put the question so distinctly, I must acknowledge that I do not give you the information you wish for, partly because I have not the exact address, and partly because Miss Barham requested me not to say where she is gone to any one."
"But I should certainly think she would make an exception in my favour," said Lieberg, earnestly, "considering that business of the greatest importance, affecting her brother in the highest degree, is left entirely in my hands. I say, therefore, Lady Malcolm," he added, as that lady remained perfectly silent--"I say, therefore, that I should think she must have made an exception in my favour."
"She did not," answered Lady Malcolm, drily; "she never hinted at any exception at all; and such being the case, I cannot take upon myself to make one."
"Really, this is very extraordinary," exclaimed Lieberg; "and allow me to say, very mortifying also. Nor can I think that Miss Barham will be at all obliged to those who prevent her from receiving intelligence which it is necessary she should be made acquainted with directly."
"Indeed," said Lady Malcolm, "I feel it to be a very painful and disagreeable position; but you must see clearly, my dear Count, that I have only one course to pursue."
"No, indeed," replied Lieberg, "I cannot say that I agree with you. I cannot but think that, under, present circumstances, and considering my character and station in life, you might, without hesitation or apprehension of the consequences, make that exception in my favour which I am perfectly certain Miss Barham would have done had she thought of it."
"Ay," replied Lady Malcolm, with a sly smile, "but you men are so bold and resolute, Count Lieberg, and I am but a poor timid woman, always afraid of doing wrong. You must forgive me, indeed, if I do not act as you wish; and besides, as I say, I have not got her exact address. She is to write to me in a few days, and then if she tells me to give you her address, I can send it. If not, I will write to her, and ask. This is all I can do."
The tone in which she spoke was firm and determined; and Lieberg, seeing that it was vain to press the matter further, made a virtue of necessity, saying--"Well, my dear Lady Malcolm, you judge for the best, I am sure; but believe me it may cause great inconvenience, especially as I myself much want to go out of town. What a beautiful little picture that is! That must be a Correggio!"
"It is generally esteemed so," replied Lady Malcolm. And Lieberg, before he took his leave, examined the various pictures which the room contained, praising several with that degree of discrimination which took from his commendation every appearance of flattery to the taste of the lady who had selected the paintings, though in reality he was skilfully smoothing down all the feelings of irritation which he feared his own irritation might have produced. He succeeded so far as to make Lady Malcolm say to herself, after he left her, "Well; he is a very pleasant person, certainly.--But Morley is right," she added, "I would not trust him in matters such as this."
Whatever were Lady Malcolm's motives, the story which she had told Count Lieberg was perfectly true. Miss Barham had left her on the preceding day, and had gone down into the country. Juliet Carr, as she had promised when Morley first mentioned the situation of his poor protégée, had written at once to her father, asking if he would receive Helen as her companion and friend, when she herself came down, and hinting at those pecuniary arrangements which she knew would have weight with her somewhat too covetous parent.
To her surprise, however, she had received a letter by return of post, making no reference whatsoever to money matters, but "begging Juliet to ask only one question of her fair companion--namely, whether she was or was not the daughter of the Rev. Mr. Barham, the curate of Elmes, in Cumberland, and if both her father and mother were dead. If so, he said, he would have the greatest pleasure in receiving her, as he had been an intimate acquaintance of her grandfather, and done what he could to prevent him from spending his fine property. He added, moreover, that if from the circumstances at which Juliet had hinted, it was more pleasant for Miss Barham to come down at once, without waiting for his daughter, he begged she would do so, and remain as long as she liked, when he would treat her in every respect as his child."
The whole letter was so unlike her father, that unless Juliet had seen the handwriting she could scarcely have believed it was his composition. That fact, however, was not to be doubted, and she accordingly shewed the epistle to Helen, who immediately replied that she was the daughter of the Mr. Barham mentioned, and she had some faint idea of having heard him once or twice speak of Mr. Carr. Juliet then proposed to write back to her father and inform him that, such being the case, Helen would accompany her to Yelverly in a fortnight. But Helen laid her fair hand upon her companion's arm, and gazing earnestly in her face, replied, "I would rather go at once, if possible."
"But why so, dear Helen?" said Juliet. "Lady Malcolm wishes you to stay, and go with us to some watering-place for a time, and Morley has promised----"
"I would rather go at once," said Helen, with that sad shake of the head which speaks that the heart is faint and weary within us,--"I would rather go at once, dear Juliet--there is much that I would willingly avoid here, in London."
Juliet understood her in a moment, and opposed her no farther; and it was settled, at Helen's own desire, that she and her maid should proceed part of the way to Yelverly on the following morning. This plan was put in execution, and Helen herself seemed more than ever anxious to fly from the scenes that surrounded her. She was to visit for one day, as she went, the house of the friend to whom she had previously written, and whose prolonged silence she did not understand; after which, she was to go on to the house of Juliet's father, and to write immediately on her arrival. Thus, Lady Malcolm could safely say that she did not absolutely know where she was, though Juliet Carr could not have done so with as much sincerity had she been present, for Helen left the address of the friend she was about to visit with her.
We will not enquire into the feelings of Lieberg as he returned to his own home, suffice it that he immediately sent for the youth, William Barham, with whom he held a long conference. At the end of their disquisition of ways and means, he despatched the lad to seek for Morley Ernstein in Berkeley-square, but that gentleman was not at home, and Lieberg himself, in riding through the park a few hours afterwards, met him walking with Lady Malcolm and a young lady, whose dazzling beauty of face and symmetry of form at once let Lieberg into the secret of a part, at least, of his friend's conduct. "Ha, this is, good!" he said to himself, as he rode on after bowing to Lady Malcolm, and nodding familiarly to Morley. "This is good! However, Sir Morley, you shall not frustrate me."
Lieberg did not attempt to stop; nor appear to take any further notice of Juliet Carr; and Morley walked on by her side with very little restraint upon their feelings from the presence of Lady Malcolm. Whatever restraint did exist was, perhaps, not altogether unpleasant. It is strange to say, that the fact of being prevented from doing what we could wish to do, can ever be agreeable; and yet, though the lover may long to be altogether alone with her he loves, there is a sweet excitement in expressing all the warm and glowing feelings in the heart, by shadowy figures, half veiling, half exposing, the thoughts and the sensations that we should have told openly had there not been an indifferent ear to listen.
Good Lady Malcolm, indeed, was by no means indifferent; and though her presence, as I have said, was some restraint, yet that restraint was too small ever to be painful. The marriage of Morley Ernstein and of Juliet Carr, was a thing that she had long set her heart upon; and that they would fall in love with each other as soon as they met, was one of those facts which she had predetermined, with that peculiar sort of vaticination which many elderly ladies experience in regard to affairs of the heart. When they did meet, then, and did fall in love with each other, she received it more as a compliment to her prophetical powers than anything else; and, well pleased with them and herself, she left them to settle the rest as much to their own satisfaction as possible.
Having used the words, "when they did meet, and did fall in love with each other," I must dwell for a minute or two upon the process of that act, as, in the hurry of tale-telling, I could not pause upon it sufficiently to explain some part of the mystery at the exact period when it might be most proper to do so. I have shown, indeed, how it took place with Morley Ernstein, that in his case it was, in fact, love at first sight--a thing much more common, by the way, with eager and impetuous hearts and quick imaginations, than is generally supposed. It was, literally, love at first sight; for though there might be some vague boyish impressions of what he had loved and liked in childhood still remaining undefined in his mind, and making his heart spring to Juliet Carr as soon as he saw her, yet they were too indefinite to be taken into the account; and it was, simply and truly, admiration of her dazzling beauty, and the translation of that loveliness into a guarantee, under the hand of nature, that the heart, and mind, and spirit within were of the brightest kind, which made Morley Ernstein love Juliet Carr from the first moment he beheld her.
With her, the matter was very different. Woman's love is nursed with more visionary food than man's; and, in our cold climate at least, is of slower but more solid growth than his. Circumscribed in her sphere of action, even from her childhood, her feelings and her thoughts are more concentrated within her own bosom, and fix more firmly upon the great master topic of her whole existence--love. Juliet, the reader has remarked, had recollected the early days she had passed with Morley Ernstein, better than he had done. The reason was, that she was a woman; and from a very early period, all the affections are matters of more importance to a woman than a man. She had recollected those early days, not only as a passing dream, but as a definite existence; there was scarcely a sport or a pastime which they had enjoyed together, that she could not call up before the eye of memory. The voice of Morley Ernstein, in all the soft tones of boyish attachment, had often rung in her ears as she grew towards womanhood. His young, bright face often presented itself in her waking and her sleeping hours, and sometimes she would try to picture the changes that must have come over him, and would ask herself, "What the boy would be, now he was become a man!"
Her annual visit to Lady Malcolm too--her father allowed her to make an annual visit--called Morley frequently back to her mind, for that good friend would often talk of him in the manner which the little scheme he had established, in her own mind, suggested; and by one means or another, Juliet's imagination was supplied with plenty of food for nursing up young affection into full-grown love. Thus was it, then, that the germ of the future passion went on in her heart; so that when she saw Morley Ernstein again under the wall of his own park, it was with no slight emotion that she recognised the companion of her early days; that she beheld him far surpassing, in personal appearance, all which she had herself anticipated; that she heard the tones of the same voice, which still echoed in her ear from the pleasant places of her childhood, and that she beheld--although it was evident that he did not know her--his eyes filled with admiration, and with the promise of love. She dreamt upon that meeting for many a long day, and dreamt joyfully, though the interview itself had been mingled with some pain, in consequence of her father's harsh and rude repulse of Morley's apology for the accident which had occurred.
And now what were her feelings? Reader, she had given herself entirely to the passion that had taken its place in her heart. Everything which she had seen of Morley Ernstein was so noble, so generous, so kind, that reason confirmed all that the voice of love prompted, and told her that she might well, and without hesitation, acknowledge her choice in the eyes of all the world. She felt that the glow of pride would mingle with the blush of modesty on her cheek, as she avowed her affection for one so well worthy of attachment, and she could not see in the whole range of probability, one objection that any one could urge against her union with him whom she had chosen. The eye of avarice itself, greedy as it is, might be dazzled with the splendour of his fortune. His attainments, his character, his connexions, were all high, and such as might well satisfy a far nobler race than hers. He was master, too, of himself, and of his own choice, so that there did not appear the slightest chance of any obstacle to their union.
Indeed, between Morley Ernstein and Juliet Carr, difficulties were never thought of--objections were never anticipated. Morley had never asked her to wed him. He had told her of his love; he had painted it with all the fire and eagerness that he felt; he had seen that he was loved in return, and, not satisfied with that, he had drawn from her, by questions, and entreaties, and all the arts of passion, an acknowledgment that it was so. More than one day had passed in all the pleasant visions of the future, in all the words, and looks, and caresses which form that bright and rapturous dream in which the hours of young affection fleet by. Rarely, very rarely, do lovers think much of difficulties, and certainly if there ever was a case were it seemed needless to do so, it was that of Morley Ernstein and Juliet Carr. While they were together--and it must be admitted that they were so during the greater part of each day--the minutes flew by like lightning; and had their whole lives been destined to pass in the same manner, life and death would have seemed but two points with an instant of joy between them.
There were times, however, when the ordinary proprieties of society, or the particular arrangements of Lady Malcolm, kept them apart, and in those hours Lieberg was almost always with Morley Ernstein. Now, let not the reader suppose that Morley was very foolish, or very weak, for putting any trust in one who was so little trust-worthy, or in associating with a man, whose views, thoughts, and principles, were so different from his own. The reader, it is true, knows what were Lieberg's views, thoughts, and principles. For the eyes of the world we have drawn back the veil, and exposed his heart; but such was not the case with Morley Ernstein. No hand had laid bare for him the objects and the views of his travelling companion--no one had shewn him Lieberg's dealings with William Barham--no one had told the purposes he nourished against Helen with but the more eagerness and determination from the opposition that he had met with. On all these points Morley was in the dark. He only knew Lieberg as the most fascinating person that he had ever met with; as a man full of talent, information, and taste; as one who possessed that sort of candour, which, far from concealing opinions when opposed either to the views and prejudices of others, or to the general feelings of society, rather exaggerates and aggravates them, and makes them appear worse than they really are. He knew him, besides, as one capable of doing generous actions, and at the same time denying all merit in performing them; as one, who was even at that moment sacrificing a large sum, rather than proceed to the destruction of a fellow-creature; as one who had saved his own life, and who had attended him through a long and painful sickness with the care and tenderness of a brother.
Such was the light in which Morley had alone a right to regard Count Lieberg, although his friend's openly-avowed principles, in regard to some points of morality, might well cause him to avoid as far as possible placing the fate of a young and lovely being, like Helen Barham, in any degree at his disposal. Nor did the least point appear in Lieberg's present conduct, which could excite Morley's suspicions. He entered warmly into his views for hastening the departure of William Barham from England; he drove with Morley down to the docks, for the purpose of seeking a vessel to bear the youth to a foreign land. He aided eagerly in obtaining the promise of a small place of considerable labour, but no great trust, for Helen's brother, and in every respect he seemed almost to have forgotten herself. So at least it appeared, though, indeed, if there was anything which should have excited Morley's suspicion, it was the fact of Lieberg's total silence in regard to an object which had once seemed to interest him so deeply. But Morley was not of a suspicious nature, and he judged that Lieberg, a man of the world, and a man of pleasure, had looked upon poor Helen Barham as a beautiful picture, which he had seen and perhaps desired, but had forgotten very soon. Thus he was well pleased to enjoy Lieberg's society, whenever he was obliged to be absent from Juliet Carr. Yet, if the truth must be told, Morley did feel that his companion's conversation was not calculated to improve him, though it might be to instruct and to amuse. Nevertheless he did not bring the conviction home to his own heart so far as to prevent him from accompanying Lieberg to various places of entertainment, and enjoying the comments of his friend fully as much as that which he went to see or to hear.
Once, and only once, during their rambles about London, Lieberg jested with him slightly upon the subject of Juliet Carr, and claimed a right to be present at the marriage, saying--
"Pray tell the fair lady, Morley, that I pulled you out of the water just in time to fulfil your country's vulgar proverb, about the propensity to hanging counteracting the risk of a watery death."
"Oh, you shall be present," replied Morley, gaily, "but recollect, Lieberg, you have been wrong once in regard to your calculation of my proceedings, and you may be mistaken, even now."
Lieberg looked at him with a quiet smile, but made no reply, and the conversation dropped there. As usually happens in London, two or three gay fêtes took place, as if to close the season brilliantly, and, whenever it was possible, Lieberg induced his young friend to go to these parties, and introduced him to a number of the persons present. Although, by this time, all Morley's plans and purposes, in regard to the study of society, had been burnt up, like old acts of parliament, in the fire of passion, he was not sorry to see such scenes, and to know such people. But if Lieberg thought that Morley was likely to plunge into the vortex of dissipated life, to have his attention distracted, and his eyes blinded, by the gay scenes and bright objects around him, so as to forget his purposes in regard to Helen Barham, and to leave her to her fate, even for a short period, Lieberg was mistaken.
Had Morley not known Juliet Carr, he might have drunk of the cup of pleasure to intoxication; for there were many beautiful, and sparkling, and brilliant, who were right willing to lead him into paths more flowery than safe, and to assail him on all sides, with arms very difficult for a young man to resist. But Morley was defended now with that highest and noblest of armours, love for a pure and beautiful being. His life, in short, was in Juliet Carr, and all the rest around him was but a pageant or a dream.