Thus went he on for some time in a tone of dark despondency, which made the moral poison that mingled with all he said ten times more potent and dangerous than when it came diluted with gayer things. Had he presented to Morley's mind the memory of Juliet Carr in all her purity and goodness, he would have called up a warning angel rather than a fiend; but it was the memory of sorrows alone that he recalled, of that anguish of mind which--as corporeal pain will sometimes drive the wretch, in a moment of madness, to fly to deadly poison for the repose of death--will often urge on the spirit to a thousand harmful things, even for a moment's relief.
As he proceeded, the load seemed to lie more and more heavy upon Morley's heart. At first it bore him down, and seemed to overpower him, but gradually he rose to struggle against it; the wine seemed to strengthen him; he took another and another draught, but then he paused, saying, he would drink no more: Already, however, it had produced some effect, not in intoxicating, not in clouding his senses, but in sending that fire through the veins which none but the Burgundian grape can produce. He became impatient of Lieberg's gloomy tone--he was glad when the clock struck nine.
"Ha! there is the hour," cried Lieberg. "Now will you come to the Salon, Morley? We shall find some excitement, at least, in those mischievous pieces of pasteboard."
"No," answered Morley, "I have an engagement to-night; my carriage must be by this time in the court;" and hurrying away to escape further question, the sound of wheels were heard the moment after.
A dark smile came upon Lieberg's countenance. He, too, went forth, but he was not absent more than an hour; and then, speaking a word to his valet as he passed, he walked into the sitting-room, and sat down to read. It was past one o'clock when the valet entered, suddenly saying--"That is his carriage now, sir."
Lieberg went out into the corridor, and passed Morley Ernstein, as, with a slow step, the young Englishman mounted the stairs. He gave him but a word of salutation, and hurried on; but Lieberg marked the haggard eye and the flushed cheek, and, entering his own bed-room, he stood silent for a moment in the midst of the floor, with a look of fierce triumph. It was as if he had won a great victory.
But there must have been a motive for all this. There was, and his words showed it: "He has fallen!" he cried--"he has fallen! The first plunge is taken! Who shall stop him now?--Neither Heaven nor hell. He shall go on--he shall go on! and ere many a year, I will show her this god of her idolatry as low and empty a licentious debauchee as any that crawls through opera saloons, or spends his days and nights between the gaming table and the brothel!"
CHAPTER XLIV.
At breakfast the following morning, the two travelling companions met again, and by that time a great change had come over the aspect of Morley Ernstein. A change in a very small particular, but one so remarkable that it instantly struck the eyes of Lieberg, surprised and puzzled him. Morley was grave--perhaps one might say, sad--but there was a calm, a tranquillity in his grief which had not appeared in his demeanour since his parting with Juliet Carr. There seemed none of that bitterness, that struggling against the hand of fate which had before characterized his sorrow: he was sad, as we have said, but he was no longer moody, indignant, and discontented.
Although, alas! we have no window through which to look into the breast of man, and see the springs and wheels of thought and action as they work, yet imagination may pry into the motives, and, perhaps, obtain some insight. It is but supposition, reader, yet we will try to show the causes of the change in Morley Ernstein. Previous to this period, the share of pride, which is in every human heart, had fixed itself upon his high and steadfast adherence to right; there had been in his bosom, in short, a sense of deserving; and a feeling of ill-treatment and angry repugnance to submit to the will of God had risen up when the first touch of sorrow lighted on him. He seemed to think that he had a right to happiness, and that to make him take his part in human griefs was an injustice.