Morley Ernstein; or, the Tenants of the Heart

by G. P. R. James

Helen Barham cast her arms round Juliet's neck, and, for a moment or two, gave way to an overwhelming flood of tears. She made no comment, she asked no further question; and all she said, even in the end, was "Oh, Juliet Carr--dear Juliet Carr!--would to God, that I might spend my life with you! I know not, but I think that I might comfort you, as you have often comforted me; and that peace, Juliet--calm peace, which is all that either of us can hope for now, might sooner come to our dwelling if we were together. To be with you, even for a brief space, is a great happiness to me; and when your father sent for me--oh, how gladly did I come, although I had long tried to fancy that I was better away!"

There was a pause for several minutes, but at length Juliet asked--"Did my father, then, send for you, Helen?"

"Yes," replied Helen Barham. "Did you not know it, Juliet? He sent a messenger express to London for me, begging me to come down immediately, on business of importance."

"I never heard of it," said Juliet. "I thought you had come on your brother's account. But there are my father and Mr. Barham in the avenue. I will speak to you more about your brother, Helen, when I have an opportunity. There are many things of which I wish to warn you."

To the heart that deals with facts as they exist, and not according to the conventional mode of viewing them--to the heart that tries things by its own feelings, and not by the appreciations of others to the heart, in short that feels and acts for itself, the world, and the world's customs, the idle apathy, the selfish indifference, the narrow calculations, the dark, and often stupid caution of that ordinary crowd which forms what is called the mass of society, must ever be considered as a host of natural enemies. Thus we close our bosoms against them; and when the gates have been unbarred for a moment, and the feelings have been permitted to issue forth, it is wonderful how soon, if any of the adversaries' troops approach, in the persons of the worldly and the indifferent, the soldiers of the heart retreat within the walls of the fortress, the drawbridge is pulled up, the doors and sally-ports closed, and everything is put in a state of stern defence.

Such was the case with Helen Barham and Juliet Carr. The traces of tears were rapidly wiped off, the every-day look put on as a veil, and the very thoughts with which they had been so busy were chased away, lest they might still affect the countenance, as soon as Mr. Carr and William Barham approached the house.

The old lawyer himself had become extremely thin and haggard since Helen had seen him, and though he had recovered sufficient strength to drive to Doncaster on that very morning, he was evidently sadly broken and enfeebled. He met Miss Barham, however, with a good deal of that fawning courtesy which he always displayed towards those whom he sought to flatter and to win, and which was strangely, but not unnaturally, contrasted with the acerbity and sarcastic bitterness that he assumed towards those he disliked or despised.

The conduct of William Barham, on meeting with his sister, was such as the reader may very well conceive it would be. There was a shy coldness about it, a sort of schoolboy-awkwardness, which was mixed with an affectation of ease; and, through all, an enquiring underlook of apprehension was apparent, as if he feared that Helen might have been betraying his secrets to Miss Carr. In short, every word and gesture rendered their meeting painful, even to Helen herself. Indeed, for many months, each conversation between the brother and sister had added but one source of grief or another to the number which the more amiable of the two had to bear; but now she remarked not alone the unpleasant and ungentlemanlike demeanour of her brother, but that in personal appearance a considerable and painful change had taken place. He looked thin and worn, and his face, which always bore a look of pale dissipation, was now marked by several purple blotches, in various places, and a bright red spot in the centre of each cheek. He had a peculiar cough, too, which Helen did not like; for she was old enough to remember something very like it, before her mother's death; and the course which Juliet told her that her brother was pursuing was certainly not one to improve his health and restore his vigour. After Mr. Carr and the young man had been about ten minutes in the room, the former left it, with a chuckling laugh, saying to Helen, that he had a little note for her in his desk. He returned almost instantly, and put into her hand a long slip of writing, upon which she gazed with enquiring eyes, finding it very nearly, if not totally unintelligible. "It is a sort of summons, my dear young lady," said the old man, "to appear, and give evidence upon the trial of those villains who broke into the house. It is all in proper form."

Helen Barham turned very pale, saying--"I thought I should have been spared this;" and sitting down with the document in her hand, she continued gazing upon it in silence, with a thoughtful and anxious expression of countenance, as if placed in a situation of sudden and unexpected difficulty.

"Pray, Mr. Carr," she asked, at length, "was it on this account that you sent for me from town?"