CHAPTER IV.
Adversity is the only true touchstone of human worth and integrity. It may require some limited degree of excellence, on certain occasions, to deport ourselves becomingly in a time of prosperity, and the smiles of the highest good fortune sometimes distract and intoxicate. But adversity, with a relentless hand, and a determination that nothing can subdue, probes the heart to the quick, and develops every individual quality of which it is composed.
The apprehension of her father on a charge of murder fell like a thunderbolt on Evaline de Neville. She was, it was true, aware that he was innocent, and that malice only prompted the proceedings that had been taken against him; but, despite of this, she could not conceal from herself, on reflection, that he was in a situation of great peril, and that the very circumstances which would establish his innocence with an impartial person, uncorrupted by the party excitements of the time, would weigh most heavily against him with a jealous and prejudiced government.
Sir Edgar was a Roman Catholic; and that fact alone, though he were ever so orderly, was sufficient to render him an object of suspicion. But his matrimonial connexion with Spain, the great bulwark of the Roman Church, and a power with which Queen Elizabeth was constantly embroiled, made suspicion more active, and afforded a reasonable ground for regarding him with distrust. At a time when the members of the Roman Church were taught, by an authority their religion declared to be infallible, that the Queen of England was no more than an usurper, and that it would be no sin to remove her by assassination, and when the conspiracy which led to the execution of the Queen of Scots was still fresh in remembrance,—at this time, a Roman Catholic accused, however unjustly, of murdering an emissary of the Lord Treasurer, might well apprehend that the scales of justice would not be held very evenly, or his judge be entirely free from enmity or prejudice.
Evaline knew little of the world. Brought up in the seclusion of Neville Grange, the spirit of the time was known to her, in most of its bearings, only by report, and it was only from history that she was acquainted with the depravity of human nature. She knew that, because she was a Roman Catholic, her influence was circumscribed, and the sphere of her action restricted; but, beyond this, she had little personal knowledge of the policy of statesmen, or the injustice of governments. Still she had an idea, if an imperfect one, of the looseness and insecurity of her position, and it was this that now raised in her those fears for her father, which we have sought, in the foregoing remarks, clearly to explain.
But after the first shock of the unexpected calamity had subsided, the whole energies of the fair girl were braced up, in all outward appearance, to but one object—the comfort and support of her father. Within, the struggle continued; the heavy load of grief, with its thrilling apprehensions, which time amplified rather than reduced, still pressed upon her heart; but its rare qualities rallied under the weight, and inspired her with strength and fortitude commensurate with the occasion.
Only in her countenance, among all the inmates of the mansion, could there be seen anything that soothed fear, or excited hope; and though its aspect was but assumed, it soon began to have an effect on the demeanour of others. Her father, whose despondency was chiefly occasioned by his concern for her, seemed to acquire new vigour as he looked on her placid features, and saw that she did not bow before the emergency in despair, but nerved herself to meet, by his side, whatever evil was to befall. He now felt his child was a solace, instead of a source of anxiety; and found relief from sharing with her the burthen of adversity. In a word, he aroused himself from the moody fit which the decision of the two justices had brought upon him, and prepared to meet the issue, whatever it might be, with dignity and fortitude.