Morley Ernstein; or, the Tenants of the Heart

by G. P. R. James

For the present, however, Morley was safe; for the sum which he had brought with him from England, was so much larger than he required, on his reduced scale of expenditure, that he could fall back upon it at any moment, though he did so with regret.

Thus passed a month in Rome; and though Morley Ernstein often thought of Juliet Carr, and wondered whether she was or was not in the same town with himself, he met her not in public or in private, while the period of his stay in Rome wore rapidly away.

CHAPTER LIII.

In early youth there are pleasures in all seasons of the year; and as the schoolboy-story goes, it is difficult to choose between the glowing summer, with its brightness and its smiles--the sweet spring, with its soft breezes and its flowers--the brown autumn, with its fruits, and days of harvest--and the hardy winter, with its sports, and merry nights. But, believe me, reader, as one advances in life, the days that we would choose are always warm ones; and putting the brighter season of the year out of the question, the only difficulty is, to say which is most grateful; that brief return of summer-like hours, which generally takes place in the commencement of November--like that return of prosperity towards the end of life, which sometimes brightens the fate of men who have long struggled with adversity; or the burst of warmth and sunshine, which often, in the early spring, forestalls the summer--like the splendid vision of a great and glorious career which presents itself in hours of meditation to the unchastised eyes of youth.

It was in the end of February, however, with days warmer than many in June, with a balmy air, and a clear sky, that some travellers, with whom the reader is already well acquainted, took their way as nearly as possible by the same course that Morley Ernstein had pursued towards the classic land, in which he was now sojourning.

Nor let it seem strange, and romance-like, or make any one doubt the accuracy of this true history, that three parties of people, without any common consent amongst them, are here represented taking exactly the same path to a particular object, when there were five or six other roads open before them. Ay, but, dear reader, it is the very question which you are begging. If you remember rightly, at the period of which we are now speaking, a tremendous storm had swept the Alps, greatly injuring two of the principal passages; the Splugen was impassable, neither of the St. Bernards could be thought of, either very late or very early in the year; and Mont Cenis could only be passed in traineaux; but the Brenner was, and is passable, and convenient at all seasons, though sometimes the traveller is very cold before he gets at it. The convenience of this passage, especially to an invalid, in the early month of which we speak, was the cause why it was chosen by the party, to whom we now return; for one of that party was an invalid.

It was on one of those warm days of February, then, which generally brighten a part of the coldest season of the year, that a splendid green chariot, quite new, with much more silver about it than was in good taste--with a courier behind, dressed out to the highest pitch of courierism--and a lady's maid, of a very different appearance, neat, plain, and staid--drove along one of the roads that traverse the Black Forest, taking its way towards the small town of Schaffhausen. The vehicle was nevertheless at the distance of several leagues from that place; and, as it ascended one of the tall hills which diversify that part of the country, a wide extent of forest ground was displayed to the eye, undulating into all the most beautiful forms, with the yellow sun resting upon the bare, leafless branches of that ocean of trees, which.--although not a bud could be perceived upon the closest inspection, nor the slightest promise of the spring--yet bore over all, when beheld from afar, a kind of misty bloom, which is not seen in the earlier part of winter, and is difficult to account for.

The air was so warm that Helen Barham, at the request of her sick brother--who was now journeying for his only chance of life, towards that land where so many of the children of the North have laid their bones--opened the window of the carriage, and let in the breath of spring, which for a time seemed to revive the invalid. She herself leant forward, and gazed over the prospect, enjoying it with a spirit attuned to every thing that is beautiful, but with feelings saddened by a partial knowledge of her brother's perilous state; though William Barham himself, like most sufferers from the same malady, was utterly ignorant of the fate that hung over him, and had that very morning been cursing the doctors, for some little inconvenience which he had undergone at the last inn, declaring that if they had let him remain in England, he would have been well long before.

Helen gazed, as I have said, pleased but somewhat sorrowful; and, indeed, there is nothing on earth I know more melancholy, than to look over one of the bright scenes of nature with an eye fresh from the bed of deadly sickness. There is a strange and awful contrast in it: it makes life seem so utterly vain and worthless, that all we have been taught to prize turns suddenly, like the fabled fruits, to dust and ashes; and our heart sinks with a conviction of the emptiness of every thing below, even before it can rise with the consciousness of a better state beyond.

Helen gazed, then, and meditated; and her lovely eyes filled with tears. At that moment her brother's voice said, "Helen;" but for a short time she would not look round, lest he should see the drops upon her eyelids, and divine their cause. But the next moment, he repeated the word "Helen" in a tone that alarmed her, and when she did turn, his countenance alarmed her still more. His cheeks had become more hollow, the red spot which had been constantly there for some weeks was gone, his temples seemed fallen in, and the thin light hair lay more wild upon his brow than usual. There was a transparent greyness, too, about the flesh which Helen had never seen before, in him, but had marked it to well in another; and when once seen, it is never to be forgotten. At the same time a sort of spasmodic gasping seemed to convulse his chest, and his hands lay upon his knees.