"Look at him!" said Tremenhere, contemptuously. "He dare not face what he has done; were it not from inability to move—for no shame withholds him—he would fly!"
"These are harsh words," said an officer, advancing; "are you prepared to prove them?"
"That I am," answered the other; and in words as brief as possible he told the tale, and his visit to Brighton—the evidence there—summing up all with the refusal on Burton's part to meet him.
"It pains me deeply," continued Tremenhere, with much emotion, "to drag the name of my wife before this assembly; but her accusations have been openly spoken, or whispered in every select circle where my humble name is known. 'Tis true I might have sought my remedy by law; but I leave such to colder hearts and heads than mine. I forgot," he added, looking round upon all, "to present myself to many who may not know me. I am Miles Tremenhere, now an humble artist, once heir of the manor-house, ——, Yorkshire; that, my worthy cousin, who from childhood had been my companion, has for a while—only for a while—deprived me of——but let that rest. I came to-day to proclaim him what you have all heard, and he dare not deny it. Once I have horsewhipped him for his base seduction of an innocent girl,—flogging is thrown away on callous skins like his; so I brand him—liar and coward!"
"Sir," said Burton, endeavouring to seem calm, "you shall answer for this, and bitterly rue it."
"Answer it!" laughed the other, "when and where you will; this is all I ask at your hands."
"Ah, Twemenhere!" exclaimed a voice, as the speaker just entered the room, amazed at the fracas, but ignorant of the cause, "is that you?—what a stwanger you are," and he held out a hand. Tremenhere's trembled as he warmly shook it: he was all woman in gentler emotions, and never was there a more grateful heart than his; he felt Vellumy's act deeply. This act seemed the signal which many had been awaiting, not from wavering indifference, but for want of the electric spark, which moves Englishmen more slowly than others, but surer, when its propelling force comes, than all the very warm and sudden impulses in the world. In an instant Tremenhere was surrounded. Those who a day before had condemned him, perhaps too hastily, on the whispered calumnies of Burton, now pressed forward to press his hand. Some few, whose dislocated nerves can never be strengthened to any thing warmer than zero, grumbled at the disturbance, and talked of secretaries, rules, etc., etc.; but the majority rejoiced as over a lost brother restored, for Miles had been a favourite with all.
In the midst of this, Burton had slunk away; he could not bully, nor defy; Tremenhere had proof in the evidence of his (Burton's) kindred spirit, and betraying confidant, at Brighton. And certainly there was no table so merry as the one at which Tremenhere sat, surrounded by his friends, to repair a scarcely touched breakfast at home. He would have preferred leaving at once, to return to Minnie and Skaife, especially to remove from the latter's brow that not-to-be-mistaken cloud of disappointment, which he had seen gathered there, at his own supposed coolness and indifference about his wife's fame. But policy dictated another course; there was much he had not explained, and he took this opportunity of doing so. It is indeed to be regretted, that the finest natures admit of passions dark and overwhelming, and the strongest minds are, in some things, the weakest. To see Tremenhere amidst his friends, glowing with joy at having restored Minnie to fame, who could imagine that he ever again would be led down the bitter path of doubt and suspicion, or that these two poisons were only awhile dormant in his breast?
When he entered his home, for some moments he could scarcely speak, then, grasping Skaife's hand, he said—
"Give me a grasp from your heart, my friend—to-day you could not, I saw that—now you may, for I have done what a man should."