CHAPTER VII.
THE PLOT APPROACHES ITS DENOUEMENT.
ALTHOUGH the details of my last chapter have somewhat retarded the
progress of that /denouement/ with which this volume is destined to
close, yet I do not think the destined reader will regret lingering over
a scene in which, after years of restless enterprise and exile, he
beholds the asylum which fortune had prepared for the most extraordinary
character with which I have adorned these pages.
It was before daybreak that I commenced my journey. The shutters of the
house were as yet closed; the gray mists rising slowly from the earth,
and the cattle couched beneath the trees, the cold but breezeless
freshness of the morning, the silence of the unawakened birds, all gave
an inexpressible stillness and quiet to the scene. The horses slowly
ascended a little eminence, and I looked from the window of the carriage
on the peaceful retreat I had left. I sighed as I did so, and a sick
sensation, coupled with the thought of Isora, came chill upon my heart.
No man happily placed in this social world can guess the feelings of
envy with which a wanderer like me, without tie or home, and for whom
the roving eagerness of youth is over, surveys those sheltered spots in
which the breast garners up all domestic bonds, its household and
holiest delights; the companioned hearth, the smile of infancy, and,
dearer than all, the eye that glasses our purest, our tenderest, our
most secret thoughts; these--oh, none who enjoy them know how they for
whom they are not have pined and mourned for them!
I had not travelled many hours, when, upon the loneliest part of the
road, my carriage, which had borne me without an accident from Rome to
London, broke down. The postilions said there was a small inn about a
mile from the spot; thither I repaired: a blacksmith was sent for, and I
found the accident to the carriage would require several hours to
repair. No solitary chaise did the inn afford; but the landlord, who
was a freeholder and a huntsman, boasted one valuable and swift horse,
which he declared was fit for an emperor or a highwayman. I was too
impatient of delay not to grasp at this intelligence. I gave mine host
whatever he demanded for the loan of his steed, transferred my pistols
to an immense pair of holsters, which adorned a high demi-pique saddle,
wherewith he obliged me, and, within an hour from the date of the
accident, recommenced my journey.
The evening closed, as I became aware of the presence of a
fellow-traveller. He was, like myself, on horseback. He wore a short,
dark gray cloak, a long wig of a raven hue, and a large hat, which,
flapping over his face, conspired, with the increasing darkness, to
allow me a very imperfect survey of his features. Twice or thrice he
had passed me, and always with some salutation, indicative of a desire
for further acquaintance; but my mood is not naturally too much inclined
to miscellaneous society, and I was at that time peculiarly covetous of
my own companionship. I had, therefore, given but a brief answer to the
horseman's courtesy, and had ridden away from him with a very
unceremonious abruptness. At length, when he had come up to me for the
fourth time, and for the fourth time had accosted me, my ear caught
something in the tones of his voice which did not seem to me wholly
unfamiliar. I regarded him with more attention than I had as yet done,
and replied to him more civilly and at length. Apparently encouraged by
this relaxation from my reserve, the man speedily resumed.
"Your horse, Sir," said he, "is a fine animal, but he seems jaded: you
have ridden far to-day, I'll venture to guess."
"I have, Sir; but the town where I shall pass the night is not above
four miles distant, I believe."
"Hum--ha!--you sleep at D-----, then?" said the horseman, inquisitively.
A suspicion came across me; we were then entering a very lonely road,
and one notoriously infested with highwaymen. My fellow equestrian's
company might have some sinister meaning in it. I looked to my
holsters, and leisurely taking out one of my pistols, saw to its
priming, and returned it to its depository. The horseman noted the
motion, and he moved his horse rather uneasily, and I thought timidly,
to the other side of the road.
"You travel well armed, Sir," said he, after a pause.
"It is a necessary precaution, Sir," answered I, composedly, "in a road
one is not familiar with, and with companions one has never had the
happiness to meet before."
"Ahem!--ahem!--/Parbleu/, Monsieur le Comte, you allude to me; but I
warrant this is not the first time we have met."
"Ha!" said I, riding closer to my fellow traveller, "you know me, then,
and we /have/ met before. I thought I recognized your voice, but I
cannot remember when or where I last heard it."
"Oh, Count, I believe it was only by accident that we commenced
acquaintanceship, and only by accident, you see, do we now resume it.
But I perceive that I intrude on your solitude. Farewell, Count, and a
pleasant night at your inn."
"Not so fast, Sir," said I, laying firm hand on my companion's shoulder,
"I know you now, and I thank Providence that I have found you. Marie
Oswald, it is not lightly that I will part with you!"
"With all my heart, Sir, with all my heart. But, /morbleu/! Monsieur
le Comte, do take your hand from my shoulder: I am a nervous man, and
your pistols are loaded, and perhaps you are choleric and hasty. I
assure you I am far from wishing to part with you abruptly, for I have
watched you for the last two days in order to enjoy the honour of this
interview."
"Indeed! your wish will save both of us a world of trouble. I believe
you may serve me effectually; if so, you will find me more desirous and
more able than ever to show my gratitude."
"Sir, you are too good," quoth Mr. Oswald, with an air far more
respectful than he had yet shown me. "Let us make to your inn, and
there I shall be most happy to receive your commands." So saying, Marie
pushed on his horse, and I urged my own to the same expedition.
"But tell me," said I, as we rode on, "why you have wished to meet
me?--me whom you so cruelly deserted and forsook?"
"Oh, /parbleu/, spare me there! it was not I who deserted you: I was
compelled to fly; death, murder, on one side; safety, money, and a snug
place in Italy, as a lay-brother of the Institute on the other! What
could I do?--you were ill in bed, not likely to recover, not able to
protect me in my present peril, in a state that in all probability never
would require my services for the future. Oh, Monsieur le Comte, it was
not desertion,--that is a cruel word,--it was self-preservation and
common prudence."
"Well," said I, complaisantly, "you apply words better than I applied
them. And how long have you been returned to England?"
"Some few weeks, Count, not more. I was in London when you arrived; I
heard of that event; I immediately repaired to your hotel; you were gone
to my Lord Bolingbroke's; I followed you thither; you had left Dawley
when I arrived there; I learned your route and followed you. /Parbleu/
and /morbleu/! I find you, and you take me for a highwayman!"
"Pardon my mistake: the clearest-sighted men are subject to commit such
errors, and the most innocent to suffer by them. So Montreuil
/persuaded/ you to leave England; did he also persuade you to return?"
"No: I was charged by the Institute with messages to him and others.
But we are near the town, Count, let us defer our conversation till
then."
We entered D-----, put up our horses, called for an apartment,--to which
summons Oswald added another for wine,--and then the virtuous Marie
commenced his explanations. I was deeply anxious to ascertain whether
Gerald had ever been made acquainted with the fraud by which he had
obtained possession of the estates of Devereux; and I found that, from
Desmarais, Oswald had learned all that had occurred to Gerald since
Marie had left England. From Oswald's prolix communication, I
ascertained that Gerald was, during the whole of the interval between my
uncle's death and my departure from England, utterly unacquainted with
the fraud of the will. He readily believed that my uncle had found good
reason for altering his intentions with respect to me; and my law
proceedings, and violent conduct towards himself, only excited his
indignation, not aroused his suspicions. During this time he lived
entirely in the country, indulging the rural hospitality and the rustic
sports which he especially affected, and secretly but deeply involved
with Montreuil in political intrigues. All this time the Abbe made no
further use of him than to borrow whatever sums he required for his
purposes. Isora's death, and the confused story of the document given
me by Oswald, Montreuil had interpreted to Gerald according to the
interpretation of the world; namely, he had thrown the suspicion upon
Oswald, as a common villain, who had taken advantage of my credulity
about the will, introduced himself into the house on that pretence,
attempted the robbery of the most valuable articles therein,--which,
indeed, he had succeeded in abstracting, and who, on my awaking and
contesting with him and his accomplice, had, in self-defence, inflicted
the wounds which had ended in my delirium and Isora's death. This part
of my tale Montreuil never contradicted, and Gerald believed it to the
present day. The affair of 1715 occurred; the government, aware of
Gerald's practices, had anticipated his design of joining the rebels; he
was imprisoned; no act of overt guilt on his part was proved, or at
least brought forward; and the government not being willing, perhaps, to
proceed to violent measures against a very young man, and the head of a
very powerful house, connected with more than thirty branches of the
English hereditary nobility, he received his acquittal just before Sir
William Wyndham and some other suspected Tories received their own.
Prior to the breaking out of that rebellion, and on the eve of
Montreuil's departure for Scotland, the priest summoned Desmarais, whom,
it will be remembered, I had previously dismissed, and whom Montreuil
had since employed in various errands, and informed him that he had
obtained for his services the same post under Gerald which the Fatalist
had filled under me. Soon after the failure of the rebellion, Devereux
Court was destroyed by accidental fire; and Montreuil, who had come over
in disguise, in order to renew his attacks on my brother's coffers
(attacks to which Gerald yielded very sullenly, and with many assurances
that he would no more incur the danger of political and seditious
projects), now advised Gerald to go up to London, and, in order to avoid
the suspicion of the government, to mix freely in the gayeties of the
court. Gerald readily consented; for, though internally convinced that
the charms of the metropolis were not equal to those of the country, yet
he liked change, and Devereux Court being destroyed, he shuddered a
little at the idea of rebuilding so enormous a pile. Before Gerald left
the old tower (/my tower/) which was alone spared by the flames, and at
which he had resided, though without his household, rather than quit a
place where there was such "excellent shooting," Montreuil said to
Desmarais, "This ungrateful /seigneur de village/ already shows himself
the niggard; he must know what /we/ know,--that is our only sure hold of
him,--but he must not know it yet;" and he proceeded to observe that it
was for the hotbeds of courtly luxury to mellow and hasten an
opportunity for the disclosure. He instructed Desmarais to see that
Gerald (whom even a valet, at least one so artful as Desmarais, might
easily influence) partook to excess of every pleasure,--at least of
every pleasure which a gentleman might without derogation to his dignity
enjoy. Gerald went to town, and very soon became all that Montreuil
desired.
Montreuil came again to England; his great project, Alberoni's project,
had failed. Banished France and Spain, and excluded Italy, he was
desirous of obtaining an asylum in England, until he could negotiate a
return to Paris. For the first of these purposes (the asylum) interest
was requisite; for the latter (the negotiation) money was desirable. He
came to seek both these necessaries in Gerald Devereux. Gerald had
already arrived at that prosperous state when money is not lightly given
away. A dispute arose; and Montreuil raised the veil, and showed the
heir on what terms his estates were held.
Rightly Montreuil had read the human heart! So long as Gerald lived in
the country, and tasted not the full enjoyments of his great wealth, it
would have been highly perilous to have made this disclosure; for,
though Gerald had no great love for me, and was bold enough to run any
danger, yet he was neither a Desmarais nor a Montreuil. He was that
most capricious thing, a man of honour; and at that day he would
instantly have given up the estate to me, and Montreuil and the
philosopher to the hangman. But, after two or three years of every
luxury that wealth could purchase; after living in those circles, too,
where wealth is the highest possible merit, and public opinion,
therefore, only honours the rich, fortune became far more valuable and
the conscience far less nice. Living at Devereux Court, Gerald had only
L30,000 a year; living in London, he had all that L30,000 a year can
purchase: a very great difference this indeed! Honour is a fine bulwark
against a small force; but, unbacked by other principle, it is seldom
well manned enough to resist a large one. When, therefore, Montreuil
showed Gerald that he could lose his estate in an instant; that the
world would never give him credit for innocence, when guilt would have
conferred on him such advantages; that he would therefore part with all
those /et eoetera/ which, now in the very prime of life, made his whole
idea of human enjoyments; that he would no longer be the rich, the
powerful, the honoured, the magnificent, the envied, the idolized lord
of thousands, but would sink at once into a younger brother, dependent
on the man he most hated for his very subsistence,--since his debts
would greatly exceed his portion,--and an object through life of
contemptuous pity or of covert suspicion; that all this change could
happen at a word of Montreuil's, what wonder that he should be
staggered,--should hesitate and yield? Montreuil obtained, then,
whatever sums he required; and through Gerald's influence, pecuniary and
political, procured from the minister a tacit permission for him to
remain in England, under an assumed name and in close retirement. Since
then, Montreuil (though secretly involved in treasonable practices) had
appeared to busy himself solely in negotiating a pardon at Paris.
Gerald had lived the life of a man who, if he has parted with peace of
conscience, will make the best of the bargain by procuring every kind of
pleasure in exchange; and /le petit/ Jean Desmarais, useful to both
priest and spendthrift, had passed his time very agreeably,--laughing at
his employers, studying philosophy, and filling his pockets; for I need
scarcely add that Gerald forgave him without much difficulty for his
share in the forgery. A man, as Oswald shrewdly observed, is seldom
inexorable to those crimes by which he has profited. "And where lurks
Montreuil now?" I asked; "in the neighbourhood of Devereux Court?"
Oswald looked at me with some surprise. "How learned you that, Sir? It
is true. He lives quietly and privately in that vicinity. The woods
around the house, the caves in the beach, and the little isle opposite
the castle, afford him in turn an asylum; and the convenience with which
correspondence with France can be there carried on makes the scene of
his retirement peculiarly adapted to his purpose."
I now began to question Oswald respecting himself; for I was not warmly
inclined to place implicit trust in the services of a man who had before
shown himself at once mercenary and timid. There was little cant or
disguise about that gentleman; he made few pretences to virtues which he
did not possess; and he seemed now, both by wine and familiarity,
peculiarly disposed to be frank. It was he who in Italy (among various
other and less private commissions) had been appointed by Montreuil to
watch over Aubrey; on my brother's death he had hastened to England, not
only to apprise Montreuil of that event, but charged with some especial
orders to him from certain members of the Institute. He had found
Montreuil busy, restless, intriguing, even in seclusion, and cheered by
a recent promise, from Fleuri himself, that he should speedily obtain
pardon and recall. It was, at this part of Oswald's story, easy to
perceive the causes of his renewed confidence in me. Montreuil, engaged
in new plans and schemes, at once complicated and vast, paid but a
slight attention to the wrecks of his past projects. Aubrey dead,
myself abroad, Gerald at his command,--he perceived, in our house, no
cause for caution or alarm. This, apparently, rendered him less careful
of retaining the venal services of Oswald than his knowledge of
character should have made him; and when that gentleman, then in London,
accidentally heard of my sudden arrival in this country, he at once
perceived how much more to his interest it would be to serve me than to
maintain an ill-remunerated fidelity to Montreuil. In fact, as I have
since learned, the priest's discretion was less to blame than I then
imagined; for Oswald was of a remarkably impudent, profligate, and
spendthrift turn; and his demands for money were considerably greater
than the value of his services; or perhaps, as Montreuil thought, when
Aubrey no longer lived, than the consequence of his silence. When,
therefore, I spoke seriously to my new ally of my desire of wreaking
ultimate justice on the crimes of Montreuil, I found that his zeal was
far from being chilled by my determination,--nay, the very cowardice of
the man made him ferocious; and the moment he resolved to betray
Montreuil, his fears for the priest's vengeance made him eager to
destroy where he betrayed. I am not addicted to unnecessary
procrastination. Of the unexpected evidence I had found I was most
eager to avail myself. I saw at once how considerably Oswald's
testimony would lessen any difficulty I might have in an explanation
with Gerald, as well as in bringing Montreuil to justice: and the former
measure seemed to me necessary to insure, or at least to expedite, the
latter. I proposed, therefore, to Oswald, that he should immediately
accompany me to the house in which Gerald was then a visitor; the honest
Marie, conditioning only for another bottle, which he termed a
travelling comforter, readily acceded to my wish. I immediately
procured a chaise and horses; and in less than two hours from the time
we entered the inn we were on the road to Gerald. What an impulse to
the wheel of destiny had the event of that one day given!
At another time, I might have gleaned amusement from the shrewd roguery
of my companion, but he found me then but a dull listener. I served
him, in truth, as men of his stamp are ordinarily served: so soon as I
had extracted from him whatever was meet for present use, I favoured him
with little further attention. He had exhausted all the communications
it was necessary for me to know; so, in the midst of a long story about
Italy, Jesuits, and the wisdom of Marie Oswald, I affected to fall
asleep; my companion soon followed my example in earnest, and left me to
meditate, undisturbed, over all that I had heard, and over the schemes
now the most promising of success. I soon taught myself to look with a
lenient eye on Gerald's after-connivance in Montreuil's forgery; and I
felt that I owed to my surviving brother so large an arrear of affection
for the long injustice I had rendered him that I was almost pleased to
find something set upon the opposite score. All men, perhaps, would
rather forgive than be forgiven. I resolved, therefore, to affect
ignorance of Gerald's knowledge of the forgery; and, even should he
confess it, to exert all my art to steal from the confession its shame.
From this train of reflection my mind soon directed itself to one far
fiercer and more intense; and I felt my heart pause, as if congealing
into marble, when I thought of Montreuil and anticipated justice.
It was nearly noon on the following day when we arrived at Lord ------'s
house. We found that Gerald had left it the day before, for the
enjoyment of the field-sports at Devereux Court, and thither we
instantly proceeded.
It has often seemed to me that if there be, as certain ancient
philosophers fabled, one certain figure pervading all nature, human and
universal, it is /the circle/. Round, in one vast monotony, one eternal
gyration, roll the orbs of space. Thus moves the spirit of creative
life, kindling, progressing, maturing, decaying, perishing, reviving and
rolling again, and so onward forever through the same course; and thus
even would seem to revolve the mysterious mechanism of human events and
actions. Age, ere it returns to "the second childishness, the mere
oblivion" from which it passes to the grave, returns also to the
memories and the thoughts of youth: its buried loves arise; its past
friendships rekindle. The wheels of the tired machine are past the
meridian, and the arch through which they now decline has a
correspondent likeness to the opposing segment through which they had
borne upward in eagerness and triumph. Thus it is, too, that we bear
within us an irresistible attraction to our earliest home. Thus it is
that we say, "It matters not where our midcourse is run, but we will
/die/ in the place where we were born,--in the point of space whence
/began/ the circle, there also shall /it end/!" This is the grand orbit
through which Mortality passes only once; but the same figure may
pervade all through which it moves on its journey to the grave. Thus,
one peculiar day of the round year has been to some an era, always
colouring life with an event. Thus, to others, some peculiar place has
been the theatre of strange action, influencing all existence, whenever,
in the recurrence of destiny, that place has been revisited. Thus was
it said by an arch-sorcerer of old, whose labours yet exist,--though
perhaps, at the moment I write, there are not three living beings who
know of their existence,--that there breathes not that man who would not
find, did he minutely investigate the events of life, that, in some
fixed and distinct spot or hour or person, there lived, though shrouded
and obscure, the pervading demon of his fate; and whenever, in their
several paths, the two circles of being touched, that moment made the
unnoticed epoch of coining prosperity or evil. I remember well that
this bewildering yet not unsolemn reflection, or rather fancy, was in my
mind, as, after the absence of many years, I saw myself hastening to the
home of my boyhood, and cherishing the fiery hope of there avenging the
doom of that love which I had there conceived. Deeply, and in silence,
did I brood over the dark shapes which my thoughts engendered; and I
woke not from my revery, till, as the gray of the evening closed around
us, we entered the domains of Devereux Court. The road was rough and
stony, and the horses moved slowly on. How familiar was everything
before me! The old pollards which lay scattered in dense groups on
either side, and which had lived on from heir to heir, secure in the
little temptation they afforded to cupidity, seemed to greet me with a
silent but intelligible welcome. Their leaves fell around us in the
autumn air, and the branches as they waved towards me seemed to say,
"Thou art returned, and thy change is like our own: the green leaves of
/thy/ heart have fallen from thee one by one; like us thou survivest,
but thou art desolate!" The hoarse cry of the rooks, gathering to their
rest, came fraught with the music of young associations on my ear. Many
a time in the laughing spring had I lain in these groves, watching, in
the young brood of those citizens of air, a mark for my childish skill
and careless disregard of life. We acquire mercy as we acquire thought:
I would not /now/ have harmed one of those sable creatures for a king's
ransom!
As we cleared the more wooded belt of the park, and entered the smooth
space, on which the trees stood alone and at rarer intervals, while the
red clouds, still tinged with the hues of the departed sun, hovered on
the far and upland landscape,--like Hope flushing over Futurity,--a
mellowed yet rapid murmur, distinct from the more distant dashing of the
sea, broke abruptly upon my ear. It was the voice of that brook whose
banks had been the dearest haunt of my childhood; and now, as it burst
thus suddenly upon me, I longed to be alone, that I might have bowed
down my head and wept as if it had been the welcome of a living thing!
At once, and as by a word, the hardened lava, the congealed stream of
the soul's Etna, was uplifted from my memory, and the bowers and palaces
of old, the world of a gone day, lay before me! With how wild an
enthusiasm had I apostrophized that stream on the day in which I first
resolved to leave its tranquil regions and fragrant margin for the
tempest and tumult of the world. On that same eve, too, had Aubrey and
I taken sweet counsel together; on that same eve had we sworn to
protect, to love, and to cherish one another!--AND NOW!--I saw the very
mound on which we had sat,--a solitary deer made it his couch, and, as
the carriage approached, the deer rose, and then I saw that he had been
wounded, perhaps in some contest with his tribe, and that he could
scarcely stir from the spot. I turned my face away, and the remains of
my ancestral house rose gradually in view. That house was indeed
changed; a wide and black heap of ruins spread around; the vast hall,
with its oaken rafters and huge hearth, was no more,--I missed /that/,
and I cared not for the rest. The long galleries, the superb chambers,
the scenes of revelry or of pomp, were like the court companions who
amuse, yet attach us not; but the hall, the old hall,--the old,
hospitable hall,--had been as a friend in all seasons, and to all
comers, and its mirth had been as open to all as the heart of its last
owner! My eyes wandered from the place where it had been, and the tall,
lone, gray tower, consecrated to my ill-fated namesake, and in which my
own apartments had been situated, rose like the last of a warrior band,
stern, gaunt, and solitary, over the ruins around.
The carriage now passed more rapidly over the neglected road, and wound
where the ruins, cleared on either side, permitted access to the tower.
In two minutes more I was in the same chamber with my only surviving
brother. Oh, why--why can I not dwell upon that scene, that embrace,
that reconciliation?--alas! the wound is not yet scarred over.
I found Gerald, at first, haughty and sullen; he expected my reproaches
and defiance,--against them he was hardened; he was not prepared for my
prayers for our future friendship, and my grief for our past enmity, and
he melted at once!
But let me hasten over this. I had well-nigh forgot that, at the close
of my history, I should find one remembrance so endearing, and one pang
so keen. Rapidly I sketched to Gerald the ill fate of Aubrey; but
lingeringly did I dwell upon Montreuil's organized and most baneful
influence over him, and over us all; and I endeavoured to arouse in
Gerald some sympathy with my own deep indignation against that villain.
I succeeded so far as to make him declare that he was scarcely less
desirous of justice than myself; but there was an embarrassment in his
tone of which I was at no loss to perceive the cause. To accuse
Montreuil publicly of his forgery might ultimately bring to light
Gerald's latter knowledge of the fraud. I hastened to say that there
was now no necessity to submit to a court of justice a scrutiny into our
private, gloomy, and eventful records. No, from Oswald's communications
I had learned enough to prove that Bolingbroke had been truly informed,
and that Montreuil had still, and within the few last weeks, been deeply
involved in schemes of treason, full proof of which could be adduced,
far more than sufficient to insure his death by the public executioner.
Upon this charge I proposed at the nearest town (the memorable seaport
of ------) to accuse him, and to obtain a warrant for his immediate
apprehension; upon this charge I proposed alone to proceed against him,
and by it alone to take justice upon his more domestic crimes.
My brother yielded at last his consent to my suggestions. "I
understand," said I, "that Montreuil lurks in the neighbourhood of these
ruins, or in the opposite islet. Know you if he has made his asylum in
either at this present time?"
"No, my brother," answered Gerald, "but I have reason to believe that he
is in our immediate vicinity, for I received a letter from him three
days ago, when at Lord ------'s, urging a request that I would give him
a meeting here, at my earliest leisure, previous to his leaving
England."
"Has he really then obtained permission to return to France?"
"Yes," replied Gerald, "he informed me in this letter that he had just
received intelligence of his pardon."
"May it fit him the better," said I, with a stern smile, "for a more
lasting condemnation. But if this be true we have not a moment to lose:
a man so habitually vigilant and astute will speedily learn my visit
hither, and forfeit even his appointment with you, should he, which is
likely enough, entertain any suspicion of our reconciliation with each
other; moreover, he may hear that the government have discovered his
designs, and may instantly secure the means of flight. Let me,
therefore, immediately repair to ------, and obtain a warrant against
him, as well as officers to assist our search. In the meanwhile you
shall remain here, and detain him, should he visit you; but where is the
accomplice?--let us seize /him/ instantly, for I conclude he is with
you."
"What, Desmarais?" rejoined Gerald. "Yes, he is the only servant,
besides the old portress, which these poor ruins will allow me to
entertain in the same dwelling with myself; the rest of my suite are
left behind at Lord ------'s. But Desmarais is not now within; he went
out about two hours ago."
"Ha!" said I, "in all likelihood to meet the priest; shall we wait his
return, and extort some information of Montreuil's lurking-hole?"
Before Gerald could answer, we heard a noise without, and presently I
distinguished the bland tones of the hypocritical Fatalist, in soft
expostulation with the triumphant voice of Mr. Marie Oswald. I hastened
out, and discovered that the lay-brother, whom I left in the chaise,
having caught a glimpse of the valet gliding among the ruins, had
recognized, seized, and by the help of the postilions, dragged him to
the door of the tower. The moment Desmarais saw me he ceased to
struggle: he met my eye with a steady but not disrespectful firmness; he
changed not even the habitual hue of his countenance,--he remained
perfectly still in the hands of his arresters; and if there was any
vestige of his mind discoverable in his sallow features and glittering
eye, it was not the sign of fear, or confusion, or even surprise; but a
ready promptness to meet danger, coupled, perhaps, with a little doubt
whether to defy or to seek first to diminish it.
Long did I gaze upon him,--struggling with internal rage and loathing,
the mingled contempt and desire of destruction with which we gaze upon
the erect aspect of some small but venomous and courageous
reptile,--long did I gaze upon him before I calmed and collected my
voice to speak:
"So I have /thee/ at last! First comes the base tool, and that will I
first break, before I lop off the guiding hand."
"So please Monsieur my Lord the Count," answered Desmarais, bowing to
the ground, "the tool is a file, and it would be useless to bite against
it."
"We will see that," said I, drawing my sword; "prepare to die!" and I
pointed the blade to his throat with so sudden and menacing a gesture
that his eyes closed involuntarily, and the blood left his thin cheek as
white as ashes: but he shrank not.
"If Monsieur," said he, with a sort of smile, "will kill his poor, old,
faithful servant, let him strike. Fate is not to be resisted; and
prayers are useless!"
"Oswald," said I, "release your prisoner; wait here, and keep strict
watch. Jean Desmarais, follow me!"
I ascended the stairs, and Desmarais followed. "Now," I said, when he
was alone with Gerald and myself, "your days are numbered: you will
fall; not by my hand, but by that of the executioner. Not only your
forgery, but your robbery, your abetment of murder, are known to me;
your present lord, with an indignation equal to my own, surrenders you
to justice. Have you aught to urge, not in defence--for to that I will
not listen--but in atonement? /Can/ you now commit any act which will
cause me to forego justice on those which you /have/ committed?"
Desmarais hesitated. "Speak," said I. He raised his eyes to mine with
an inquisitive and wistful look.
"Monsieur," said the wretch, with his obsequious smile, "Monsieur has
travelled, has shone, has succeeded; Monsieur must have made enemies:
let him name them, and his poor, old, /faithful/ servant will do his
best to become the humble instrument of their /fate/!"
Gerald drew himself aside, and shuddered. Perhaps till then he had not
been fully aware how slyly murder, as well as fraud, can lurk beneath
urbane tones and laced ruffles.
"I have no enemy," said I, "but one; and the hangman will do my office
upon him; but point out to me the exact spot where at this moment he is
concealed, and you shall have full leave to quit this country forever.
That enemy is Julian Montreuil!"
"Ah, ah!" said Desmarais, musingly, and in a tone very different from
that in which he usually spoke; "must it be so, indeed? For twenty
years of youth and manhood I have clung to that man, and woven my
destiny with his, because I believed him born under the star which
shines on statesmen and pontiffs. Does dread Necessity now impel me to
betray him?--him, the only man I ever loved. So--so--so! Count
Devereux, strike me to the core: I will /not/ betray Bertrand Collinot!"
"Mysterious heart of man!" I exclaimed inly, as I gazed upon the low
brow, the malignant eye, the crafty lip of this wretch, who still
retained one generous and noble sentiment at the bottom of so base a
breast. But if it sprang there, it only sprang to wither!
"As thou wilt," said I; "remember, death is the alternative. By thy
birth-star, Jean Desmarais, I should question whether perfidy be not
/better luck/ than hanging: but time speeds; farewell; I shall meet thee
on thy day of trial."
I turned to the door to summon Oswald to his prisoner. Desmarais roused
himself from the revery in which he appeared to have sunk.
"Why do I doubt?" said he, slowly. "Were the alternative his, would he
not hang me as he would hang his dog if it went mad and menaced danger?
My very noble and merciful master," continued the Fatalist, turning to
me, and relapsing into his customary manner, "it is enough! I can
refuse nothing to a gentleman who has such insinuating manners.
Montreuil /may be/ in your power this night; but that rests solely with
me. If I speak not, a few hours will place him irrevocably beyond your
reach. If I betray him to you, will Monsieur swear that I shall have my
pardon for past /errors/?"
"On condition of leaving England," I answered, for slight was my
comparative desire of justice against Desmarais; and since I had agreed
with Gerald not to bring our domestic records to the glare of day,
justice against Desmarais was not easy of attainment; while, on the
other hand, so precarious seemed the chance of discovering Montreuil
before he left England, without certain intelligence of his movements,
that I was willing to forego any less ardent feeling, for the speedy
gratification of that which made the sole surviving passion of my
existence.
"Be it so," rejoined Desmarais; "there is better wine in France! And
Monsieur my present master, Monsieur Gerald, will you too pardon your
poor Desmarais for his proof of the great attachment he always bore to
you?"
"Away, wretch!" cried Gerald, shrinking back; "your villany taints the
very air!"
Desmarais lifted his eyes to heaven, with a look of appealing innocence;
but I was wearied with this odious farce.
"The condition is made," said I: "remember, it only holds good if
Montreuil's person is placed in our power. Now explain."
"This night, then," answered Desmarais, "Montreuil proposes to leave
England by means of a French privateer, or pirate, if that word please
you better. Exactly at the hour of twelve, he will meet some of the
sailors upon the seashore, by the Castle Cave; thence they proceed in
boats to the islet, off which the pirate's vessel awaits them. If you
would seize Montreuil, you must provide a force adequate to conquer the
companions he will meet. The rest is with you; my part is fulfilled."
"Remember! I repeat if this be one of thy inventions, thou wilt hang."
"I have said what is true," said Desmarais, bitterly; "and were not life
so very pleasant to me, I would sooner have met the rack."
I made no reply; but, summoning Oswald, surrendered Desmarais to his
charge. I then held a hasty consultation with Gerald, whose mind,
however, obscured by feelings of gloomy humiliation, and stunned perhaps
by the sudden and close following order of events, gave me but little
assistance in my projects. I observed his feelings with great pain; but
that was no moment for wrestling with them. I saw that I could not
depend upon his vigorous co-operation; and that even if Montreuil sought
him, he might want the presence of mind and the energy to detain my
enemy. I changed therefore the arrangement we had first proposed.
"I will remain here," said I, "and I will instruct the old portress to
admit to me any one who seeks audience with you. Meanwhile, Oswald and
yourself, if you will forgive, and grant my request to that purport,
will repair to ------, and informing the magistrate of our intelligence,
procure such armed assistance as may give battle to the pirates, should
that be necessary, and succeed in securing Montreuil; the assistance may
be indispensable; at all events, it will be prudent to secure it:
perhaps for Oswald alone, the magistrates would not use that zeal and
expedition which a word /of yours/ can command."
"Of mine?" said Gerald, "say rather of yours; you are the lord of these
broad lands!"
"Never, my dearest brother, shall they pass to me from their present
owner: but let us hasten now to execute justice; we will talk afterwards
of friendship."
I then sought Oswald, who, if a physical coward, was morally a ready,
bustling, and prompt man; and I felt that I could rely more upon him
than I could at that moment upon Gerald. I released him therefore of
his charge, and made Desmarais a close prisoner in the inner apartment
of the tower. I then gave Oswald the most earnest injunctions to
procure the assistance we might require, and to return with it as
expeditiously as possible; and cheered by the warmth and decision of his
answer, I saw him depart with Gerald, and felt my heart beat high with
the anticipation of midnight and retribution.
