Mr. Mainwaring smiled, and shook his head—smiled again, and sighed, and hoped Mr. Vivian was right, and observed that time would show; and that, at all events, he trusted Mr. Vivian would keep profoundly secret the hint which his friendship had, indiscreetly perhaps, hazarded.
Scarcely had Mr. Mainwaring retired, when Captain Pickering met and seized upon Vivian, led to the same subject, and gave similar hints, that Russell was the happy rival who had secretly made himself master of Lady Julia’s heart. Vivian, though much astonished, finding that these gentlemen agreed in their discoveries or their suspicions, still defended his friend Russell, and strongly protested that he would be responsible for his honour with his life, if it were necessary. The captain shrugged his shoulders, said it was none of his business, that, as Mr. Vivian took it up so warmly, he should let it drop; for it was by no means his intention to get into a quarrel with Mr. Vivian, for whom he had a particular regard. This said, with all the frankness of a soldier, Captain Pickering withdrew, adding, as the clergyman passed at this instant, “There’s a man who could tell you more than any of us, if he would, but snug’s the word with Wicksted.”
Vivian, in great anxiety and much curiosity, appealed to Mr. Wicksted: he protested that he knew nothing, suspected nothing, at least could venture to say nothing; for these were very delicate family matters, and every gentleman should, on these occasions, make it a principle to see with his own eyes. Gradually, however, Mr. Wicksted let out his opinion, and implied infinitely more than Captain Pickering or Mr. Mainwaring had asserted. Vivian still maintained, in the warmest terms, that it was impossible his friend Russell should be to blame. Mr. Wicksted simply pronounced the word friend with a peculiar emphasis, and, with an incredulous smile, left him to his reflections. Those reflections were painful; for, though he defended Russell from the attacks of others, yet he had not sufficient firmness of mind completely to resist the suggestions of suspicion and jealousy, particularly when they had been corroborated by so many concurring testimonies. He had no longer the courage to go immediately to Russell, to tell him of his proposal for Lady Julia, or to speak to him of any of his secret feelings; but, turning away from the staircase that led to his friend’s apartment, he determined to observe Russell with his own eyes, before he should decide upon the truth or falsehood of the accusations which had been brought against him. Alas! Vivian was no longer in a condition to observe with his own eyes; his imagination was so perturbed, that he could neither see nor hear any thing as it really was. When he next saw Russell and Lady Julia together, he wondered at his blindness in not having sooner perceived their mutual attachment: notwithstanding that Lady Julia had now the strongest motives to suppress every indication of her passion, symptoms of it broke out continually, the more violent, perhaps, from her endeavours to conceal them. He knew that she was passionately in love with Russell; and that Russell should not have perceived what every other man, even every indifferent spectator, had discovered, appeared incredible. Russell’s calm manner and entire self-possession sometimes provoked Vivian, and sometimes quelled his suspicions; sometimes he looked upon this calmness as the extreme of art, sometimes as a proof of innocence, which could not be counterfeit. At one moment he was so much struck with Russell’s friendly countenance, that, quite ashamed of his suspicions, he was upon the point of speaking openly to him; but, unfortunately, these intentions were frustrated by some slight obstacle. At length Miss Strictland, who had lately been very courteous to Mr. Vivian, took an opportunity of drawing him into one of the recessed windows; where, with infinite difficulty in bringing herself to speak on such a subject, after inconceivable bridlings of the head, and contortions of every muscle of her neck, she insinuated to him her fears, that my Lord Glistonbury’s confidence had been very ill placed in Lord Lidhurst’s tutor: she was aware that Mr. Russell had the honour of Mr. Vivian’s friendship, but nothing could prevent her from speaking, where she felt it to be so much her duty; and that, as from the unfortunate circumstances in the family she had no longer any influence over Lady Julia Lidhurst, nor any chance of being listened to on such a subject with patience by Lord Glistonbury, she thought the best course she could take was to apply to Mr. Russell’s friend, who might possibly, by his interference, prevent the utter disgrace and ruin of one branch of a noble family.
Miss Strictland, in all she said, hinted not at Vivian’s attachment to Lady Julia, and gave him no reason to believe that she was apprised of his having proposed for her ladyship: she spoke with much moderation and candour; attributed all Lady Julia’s errors to the imprudence of her new governess, Miss Bateman. Miss Strictland now showed a desire not to make, but to prevent mischief; even the circumlocutions and stiffness of her habitual prudery did not, on this occasion, seem unseasonable; therefore what she suggested made a great impression on Vivian. He still, however, defended Russell, and assured Miss Strictland that, from the long experience he had himself had of his friend’s honour, he was convinced that no temptation could shake his integrity. Miss Strictland had formed her opinion on this point, she said, and it would be in vain to argue against it. Every new assertion; the belief of each new person who spoke to him on the subject; the combination, the coincidence of all their opinions, wrought his mind to such a height of jealousy, that he was now absolutely incapable of using his reason. He went in search of Russell, but in no fit mood to speak to him as he ought. He looked for him in his own, in Lord Lidhurst’s apartment, in every sitting-room in the castle; but Mr. Russell was not to be found: at last Lady Sarah’s maid, who heard him inquiring for Mr. Russell from the servants, told him, “she fancied that if he took the trouble to go to the west walk, he might find Mr. Russell, as that was a favourite walk of his.” Vivian hurried thither, with a secret expectation of finding Lady Julia with him—there they both were in earnest conversation: as he approached, the trees concealed him from view; and Vivian heard his own name repeated. “Stop!” cried he, advancing: “let me not overhear your secrets—I am not a traitor to my friends!”
As he spoke, his eyes fixed with an expression of concentrated rage upon Russell. Terrified by Vivian’s sudden appearance and strange address, and still more by the fierce look he cast on Russell, Lady Julia started and uttered a faint scream. With astonishment, but without losing his self-command, Russell advanced towards Vivian, saying, “You are out of your senses, my dear friend!—I will not listen to you in your present humour. Take a turn or two with me to cool yourself. The anger of a friend should always be allowed three minutes’ grace, at least,” added Russell, smiling, and endeavouring to draw Vivian away: but Vivian stood immoveable; Russell’s calmness, instead of bringing him to his senses, only increased his anger; to his distempered imagination this coolness seemed perfidious dissimulation.
“You cannot deceive me longer, Mr. Russell, by all your art!” cried he. “Though I am the last to open my eyes, I have opened them. Why did you pretend to be my counsellor and friend, when you were my rival?—when you knew that you were my successful rival?——Yes, start and affect astonishment! Yes—look, if you can, with innocent surprise upon that lady!—Say that you have not betrayed her father’s confidence!—say, that you have not practised upon her unguarded heart!—say, that you do not know that she loves you to distraction!”
“Oh! Mr. Vivian, what have you done?” cried Lady Julia: she could say no more, but fell senseless on the ground. Vivian’s anger was at once sobered by this sight.
“What have I done!” repeated he, as they raised her from the ground. “Wretch! dishonourable villain that I am! I have betrayed her secret—But I thought every body knew it!——Is it possible that you did not know it, Russell?”
Russell made no reply, but ran to the river which was near them for some water—Vivian was incapable of affording any assistance, or even of forming a distinct idea. As soon as Lady Julia returned to her senses, Russell withdrew; Vivian threw himself on his knees before her, and said something about the violence of his passion—his sorrow—and her forgiveness. “Mr. Vivian,” said Lady Julia, turning to him with a mixture of despair and dignity in her manner, “do not kneel to me; do not make use of any commonplace phrases—I cannot, at this moment, forgive you—you have done me an irreparable injury. I confided a secret to you—a secret known to no human being but my father and yourself—you have revealed it, and to whom?—Sooner would I have had it proclaimed to the whole world than to ——; for what is the opinion of the whole world to me, compared to his?—Sir, you have done me, indeed, an irremediable injury!—I trusted to your honour—your discretion—and you have betrayed, sacrificed me.”
“Vile suspicions!” cried Vivian, striking his forehead: “how could I listen to them for a moment!”