Revenged!
How should I be revenged? If this be true,
As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
Must not in haste abuse—if it be true,
How should I be revenged?
Shakspeare.
The emotion experienced by Esther Pendarrel, when the heir of Trevethlan confronted her with the avowal of his name, was by no means of unmitigated animosity. Many a tender recollection arose in her mind, as she gazed, fascinated, upon features so strongly recalling those which, in days long gone, she had stored up in her heart of hearts. The remembrance of her affection prevailed for a moment over her sense of wrong and desire for retribution. But it was only for a moment. She saw the flushed face of her daughter, and the shrinking demeanour of her husband. The first she noted with alarm, the second with disgust. Her feelings recoiled upon the son of her discarded suitor. That he should be an object of interest to her child, and of fear or reproach to her lord, made him the more odious to herself.
"Morton," she might have said in the solitude of her chamber at night—"Randolph Morton! Seeking the fortune so recklessly thrown away! Hoping that the successful advocate would repair the ruin of Trevethlan Castle! And such things are possible. Many a new family dates its origin from the forum. Might not an old one, in like manner, retrieve its fall? But why the feigned name? Was it the old pride? Oh, Henry, Henry Trevethlan! that pride has brought desolation to thee and to me—to thine, and, perhaps, to mine. Was there not passion in those burning cheeks, and in that quivering arm?
"And so we are face to face. Foes, irreconcileable, to war to the death. What was the dark hint which flashed across my mind? Who said there was no marriage?"
When Michael Sinson first let fall the insinuation which here rose to the mind of his patroness, the natural generosity of her disposition revolted from the suggestion. But it recurred again and again. There was strong temptation in the idea which it excited. Were it true, at one swoop that peasant woman, whom Mrs. Pendarrel had learned to hate, would be shamed, her son and daughter would be fatherless in an odious sense, their inheritance would be forfeited, and would fall to Esther's family. The children of her lover would be outcasts upon earth. Retribution so full and complete was more than she had ever deemed possible, and continually presented itself to her thoughts, whether she would or no. Sometimes she asked herself, was it not her duty to investigate the matter? did not justice to her own children require it? might she not be charged with allowing them to be defrauded? Besides, supposing the tale was well founded, and her husband's title maintained, and possession had of the castle, there would then be ample opportunity for generosity. But justice should come first. Such were the ideas which had forced themselves upon Mrs. Pendarrel's notice, and been less and less unwelcome, before the meeting at Mrs. Winston's party. The discovery there made gave them a new colouring. If the orphans had chosen to fling aside their name, a name to which they might have no right, need she be scrupulous in scrutinizing their title, and overthrowing it if she could? No, no. Let them be Mortons, or Bassets, or what they would: if they cared so little for the name of Trevethlan who were its natural upholders, surely neither need she who was pledged for its extinction.
The next day Mrs. Pendarrel desired the presence of her protégé. The interview which ensued was long. By dexterous questions, flung out with great apparent nonchalance, and exhibiting a scornful disbelief in the things inquired of, the lady extracted from Michael Sinson all the popular rumours upon which he had founded his insinuation. But if she supposed that her manner blinded him to her real interest, she deceived herself. He was subtile enough to see that the affected indifference was only a disguise. And although, in truth, very willing to unfold his story, he amused himself at times by feigning reluctance, and obliging his patroness to speak more plainly than she desired. The following pages embody the substance of his information, derived, he said, from rumours current in Trevethlan and its neighbourhood when he was a boy, but now nearly forgotten.
Margaret Basset was one of the prettiest girls to be met with between the Lizard and Marazion. Her song was the merriest in the hay-field; her foot was the lightest at Sithney fair. Many a well-to-do young man would have gladly made her his wife, but Margaret was hard to please. And her fastidiousness was not displeasing to her mother, Maud, who was vain of her handsome child, and read a high fortune for her by the Sortes Apocalypticæ, to which she had recourse in all matters, both great and small. It was true, that one day, when a strolling gipsy was tempting Margaret to learn her destiny, and Maud rushed out of the house to put the witch to flight, declaring that her girl's fortune required no help from the like of her, the dark woman answered, wrathfully, that what was thought bliss might prove to be bane. But the angry prediction was unheeded at the time, and only remembered when it seemed to be fulfilled by Margaret's premature death.
At that time, Henry Trevethlan was by no means popular among his dependents. He had lately returned to the castle, after a long absence, a ruined man. For a great time the hamlet had derived none of the usual benefits from the residence of its proprietor, and he came home too poor to confer any. The people were very jealous at the alienation of the family estates, which had so much divided the tenantry. It seemed not unlikely that the prophecy, respecting the union of Trevethlan and Pendarrel, would be verified in a sense far from flattering to the inhabitants of the former, and even without the match.
So, when it was whispered that Mr. Trevethlan was, in fact, seeking a bride from among themselves, they were irritated rather than conciliated. They wanted a lady of fortune and rank, who might make the castle a scene of hospitality, and be generous to the villagers, as the ladies of Trevethlan had always been wont. The prophecy was quoted with more alarm. Any girl, who was said to have attracted their landlord's notice, was regarded with jealousy and dislike. And some old crones indulged in darker sayings: how there could be but one object in such wedlock, and if there were no olive-branches the vine would be found to wither. Either the marriage would be broken, or the bride would die.