Morley Ernstein; or, the Tenants of the Heart

by G. P. R. James

""Morley Ernstein."

Morley was not kept long in the faint suspense that still remained after he had written the last sentences. Ere half an hour was over, a note was brought him containing those few sad words, "Adieu, for ever!"

In two hours more, he and Lieberg were once more rolling on upon their way towards Bologna, Morley bearing with him some regret and much grief; but so far happy that he could lay his hand upon his heart, and say--"Though I may have erred in the commencement of this sad affair, in the end I have done right."

CHAPTER LII.

If Angerona, the secret divinity said to have presided over the fate of ancient Rome, could hear the many barbarous and unromantic names of inns, the Isles Britanniques, the Hotel de l'Europe, the Ville de Paris, etc., which are daily vociferated in the ancient capital of empires, doubtless her ears would be more offended than were told, they were formerly, on any one pronouncing her own harmonious title. It was to the principal hospitium, however, in the Piazza di Spagna, that the carriages of Count Lieberg and Sir Morley Ernstein took their way in the middle of one of those winter months when Rome is fullest. The streets were crowded with vehicles of all kinds, as the travelling companions passed along; and so many fair English faces were to be seen in every direction, that it was difficult for them not to believe themselves in that part of Bond-street, where, at about four o'clock of the day, during five months of the year, there seems to be an inextricable impediment to the advance or retreat of any sort of carriage whatsoever.

The first order to their respective couriers, given both by Morley Ernstein and Lieberg after they had taken seizin of their apartments, was to proceed to the post-office and enquire for their letters. Lieberg, indeed, seemed the most anxious, and it is to be remarked. that he had kept up with England a much more constant and regular correspondence than his friend.

During the couriers' absence, however, the two comrades occupied themselves in different ways, according to their several characters and habits. Lieberg, with that regular attention to his own comfort which never deserted him, proceeded to arrange the rooms, of which he took possession, with scrupulous care of their neatness, grace, and convenience. His books were assigned to their particular station; trinkets and ornaments took their place upon one table; implements for writing and drawing were laid upon another; a few small miniature pictures of faces pleasant to the eye were displayed where they could be seen in the best light, and, in short, in half-an-hour the room looked as different as possible from that which it was when he entered it, and represented as nearly as can be conceived the interior of his lodging in Sackville-street.

Morley Ernstein, on the contrary, walked up and down the saloon, which was common to both their apartments, with eyes fixed upon the ground, and a sad and pensive brow. He was arranging the chamber of his own breast while Lieberg was busy with the contents of his carriage, and the agitation of all his feelings was too great to admit of his attending to other things.

It may be asked, then, if Lieberg--whose passions I have represented as intense and strong, and whose keen and active mind was always in movement--if he had no thoughts to occupy him as well as his companion. Yes, reader, he had; and busy were those thoughts all the time, but their activity interrupted nothing else, for there were no contending emotions in his breast--there was no struggle there between good and evil--no regret for aught that had passed--no hesitation in regard to what was to come. It is only when feeling rises up to war with feeling, when principles combat passions, and when, from the great battle-field of the present, our fugitive thoughts fly from both hosts of good and evil into the wide surrounding country of the past and the future, and struggle as they run--it is only then, I say, that, taken up entirely with the strife within, man can attend but little to the idle things without.

What were Morley's sensations the reader may well divine. It is true, no new event of any importance had occurred to grieve or agitate him; but every one must have felt, when any abiding sorrow is at the heart, how a fresh scene will sometimes rouse it, as if from sleep, and with it all its host of painful memories.