Morley Ernstein; or, the Tenants of the Heart

by G. P. R. James

"Stay, stay!" cried Morley; "explain what you mean, at least, before you go."

"No, no, I can't say any more," replied Harry Martin, moving steadily towards the door, "I have said all that I have a right to say; and I only add, that if you watch you will see, and if you enquire you will find out. You will be convinced, at last, although I should think that you had had enough to convince you already."

Without waiting for further question he turned and quitted the room, and Morley remained bewildered and surprised, applying the words just spoken to Juliet Carr, although they referred to quite a different object; and asking himself how the man who had just left him could have gained such a knowledge of his affairs. Surprise was certainly the first feeling, but suspicion is a guest that finds but too easy admission into the human heart.

"Peace, and comfort, and happiness are indeed gone already," he said, "and gone by her act--must I call it by her fault? Can this be trifling?--Love, they say, is blind.--Can it be coquetry? Can she be sporting with my misery?"

But, as he put the question to his own heart, the idea of Juliet Carr, in all her beauty, in all her frank simplicity, in all that openhearted candour which gave the crowning grace to her demeanour, rose up before his sight, and he became not only angry with himself for having given credit to one word against her; but angry also and indignant, with the man who had uttered aught that could raise a doubt of her sincerity in his mind.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

Early on the following morning the carriage of Morley Ernstein stood prepared for departure before the little inn at Steig. He had sent to ask after the health of the old woman who had suffered from the accident of the preceding night, and had heard, certainly with pleasure, that the surgeon made a favourable report of her situation, though he at once pronounced that she must remain for many weeks in the room to which she had been carried. For Martin himself the young gentleman had not asked; nor did he speak more than a few words to him when he met him at the bottom of the stairs, in descending to go into his carriage. Although convinced that the man intended well, he was still angry, to say the truth, at the words which the other had addressed to him on the preceding evening; the more angry, perhaps, because he felt irritated with himself on account of the shade of doubt which lingered in his own mind, which he had combated during the whole night without being able to conquer it, which had fled but to return, and which still raised its head against reason and argument--ay, and even conviction itself.

With one of the party which he had encountered the night before, however, he did stop to speak for some minutes. It was with the Italian lady, who had been his companion on foot from the place where the accident had occurred to the inn; and he now perceived clearly--a fact of which he had only a faint notion from his glance during the preceding evening--namely, that she was a young and very pretty woman; not exactly beautiful, for there was not a feature in her face which deserved that often misapplied epithet, if we except the eyes. They, indeed, were remarkably fine, as most Italian eyes are--bright, sparkling, and full of merry light, but chastened withal by a frequent look of feeling and thoughtful meditation. To behold them, and to watch their expression for any length of time, reminded one of a sunshiny prospect with an occasional cloud floating over it and varying by its soft shadows the sparkling brightness of the scene.

With her, then, Morley stopped to speak for some time, enquiring after her health, and hoping that she had not suffered from the accidents of the night before. She replied, gaily, that she had nothing to complain of, except that she was stopped on her journey, which, indeed, was not only an annoyance, but a misfortune. It would be two or three days, she said, before the carriage would be able to proceed, and delay would be most inconvenient to her, as she had engagements in Milan and Venice, on account of which she had determined on going by the Brenner, as the pass most certain to be open. If she could but reach Constance, she would soon be able to find a conveyance for the rest of the journey which was not to be done at Steig.

Morley hesitated; English prudence came in the way--the question which every Englishman first puts to himself, "What will people say," instantly suggested itself; and it took him a minute, which under such circumstances is a long time, ere he could make up his mind to do that to which good-nature prompted him. How often is it that good feelings are panders to bad actions! Alas! too frequently do they lead us so near the door of evil places, that we are tempted to go in. Morley Ernstein took his resolution at length, and replied, that if she were not bound by any means to go in the same conveyance which had brought her so far, a seat in his carriage was much at her service.