Morley Ernstein; or, the Tenants of the Heart

by G. P. R. James

CHAPTER LV.

Pale, haggard, and sick at heart, Morley Ernstein rose from his sleepless bed, and made preparations of various kinds for that speedy departure, which all the varied trains of thought that had visited his mind during the night, had but shewn him to be the more necessary. The next thing to be done, was to announce his determination to Lieberg, and for that purpose he proceeded to the saloon, where his companion was already seated at breakfast. There was a sparkling sort of smile upon Lieberg's countenance which Morley was never very fond of. He had often seen it precede conversations that ended or went on in a painful manner; but it was Lieberg's general plan never to commence any subject himself, except of an ordinary kind, and on this occasion, as usual, he suffered Morley to speak first, merely giving him the common salutation of the morning. Now, as we have shewn, the character of Morley Ernstein was intimately mixed of good and evil, but he had one invariable quality, which was, frankness; at times carried too far, perhaps--too far, at least, for his own earthly interest: truth can never be carried too far for Heaven. In the present case, he not only told Lieberg his purpose, but he told him why; he acknowledged that he feared him; that their views on the subject which they had discussed on the preceding night, were as different as light from darkness; but that he dreaded lest, under strong temptation, he might yield, and never cease to regret that he had so given way.

"I believe, Lieberg," he said, "that you wish me well, and would direct me to what you conceive to be happiness. My view of that not to be found jewel, however, can never be the same as yours; and though I thank you much for your good wishes, yet I must pursue my own plan."

Morley paid no great attention to his companion's countenance while he spoke, and yet it was worth observing. There was once or twice a look of displeasure, and once or twice a look of triumph, especially when the young Englishman owned that he feared his influence. A scornful smile marked his lip, too, when Morley spoke of proceeding at once; but the whole settled down into an expression of calm, well-satisfied pride, and he replied, attaching himself, in the first place, to the words, "My view of happiness can never be the same as yours,"--"You must come to it, Morley," he said--"You must come to it. The time will be, believe me, when you will find such happiness as mine the only happiness to be procured. However, be it as you will! Take your own way! Go to Naples at once, and wait for me there till I come. I will not be long after you; and then, as I shall have nothing to tempt you with, you may pursue your journey with me in safety, through the sunny land of Greece, and perhaps to the brighter and more ardent skies of Syria. There we shall see whether even your cold blood may not be warmed into a flame. But where go you after breakfast? Let us, at least, spend this last day of your stay in Rome together."

"I fear that cannot be," replied Morley; "I have various things to do, and have an engagement at eleven; but after two I am at your command."

Lieberg bit his lip, but made no reply, and Morley had finished his breakfast as soon as he left the saloon, and proceeded to his own chamber. It happened, by the merest accident in the world, that after he had taken his hat and gloves, and give some additional orders to Adam Gray, he went out of his room by another door, on the side opposite to that which opened into the common vestibule, and issued forth from the hotel by a small staircase which he had only used twice before. It is true that, although he believed Helen Barham to be now placed by fortune far above Lieberg's pursuit, yet he felt no inclination to speak of her being in Rome at all; but still, in going out by the back way, he acted without premeditation, and without ever dreaming that he would be watched.

Had he gone through the anteroom, however, he would have seen that Lieberg's valet was waiting there; and there the man continued to sit, till Adam Gray came out of Morley's room, when a few words were interchanged between the two servants. The valet seemed surprised, and immediately went in to speak with his master; after which the old man's ear caught a furious imprecation, followed by a sound, as if the Count in his anger had struck the table a violent blow with his clenched fist.

In the meanwhile, Morley Ernstein walked on to the inn where Helen Barham was to be found, and, on asking for her, was immediately admitted. She rose as soon as she saw him, a little fluttered and agitated, but with the mounting colour in her cheeks, the slight quivering of her beautiful lip, and the dancing light in her dark eyes, all adding to that loveliness which in itself was incomparable. She strove hard to be calm and placid, and indeed would sooner have become somewhat cold than otherwise, but it was a difficult thing for Helen Barham to be so. I have heard people called creatures of impulse, but she was a creature of emotions--tender, fine, high, noble, but still trembling, like a finely-balanced lever, at the lightest touch. She could not restrain her feelings; and as Morley met her, she looked so happy with her resplendent beauty, with all her wild grace, with light, and soul, and tenderness in her eyes--she seemed to possess so much of everything that God can give to content the utmost expectations of a human creature, that Morley was forced to ask himself again why it was the old man had called her "Poor thing!" Morley fell into a very common error notwithstanding all his own experience. It is, that we always make a mistake as to the source of happiness. It springs from within, and not from without. It is the water that gushes from the rock of our own hearts, not the rain that dimples the stream, adding but a few drops to the current.

"I am most delighted to see you," said Morley, taking the hand she offered; "and though I know you must feel the loss of your brother deeply, yet I must still congratulate you on your accession to the fortune you now possess. I was always sure, my dear Miss Barham, that you would do honour to high station and extensive means, and I thank God that I see you now possessed of them!"

"If I had had either voice or choice in the matter," replied Helen, earnestly, "I never would have become possessed of them in such a way. A very small portion would have contented me; and the superabundance which I do possess is rather a burden than otherwise, especially as I feel that, to have taken it from you, is to have turned our heel against our benefactor."