Morley Ernstein; or, the Tenants of the Heart

by G. P. R. James

At length Lieberg paused, but it was only on the very verge of the rock overlooking the sea; and there he stood, laughing aloud with the peculiar mocking laugh, which always marked that he thought he had won the day. His tall, magnificent form was seen clear and distinct by the moonlight, and Morley and those who were with him, not three paces distant, could even distinguish his features and the look of dark and savage triumph by which they were animated.

"Keep back, Sir Morley Ernstein," he cried, "and hear a word or two! When first we met, I felt that the fate of one of us depended on the other. You have me at bay, but I have my advantage too. If you drive me over this precipice, you not only destroy a woman who loves you, but you kill your own brother--Ay! your father's son, Sir Morley, by a lady of higher rank than your own low-born dame. Have you any scruples of paternal tenderness?--I have none!" and at the same moment he clasped Helen tightly round the waist with his left arm, and stretched out his right with a second pistol in the act to fire.

Ere he could draw the trigger, however, with a bound, which cleared the intervening space in an instant, Harry Martin was upon him. One powerful arm was cast round Helen tearing her from her persecutor; the other pressed a pistol right into Lieberg's ear. The cock fell--there was a flash and a report; and, reeling back, with Helen in his arms, from the edge of the precipice over which he had nearly fallen in his effort to rescue her, the hardy Englishman exclaimed--"I have saved you--by God, I have saved you!"

And where was Lieberg? He had disappeared; and though Sir Morley Ernstein caused long and diligent search to be made for his body under the cliffs upon the following morning, it was nowhere to be found. The sea did not approach near enough to have washed it away; none of the peasants or fishermen had seen or heard of it; and the only thing that could give any indication of his fate, was a drop or two of blood on the spot where he had stood.

CHAPTER LIX.

There are few sensations that affect the heart of man which are more impressive, I might almost say sublime, than those which he feels when he wakes from the first sleep that is afforded to him after strange and stirring events, when some vast change has been effected, when some great result has been achieved. During that dark and terrible night--that night so full of joy and pain, which we have spoken of in the last chapter, Morley Ernstein obtained but little refreshing repose. Much confusion and agitation took place in his own dwelling after he returned thither with Helen Barham; and the emotions of joy, we all know, are not less exciting than even those of grief.

The meeting between Juliet and Helen was in itself affecting to both, and equally so to him who witnessed it; but Helen Barham was the same as she had always been--generous and enthusiastic in her affections, and thinking far less of herself than others. When Morley, indeed, led her into the room where Juliet waited his return with anxious expectation, her heart fluttered, and her lips murmured a few words which might perhaps be prayer; but she cast her arms round her friend, and told her all the terror and the anguish she had felt while uncertain of her fate upon the sea.

"But now," she added, after the events which had just taken place upon the hill had been related to their fair auditor--"from all I see, and from a few words which he has spoken, dear Juliet, I believe I may thank God, not only for saving you from destruction, but for restoring you fully to him towards whom I am such a debtor. To see you two happy will be the greatest of happiness to me, for, indeed, I may well say that I love you both, better than any beings on this earth; and I am very sure, as no one can ever confer such benefits upon me as you have done, so will no one ever arise even to share in that affection which is your due from me."

In conversation such as this, and in enquiries, explanations, and arrangements, two or three hours passed after Morley's return, and it wanted but a short time of the dawn when he laid his head down to rest. Thought occupied that space, and the sky was growing grey with the approach of daylight, when sleep fell upon the young Englishman's eyes. He slept for about two hours, then rose, and went out to gaze over the sea. All was calm and tranquil. The storm which had swept the waters on the preceding evening had passed away; sunshine, and brightness, and tranquillity, had returned; and Morley could not help finding a symbol in the atmospheric changes of that night, of the workings of his own fate, which had just taken place. He felt that a tempest had swept over him, had passed, and had left a calm to come back again and soothe his heart. He raised his voice to God, and thanked him for the infinity of his mercies.

Morley Ernstein had yet more to be grateful for than perhaps he already knew; but he was quite satisfied with his fate, and sought to enquire no farther. He comprehended easily how, with rash haste, he had concluded that Juliet had become Lady Clavering, and would have asked no farther questions on a subject, the very memory of which was painful to him, had not the good Countess herself, with her usual kindly simplicity, thought it right to explain to her young friend--as soon as she could get down, on the day following the shipwreck--all the reasons and motives of her marriage with Lord Clavering.