How great his vexation when he found that Violet had left home, and left it for some weeks. He had anticipated an immediate triumph; he thought from vows of Platonic and Petrarchian love to pass at once to his declaration to Violet, so that his engagement to her should come upon Mrs. Vyner like a thunderclap. But now he saw this delayed for weeks; and to one of his impatient temper this was a serious irritation.
The absence of Violet weakened his resolution. He was too susceptible of Mrs. Vyner's personal charms, and too fascinated by her manner, to remain long in her society without danger. So long as Violet was present, her magnificent beauty and strong character were as spells upon him, which counteracted the more sensual attractions of Mrs. Vyner, and kept him to his meditated plans. But Violet absent, his senses and vanity were laid open to the assaults of the adroit coquette. He became more and more in earnest. His desire for her possession daily encroached upon his desire for vengeance; till at last he began to think only of accomplishing the former.
The reader may condemn him: he will do so; but he should remember that Marmaduke was no paragon of virtue, who could resist the temptations of his senses and his vanity. He belonged, indeed, to that race of human beings on whom, however great the moral qualities, yet, from their highly nervous organizations, temptation comes with tenfold force to what it does on colder-blooded mortals. He had fine qualities; but neither his education nor his organization fitted him for a paragon. He was, indeed, a most imperfect hero: very erring, very human. And, bold and reckless as he was, he pursued the suggestions of his erring nature without regard to consequences: if those suggestions were noble, they led him to heroism; if base, they led him to crime. I state the facts, "nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice;" let those cast the first stone at him, who feel they can do so with a clear conscience.
CHAPTER VI.
THE TRIAL.
Sa pensée est un monde son cœur un abîme;
C'est ainsi qu'elle va, forte, de crime en crime
Bravant impunément et la peuple et la cour
Ne méritant que haine et n'inspirant qu'amour!
MAD. EMILE GIRARDIN.—Cléopatre.
Poor Meredith Vyner was tormented with jealousy. He had blindly credited his wife, when she told him that she sought to bring about a match between Marmaduke and Violet, and had rivalled her in his attentions to the bold suitor, who was to wed this imperious girl. But from time to time he had felt twinges of jealousy. It seemed to him that Marmaduke was a great deal too attentive to his wife. He dared not make any remark; but he observed it with pain. Now, that Violet was away, and he saw Marmaduke still more assiduous in his visits, saw him daily in the house, and closeted with his wife for hours together, his suspicions began to assume a more galling fixity.
He could not deceive himself respecting the dangerous attractions of his rival. He could not persuade himself that a man of his age had any strong hold of a young woman's affections. Indeed, his wife had recently too often reminded him of the difference of their ages, and made him feel too grateful for the slightest show of affection, for him to doubt the precariousness of his tenure. It was one of the weapons she used against him; she knew its value, and never allowed it to rust. Although, therefore, he adored her, was proud of her, was proud of even the slight degree of love she pretended to feel for him, he began to feel that the degree was but small; and this was perhaps the principal cause of his submissive spaniel-like adoration. Poor human nature!
If, however, the consciousness of the small return which his affection met with, made that affection greater, it also made his jealousy more poignant, and more easily alarmed. He never saw any one pay her the slightest attention without a qualm. He was jealous of old men, he was jealous of young men; he was jealous of fools, he was jealous of wits; he was even jealous of his daughters, because she showed them so much tenderness!
Judge, then, what he must have felt when he began to see clearly into the nature of Marmaduke's attention! The poor old pedant used to pace up and down his study, sometimes up and down the corridor, while Marmaduke was sitting alone with her in the drawing-room, or in her boudoir; never venturing to enter, lest his anxiety should be legible on his countenance, and counting the minutes till the tête-à-tête broke up.