The Wizard of West Penwith: A Tale of the Land's-End

by William Bentinck Forfar

CHAPTER XXV. RETROSPECTION AND RECRIMINATION.

Mr. Morley wrote to Lieut. Fowler from Ashley Hall, saying that he had found his brother and Josiah Trenow there, and that they had discovered a house, which they had every reason to believe was the scene of the murder. He informed his friend also that he and Josiah would remain there a little longer, to make further search, but that Frederick had gone down into Cornwall in search of a party who had slipped through their hands, so far.

In consequence of this letter, Lieut. Fowler was in daily expectation of seeing his friend Frederick Morley at Tol-pedn-Penwith. And the ladies at Pendrea-house were in anxious expectation too; for, now that they knew more of his history, which seemed so fraught with romantic interest, he had become quite a hero in their eyes. Day after day passed, but he did not arrive. The ladies were alarmed, and feared some accident had befallen him; but Fowler ridiculed this idea, and attributed his non-arrival to the strictness of the search he was no doubt making. Who the party was that Frederick was in search of, Fowler didn't know, for the finding of the box by Josiah had been kept a secret. The search after Mr. Freeman was merely to get his help to unravel the mystery of that document, which Josiah seemed to think, from his manner, he knew something about, although it was most probable, as Frederick suggested at first, that Mr. Freeman pretended to know more than he really did, in order to induce Josiah to leave the box and its contents with him. As a drowning man will catch at a straw, so did Frederick catch at this little incident, improbable as he really thought it, in the hope that it might assist him in his search, or that the conjuror, by his skill, might be able to give him some clue to the mystery. Fowler knew nothing of all this, nor did he know of his friend's devoted, and, it may be added, romantic, attachment to the daughter of the celebrated Land's-End conjuror. Had he known it, he would, no doubt, have tried to convince his friend of the folly and absurdity of such a connection. But love is blind; and it would probably have required more eloquence than Lieut. Fowler possessed to have persuaded Frederick Morley that the lovely and fascinating girl whom he loved so passionately from the first moment he saw her, as a schoolgirl, was unworthy of his affection, because her father did not move in the first circles of society. Luckily Fowler was ignorant of this attachment; and so his friend had been spared the annoyance of a discussion with him on the subject. The old squire was as anxious as any of them to see the young soldier once more. But he didn't come.

Miss Pendray's mind was ill at ease—that was evident to all who knew her. She still wandered over the cliffs, and braved the storm; but it was not now, as it used to be, for the sake of looking at the bold scenery. Her wanderings had now a more definite object;—she hoped, every time she climbed those lofty cliffs, that she should meet with someone to share her admiration of the beautiful scenery. She had become accustomed to those pleasant meetings with one of the opposite sex; and she felt a vacuum—a loneliness—that she had never felt before. The stranger whom she met at the ball, and who seemed so enamoured of her, had disappeared in a most unaccountable manner. She was beginning to like his attentions, although there was something in his manner, sometimes, which did not please her;—she told him as much, the last time she met him. Perhaps he was offended; for she had never seen him since the sudden appearance of that handsome man, who had intruded upon their privacy at the Logan Rock. It was a strange coincidence—those two men, meeting in that strange way. She was much struck with the appearance and gentlemanly manners of the gentleman with the white hair;—she couldn't put him out of her mind for the whole day; and, the next evening, when Lieut. Fowler brought him to Pendrea-house, after their return from St. Just, she thought him the most fascinating man she had ever seen. There was an open frankness and ease in his manner, which were wanting in Mr. Smith. As she reflected now on the difference between the two men, she felt that Mr. Smith's manners seemed put on for the occasion, and that he required to be on his guard, and to be always watching himself, as it were, to prevent some hidden vulgarity from peeping out under his apparently assumed garb of refinement. It was not so with Mr. Morley;—he was a gentleman intuitively, and, therefore, had no occasion to watch himself lest he should say or do, inadvertently, anything he would be ashamed of. Mr. Morley, too, was much struck with Miss Pendray's beauty; but he did not tell her so, point blank, as Mr. Smith had done on more than one occasion. He asked her to shew him some of her favourite scenes on the cliffs, with which he expressed himself highly delighted, and he pointed out beauties in the rocks and cliffs and headlands, which she had not observed before, and described to her, in glowing colours, some of the magnificent scenery he had himself witnessed in the East. And so they continued, day after day, to walk together—sometimes over the cliffs and sometimes on the smooth sands beneath—admiring the beauties of Nature, almost with the same eyes and the same thoughts. They seemed to have so many ideas in unison, and each became so fascinated with the other, that when the time arrived that Mr. Morley thought he must in duty visit his relatives, they parted, with sorrowing hearts, although neither of them knew what a pang the other felt at parting.

Miss Pendray had not been accustomed, in that out-of-the-way place, to meet with men of that stamp;—she had never before come into contact with a congenial spirit. Frederick Morley was better than most she had been in the habit of meeting; but he would, occasionally, appear so absorbed in his own thoughts, that he was, at times, scarcely companionable. Mr. Smith was bold and clever, evidently, and as romantic in his ideas and pursuits as she could possibly desire, and frequently fascinated her with his thrilling stories; but there was something in his manner sometimes that did not satisfy her; and his aversion to join their domestic circle seemed most strange.

Mr. Morley was quite different, in every respect; and, now that she wandered over the cliffs alone, day after day, she could reflect on the difference between the three men. She had always looked down with pity on her younger sister's susceptibility, and often upbraided her for exhibiting, so unreservedly, her attachment to Lieut. Fowler, who was not at all suited to her, either in age or position, Miss Pendray thought.

The gentle Blanche could now turn the tables on her more prudent and high-minded sister; for she saw that the handsome Mr. Morley had made a conquest, and that the majestic Maud watched his every look and action, and was pained, beyond measure, when, even in common politeness, he paid the slightest attention to anyone else.

While Maud and Mr. Morley were thus revelling in each other's society, over the bold cliffs and headlands, Blanche and her lover were taking their quiet walks along the rocks and sands beneath, where they would, ever and anon, stop and rest themselves, and look out on the broad ocean which lay before them, talking of the future, and hoping that all might turn out smoothly in the end; for, although Blanche quite understood what her lover meant now, and returned his love with the fondest affection, and wished to her heart that all could be settled at once, yet she was still afraid for her father to be spoken to on the subject, lest he should get angry, and forbid their intercourse altogether. Poor silly child! her timid nature feared she knew not what; and the more her lover urged her to allow him to ask her father's consent, the more did she recoil from the ordeal, dreading what the answer might be. She knew her sister's thoughts and opinions on the subject, and she feared her father might hold the same opinion, for they were much alike in pride and lofty bearing; and so her timid fear overcame her prudence, and she held her lover back from doing that which he well knew and felt he ought to do, in common honesty and honour. But he loved his darling Blanche too well to thwart her; and so the two went on in tender communing, and each day brought fresh arguments on either side—the one, in manly uprightness, urging the appeal to the father for his sanction to their union; the other, in timid maidenly reserve, dreading the answer her stern parent might give, and controlling her fond lover, who felt he could not disobey her.

"Only wait a little longer," she said, one day, as she sat listening to his arguments, and looking up at him so earnestly;—"you don't know papa so well as I do. In most things he is so kind; but I fear in this he would not be so."

"Why do you think so, dearest Blanche?" he replied, taking her hand in his; "he seems to like me, and is continually asking me to come to Pendrea-house. What objection can he have? have you ever heard him say he disliked me, or——"