by the Author of "Leonie Vermont" [Baroness Blaze de Bury].
Originally published in Bentley's Miscellany (Richard Bentley) vol.27 #157 (Jan 1850).
I.
"What, in heaven's name, is that great big thing you wear upon our fore-finger?"
"What? This? look at it."
I was breakfasting the other day with George Heatherstone, and could not refrain from the above exclamation upon seeing him stretch forth his arm to help himself to some Scotch marmalade. The object of my surprise was handed to me. It was an enormously large ring made of black lava, and bearing engraven on the flat surface which stood in place of a stone the grinning semblance of a peculiarly frightful death's head, supported by the traditionary cross-bones.
"A most funereal bauble, George," I could not help observing, as I returned the trinket to its owner.
"So you might well say if you knew the history attached to it," he replied, looking for an instant at the ring ere he replaced it on his finger.
This was, of course, sufficient to excite my curiosity to the utmost pitch.
"What history?" I anxiously rejoined—my looks, I suppose, exhibiting even more eagerness than my mere words. Heatherstone did not at first reply, but continued gravely looking at the black ring upon his finger. At length, in answer to a second demand from me—
"Do you believe in witchcraft?" he asked.
"Why?—" I hesitated.
"I see,—you do not," he immediately added: "neither do I, and for that very reason will I tell you the story of my ring."
I rang for my servant, ordered away the breakfast things, and having desired that no one might be let in, opened all my senses to the reception of the marvellous tale I was so greedily anxious to hear.
"Did you never meet a man of the name of Henry Darnley?" said Mr. Heatherstone, lighting a cigar.
"Never—but what a name! you surely don't mean the murdered husband of Mary Stuart, or his ghost?"
"Neither—but a collateral descendant—a man who pretended that his family sprang from an elder brother of the luckless King of Scotland's father—well! never mind: I dare say you never did meet him. I did, and—but I must begin at the beginning.
"Some ten years since I was travelling through Spain, and on my road home I fell in with three young Englishmen, who were also, like myself, journeying towards France. After a few days spent almost entirely in each other's society at Saragoza, where we had first met, we agreed to travel together as far as Toulouse, where I proposed to winter. Of one of the trio I knew something, my father having been at Oxford at the same time with his, and though they were not intimates still their college acquaintanceship had been sufficient to render the name of Eliot familiar to my ears. With young Walter Eliot, therefore (and young enough to be sure, he was, being barely two-and-twenty at the period of which I speak), I was rapidly en pays de connoissance, though, to say the truth, he was by far the least remarkable of the three. The remainder of the party consisted of a cavalry officer of the name of Milnthorpe, and the Scotchman I first mentioned to you, Henry Darnley.
"We journeyed on as far as Pampeluna, and there we determined to get rid of all incumbrances, and, sending on our servants as far as Pau with the baggage to cross the Pyrenees on foot, each man carrying his knapsack on his back.
"We had time before us, and therefore we scrupulously avoided everything in the shape of a direct road, and went lingering on in the mountain wilds, with often no shelter, save the sky, as long as we found a patch of unexplored ground beneath our feet. Milnthorpe had still six weeks' leave of absence to exhaust. Eliot certainly did, from time to time, evince symptoms of a desire to return home, which we set down to an inordinate love of shooting, and the circumstance of his father having just started with a younger brother of Walter's for a newly rented moor,—Darnley seemed utterly indifferent as to whether he ever beheld the chalky cliffs of England again, and as to myself, why, you know I always find considerable delight in being there where it is not in the natural course of things that I should be. So on we went, and at the end of a week's time we were still within five-and-twenty miles of our starting point.
"One day we had done what would in ordinary cases be termed losing your way, but as any way was our way the term could not hold good in this instance; but we had not found that which we expected,—namely, a posada, and our hunger was such that the strongly perfumed messes usually offered to travellers in these Pyrenean haunts seemed to our fancy 'dainty' dishes 'to set before a king.'
"On we went, clambering amongst rocks, breaking through forest paths, wading through streams, but no sign of any village or any posado could we see.—"
"Are you not often struck," said Heatherstone, suddenly interrupting his narrative, "by the fidelity with which the habits of a people are mirrored in its language? Now take that word posada for an example: with the word Hostel or Hostelry, and its derivations, we in England, France, and Germany contrive to designate a place where hospitality is exercised (freely given or paid for that matters little). The human[2] element, implied by the word host, used in many languages to mark equally both the receiver and the received, animates our expression, and makes you understand that its meaning implies an interchange of services; but in the Spanish word, far from that, you are made at once to comprehend that it is a question of nothing further than a mere halt, a place wherein you may taste of a sort of one-legged repose, and whence you are expected to hop off as soon as possible. Hang them! these devilish posadas—they carry out, too, with a vengeance, the intention implied by their name, for I never yet saw the man who did not opine that the shorter time he spent in them the greater was the gain; but, however, upon the occasion I speak of, sliced onions upon bread would have been a welcome meal, and a gaspacho,[3] have appeared to us a repast worthy of the gods.—
"A considerable quantity of rain fell towards the middle of the day, forming a portion of one of the most magnificent thunderstorms I ever beheld. When the excitement produced by this splendid spectacle was over, we began to speculate seriously upon the chances afforded us of dying of absolute hunger. Every crag we scaled, every tree into whose branches we climbed, only served to reveal more plainly to us the utter hopelessness of our position. We had, I must tell you, exhausted at sunrise the very slender stock of provisions which I alone had had the forethought to bring, and as far as eye could reach, no sign of any habitation was visible. We were luckily not wet, having sheltered ourselves under some rocks during the storm, but we were rapidly growing very disconsolate, and the laughter and the jokes with which we had at first greeted our prospects were gradually giving way to short ominous sentences, and to silence more ominous still.
"We had entered the precincts of a cork-wood coppice, and were dragging our weary footsteps along a tangled path we had struck out, when a sudden exclamation of Milnthrope's, who was the foremost man, drew our attention towards him.
"'By Jove!' that was all we heard at first, but he looked into the thicket on the right hand, as though he were piercing into its very depths; and then repeating, 'By Jove! but it really is something!' he plunged into the wood before any of us could rejoin him.
"As we prepared, however, to follow in his track, we saw him standing before us, trampling down the branches on all sides, brandishing aloft in one hand a huge loaf of black bread, and with the other cramming into his mouth a monstrous slice of the same.
"'A new Orlando!' sputtered he from between his ravenously occupied teeth. 'A new Orlando, and no duke to prevent the feast!'
"I never saw a fellow's face so altered as Milnthorpe's at that moment, and I suppose his exultation excited us, for we set up simultaneously a halloo that you might have heard at Bayonne, and darted off like so many hungry wolves after the bread held in Milnthorpe's right hand. As soon as each one had torn off a crust, Milnthorpe proposed to show us his newly-discovered larder. Opening the branches, he let us into an open space formed round a fine old cork-tree, and whither the waving of a tattered and torn brown cloak suspended to one of the boughs of this tree had drawn our companion's attention. Small were the appearances of festivity but they were enough. Besides the lumps of bread Milnthorpe had secured, and which was already cut, another whole loaf of the same kind lay upon the ground, flanked by a string of fresh onions, several huge cloves of garlic, a bunch of tomatas, and four or five moderate-sized chorizos.[4] To one of the lower branches of the tree a well-swollen, portly goat-skin was tied by a leathern thong, and gave promise of liquid, water or wine—we at that moment did not much care which—so long as our thirst stood a chance of being slaked. Many were the congratulations, and much the jubilation over this food for the young ravens, so unexpectedly furnished forth by the wilderness. I am grieved to say that our consciences smote us but little, and that we were far more busy with the idea of our own forthcoming meal than with that of the person or persons to whom this said meal might rightfully belong. I had just taken the fourth slice from a raw chorizo, wherefrom my three companions had already extracted a very respectable luncheon, when a sharp sound struck my ear somewhat resembling the click of a gun or pistol. No one save myself noticed the noise, but the sound of a human voice soon caused us to suspend our gastronomical operations.
"'Who are you who steal my bread?' exclaimed the hoarsest and most guttural tones I ever heard, even in Spain.
"We all four looked up, and, I assure you, if at such a moment there could be room for any sentiment save that of apprehension, the pencil of a caricaturist would have found no unapt subject for ridicule in the representation of those four half-open jaws, brought to a dead stop over the escape of their recently purloined prey. It was one of the things which made me think highly of Henry Darnley, that the next morning he showed me a croquis on the leaves of his pocket-book, which proved that in the very moment of danger his sang froid had been so imperturbable as not to let him pay even passing attention to the interrupter of our repast.
"What met our glances, however, as we looked up was anything but pleasant. First the muzzle of a gun protruded from amongst the boughs, eager, as it seemed, to vomit destruction; and next, from under a vast sombrero glazed two eyes such as might have done honour to a Pawnee or a Naragansett. I cannot say, for my own part, that the sudden apparition of a red-skin on his war-path would have seemed to me much less terrible than this copper-coloured son of Iberia, whose musket appeared to bode as little good as any tomahawk of the western wilds.
"After an instant's pause—
"'Will none of you answer?' repeated the man in the same menacing tones: 'Why do you steal my food?'
"Darnley spoke Spanish like a native; advancing now slowly, he placed himself immediately under the fire of the Spaniard.
"'Caballero,' said he, with a cool dignity that seemed to impress the other; 'we are no thieves—we were hungry—we have taken your bread, it is true; shall we pay you for it, or will you break it with us?'
"The man let drop his gun, turned round as if to speak to some one behind him, and then grumblingly opening to himself a passage into the circle where we stood, he bade us a surly welcome.
"He was followed by a woman bearing a basket filled with chestnuts, the gathering of which accounted for the absence of the pair.
"'Gitanos,' whispered Henry Darnley to me, as the couple stood fully exposed to view.
"'Ingleses,' grumbled the man to his mate.
"Notwithstanding that Darnley was the only one amongst us who spoke Spanish fluently, we contrived at the end of a few moments to get into a kind of disjointed conversation with our vagabond host, and ere half an hour had elapsed, we were upon tolerably friendly terms with him, and were anxiously awaiting a dinner, such as it was, which was to unite us all in a bond of peace and amity.
"The woman, with her chestnuts, was occupied over a huge black iron pot, which had till now been concealed from us by the trunk of the cork-tree, and from the dark jaws of which our future repast appeared destined to be drawn. These same chestnuts, which to Spaniards supply the place of potatoes in an Irish labourer's meal, were now intended to do duty as garbanzos, the large dried pea, commonly cooked together with the chorizos. A fire was quickly kindled by the gipsy woman, and the fumes of the pot-au-feu slung over it, soon began to attract us into its nearer neighbourhood.
"With the Gitana, however, we got on by no means so well as with her husband. She seemed to eye us all with distrust, if not with positive aversion, and refused somewhat disdainfully all our offers of assistance. When the meal was ready, and a few rude wooden bowls were ranged round the smoking marmite, now unhooked and placed upon the ground, the mistress of the feast called her spouse to come and eat, and in his train we followed. The Gitana had spread at the foot of the tree the identical brown cloak, which had first attracted Milnthorpe's attention, and led him to discover the gipsy retreat, and with the help of this garment she managed at any rate to secure a dry seat for her husband and herself. The roots of the cork-tree, overgrown with moss and grass, formed a sort of mound, upon which the gipsy pair seemed raised, as it were upon a throne. We, it was evident, were not judged fitting to sit above the salt.
"'Don't sit there, Eliot,' cried Darnley, in Spanish, as Walter was about to establish himself to the left of our host. 'The earth is soaked through and through, and it is enough to kill you; go over to the other side, the ground is higher there, and the grass shorter."
"The Gitana cast a look at Darnley, such as I have not forgotten, even now.
"'It won't hurt him,' said she in a most singularly gloomy tone, and with what I thought an almost infernal smile; and then, letting her eye wander slowly from one to the other of us. 'There is but one here who need fear to catch his death by a chill,' continued she. And as she fixed her piercing glance upon me, she threw towards me a coarse piece of woollen horse-cloth, which lay rolled up beside her.
"'We have in our country a proverb,' rejoined Darnley, laughing; 'by which it is averred that he who is born to be hanged need never dread being drowned.'
"'I did not say hanged,' interrupted the woman, with an accent and with a look that some how or other made us all feel uncomfortable.
"We dined, however, tant bien que mal, and the impression wore off, but our swarthy hostess evinced no greater sympathy for us at the close of the repast than at its commencement.
"Whilst the man was occupied in unpacking some boxes in order to tempt us by an exhibition of his wares (he and his wife gained their livelihood by selling smuggled goods), Darnley approached the gipsy woman, and looking her stedfastly in the face:—
"'Why did you tell me just now,' said he, 'that one only among us had cause to fear death from illness? do we then bear charmed lives?'
"The Gitana answered his look by one as firm.
"'Charmed!' echoed she with a curl of the lips that seemed to imply at once pity and contempt,—'who knows? for a time perhaps.'
"'Do you dabble in fortune-telling?' asked he.
"'Dabble!' she retorted almost fiercely. 'Boy!' and her glance was literally withering with scorn.
"I now stepped in with an earnest entreaty that she should open the book of our future destinies before us.
"'There is nothing written in it for you,' replied she haughtily—'the old story, page after page all blank.'
"'But I,'—'and I,'—'and I,'—burst in quick succession from the remaining three.
"The Gitana looked stedfastly at the group, but this time her glance was rather more subdued.
"'I should not mind telling you,' said she, turning to Darnley, and speaking in a lower tone.
"'Then tell,' was his reply, and he held out his hand.
"'I need the palm of none,' said the weird woman; 'I have read what I have read elsewhere, and the hands of the doomed are cold to my touch—and now,' she continued, her whole attitude gaining gradually in dignity, and her tone and glance becoming irresistibly impressive,—'listen to me since you will disturb the secrets of the times which are to come. Do you see yon pale light that is just beginning to shine among the distant woods? well, mark what I say. So sure as that, in an hour from hence, the moon will be riding high in the heavens, so sure will not one of you three, who now stand here before me, number the twenty-fifth year of your lives.'
"A laugh from Milnthorpe interrupted the gipsy.
"'Why then,' said he, 'I have a deuced short time to go, for I was twenty-four last month.'
"'Then,' retorted the Gitana, with perfect calmness, 'there stand two' (pointing to Darnley and Eliot) 'who, this time next year, will bear witness to the truth of my words.'
We all of us tried to laugh, and I believe we succeeded pretty well, but we gave up our plan of remaining any longer with the wandering pair, and, before night was very high in the heavens, we started upon a path they pointed out to us.
"In order to remunerate them for their hospitality, we each of us bought some small trifle from the Gitana. I bought a beautifully embroidered tobacco pouch. Milnthorpe, a purse of scented pastilles. Eliot, a filigree brooch for one of his sisters. Darnley bought this ring."
II.
Mr. Heatherstone paused, and seemed earnestly employed in examining the black ring.
"I must give you," he recommenced, "some idea of Henry Darnley, before I proceed further with a history of which he is the principal hero."
"At first I thought him rather disagreeable than otherwise; he was cold, haughty ironical, and especially remarkable for that kind of uneasy impertinence which belongs to those persons who are perpetually fancying they espy impertinence in others. Poor fellow! found out from Milnthorpe the reason of all this. His mother had gone wrong some five or six years back, and this had soured the tempers of both her husband and her son, but in a different way. Old Darnley, who was, it seemed, but a coarse-minded man, had sought relief in intemperance of every kind, and had so entirely lost all command over himself, and all feeling of self-respect, that he made his runaway wife's misconduct the theme of his discourse with every passing stranger. This, as I discovered, had so tortured Henry (whose resentment of the wrong done to his name and family was in proportion to the deep love he had borne to the culprit) that he no sooner attained the age of his majority than he resolved to quit Scotland and go abroad. Leaving his father in the care of a long-tried and faithful domestic, Henry Darnley, determined to put the widest possible distance between himself and the bitter memories of the past, and at first starting shaped his course towards the banks of the Nile. When I met him he had been travelling about from east to north, and from south to west, for upwards of two years, and this actively idle life, this constantly hurried far niente did not certainly appear to have improved his temper. He was nine days out of ten, what the French call maussade.
'I confess that the moment Milnthorpe had teld me his history my sentiments towards him took a totally different turn. I have, you know, a little domestic drama of that description in my own family, and the sufferings of my dear unfortunate Uncle Edward had taught me compassion in all cases of this kind. I was very patient with Darnley, and, from the moment he saw how unmistakable was my sympathy for him, we gradually grew to be really intimate, that is, sincere friends. He attached himself to me with a delight that showed me rapidly how much pain his susceptible disposition made him endure. When he became quite sure of me, and when I had won his confidence, how he did cleave to me! how he would, hour after hour, pour forth the secrets of his aching, bursting heart! Poor Darnley! his was a generous, noble nature, but too much wrapt up in self, and warped by this eternal, unhealthy trick of bringing everything home to his own personality. I did him a great deal of good, I believe, for I ventured to oppose, nay, more, to brusquer him. 'Who the d—1 do you think, now, cares for you, Darnley,' have I sometimes said to him, or, 'who on earth do you fancy gives himself the trouble to remember whatever may have gone amiss in your domestic annals, in order to taunt or insult you with it? You don't shake yourself off enough, man, but strap on the load of your vexations upon your back as though you were saddled with the Old Man of the Sea.'
"At first, he wanted to be affronted with me, too, but it would not do,—he knew too well that my roughness came from affection, and that the pricks I inflicted on him must be endured as those of the lancet in a surgeon's hand; he felt I wanted to cure him, and at last he grew to see his own weakness, and, as I said, I really did him great good.
"When we reached Toulouse, Milnthorpe and Eliot went through Paris back to England. Darnley could not make up his mind to quit me, and he lingered on in the old city of Clemence Isaure for a couple of months. At last, however, an irrepressible desire to go to Italy took possession of him, and away he went, telling me he would return to Toulouse for the end of the carnival. Three weeks after his departure, however, I was called over to London to assist at the settlement of my grandmother, old Lady Elizabeth Heatherstone's affairs, and I lost sight of Darnley for somewhere between seven and eight months. At the expiration of this time I met him in Paris, where I soon discovered the favourable, and, I hoped, then radical change that had taken place in him.
"It was at a ball at Madame D--'s that to my utter astonishment I found myself suddenly accosted by Darnley. With his joy at meeting me there was mixed such a joyousness that had its source only in himself, such a new strange expression of happiness that I could not divert my glances from his face, or account to myself for the change. A very short time sufficed to instruct me fully upon the subject.
"A waltz was commenced by the orchestra, and I saw Darnley busily buttoning his gloves.
"'Do you waltz, Heatherstone?' said he.
"'No!' replied I, amazed. 'Do you?'
"He looked at me as though he had totally forgotten that there could have been a time when he did not, and darted off to the room where dancing was going on. I followed. He was already threading the crowd with something white upon his arm, something very feminine and feathery, that fluttered, fanned, and flirted, as is the custom of the race. Into the whirl they went, and round and round they turned, she seemingly supported by nothing earthly than by his arm; and that one arm was enough. I never need to see more than the way in which a man—(I mean a well-bred man, with whom le respect des convenances is instinctive)—encircles the waist of the woman with whom he is dancing, to know with what feeling she inspires him; there is a world of magnetism in all this, and I could preach for hours thereon—but there lies not the question—I understood at once the reason of the alteration I had noticed in Darnley, and I now watched the pair with an eager and intense interest.
"I discovered his partner to be a Miss Warrington, a girl of between eighteen and nineteen, of an excellent old family, and tolerable expectations as to fortune. This latter merit was superfluous in the present case, as Darnley's fortune would be very considerable. I now began to watch the girl herself. She was not exactly beautiful, but she was what the French call distinguée to an extraordinary degree. She was tall, rather thin, with small feet and long hands. Her neck, too, was even too long, but the shape of her head was perfect. A delicate complexion, dark hair, divided into two shining braids upon her forehead, and plaited behind à la Greeque, a remarkable pretty mouth, and a pair of dark, intelligent eyes, united together to form a whole that was passing pleasant even to a wholly uninterested looker-on, and I could conceive that to a lover there was more than enough to furnish a reasonable pretext for raving. For several minutes I could only watch the pair from afar. After the waltz, Darnley had conducted his partner to a seat at the end of a gallery fitted up with flowers, so as to imitate a conservatory. She was seated, and he leaning over her. I did not want to be any nearer for I well knew all they were saying. At those moments there is such sweet solitude around one!—none but the one—no fathers, mothers, friends—no lookers on, no listeners, no crowd.
"Ah! well," murmured Heatherstone, with a half-stifled sigh, "nous avons tous passés par là, but never mind that.
"When Darnley rejoined me half an hour after, he looked more serious than I had yet seen him, and still, beneath that seriousness you felt there was a deep, deep source of joy; it was the gravity of
him who is on the brink of supreme happiness.
"I could not help congratulating him, and taking his hand in mine. 'My dear Henry,' said I, 'I am so rejoiced!' His look interrupted me—returning the pressure of my hand, he smiled, an eloquent smile, but I saw that at present the secret lay too deep for words. I passed my arm in his, and we walked through two or three rooms in silence.
"'George,' whispered he to me as we entered a salon tenanted only by a few whist-players; 'I have not yet told her how much—' he stopped short, and I could feel his heart beat under my arm. 'How insufferably hot it is!' he added, and we seated ourselves upon a sofa in the embrasure of an open window.
"'She is an angel, George!' were his first words, as he threw back his head against the wood-work of the casement, and looked up at the starlit heavens.
"'Have you told her so?' I inquired.
"'I have told her nothing yet,' he replied. 'I wanted to be sure—but I will tell her all before we leave this house.' There was in the tone in which he uttered these last words, something that delighted me for him, for his whole attitude, voice, smile, and look all revealed the innate conviction, that in confessing his love he should cause a pleasure sincere and great as that which he should feel.
"At the whist-table immediately before us, the game was just ended, and two of the players arose to be replaced by two fresh comers.
"'There is the end of to-night's campaign,' said one of those who had left the card-table, dropping into a purse one single coin, whether gold or silver I did not notice. The speaker had a strong Irish accent, and he added some other sentences to the one I had already heard, but I paid no attention to what was going on in the little group before us. The next words I heard were—
"'How long ago was it?'
"'Not two months,' was the reply.
"'And how came his regiment to be quartered in Ireland? I thought they were ordered off for Jamaica.'
"'I don't know, I'm sure,' resumed the Hibernian; 'I only know that it was a most foolish affair, and I tried to settle it amicably, and so did Hemmings, who was the other man's second, but it would not do, and so fight they needs must, and much good it did them!'
"'And you may depend on it that devilish purse is charmed,' observed a bystander.
"'If I were you, O'Donnell,' added another; 'I would at any rate never wear it at cards.'
"'Poor fellow!' said the Irish officer. 'He gave it me just at the last moment, just as the breath was leaving his body. No! hang it!' he continued, drawing from his coat-pocket a purse that I could only imperfectly see, and looking at it earnestly. 'No! hang it! I could not do that either—I should expect him to come out of his grave to reproach me with discarding the last remembrance he had to give.' And so saying he put the purse back into his pocket, and the group separated.
"Darnley had risen, and till then, I had not noticed the strange expression of countenance with which he listened to the last portion of the conversation I have recounted; but now, I was struck with his extreme paleness and with the ardent look he bent upon the Irish officer's receding figure. A moment after we were both upon the traces of the latter. Going up to him with an earnestness of manner that quite accounted for the absence of all the polite preliminaries usual on such occasions.
"'You were second in a duel some two months since, as I have gathered involuntarily from your conversation?' said Darnley.
"'I was,' replied the Irishman, looking rather wonderingly at his questioner.
"'And one man fell?' pursued Henry.
"'He did,' answered the officer.
"'Pray forgive me,' resumed Darnley; 'but what might be the name of the gentleman who was shot?'
"'Captain Milnthorpe of the —th,' rejoined the Irishman with great politeness.
"'I now entered into some slight conversation with the stranger, and apologised for our want of ceremony, for Darnley was absorbed in his own reflections.
"We went arm-in-arm through the different rooms, but we did not speak. At last Darnley disengaged his arm from mine, and looking at me as he walked away—
"'Premier coup de cloche!' said he (and they were his first words) with a smile, he thought, perhaps, to render gay, but which was not so.
"The next day he had started upon a whaling expedition to Greenland.
III.
"This sudden disappearance of Darnley's made me aware of what, till then, I had not discovered; that he was superstitious in spite of himself, and that he was so to an extraordinary degree. This discovery, I confess, caused me great pain, for though I have, all my life, laughed at everything in the shape of dreams, witcheries, predictions, and the like bedevilments, I have a considerable aversion for the
'Wise saws and cunning prophecies,
Cause of their own completion.'
and I am always disposed to guard a superstitious person scrupulously from any contact with those who purport to dispose of secret powers and hidden agencies. I fancied that Henry Darnley was far superior to any feeling of this kind, and I cannot describe to you the annoyance with which I found out how entirely I had been mistaken.
"I was not long, as you may suppose, without making Miss Warrington's acquaintance and a most interesting creature she was. A very little time sufficed to make great friends of us two, and as Mr. and Mrs. Warrington, père et mère, were a good-natured, frivolous couple, who, so long as they could amuse themselves, asked no better than to see by their daughter's eyes, I soon became an established ami de la famille. Poor Charlotte Warrington! I never saw her dance from the time Darnley left Paris, and the first time I mentioned his name to her, her eyes filled with tears, and I thought she would have fainted. She really loved him, and had been cut to the very heart by his sudden and inexplicable desertion. As I was the first to tell to her the one sweet secret which most lovers tell for themselves, and to assure her of Henry's ardent devotion to her, you may easily conceive what a place I held in her preoccupations. Still no one had any news of the wanderer, nor did I dare explain to Charlotte the real reason of his flight. I could not throw this chill upon her hopes, nor cast this death-shadow across her path, but I let her imagine that some circumstance connected with his father, about whom she knew he never liked to talk, had called him away at the very moment when he would have given most to be allowed to stay. Miss Warrington had implicit confidence in me, and I obtained from her the promise that, as long as she herself cared for Darnley, she would pin mistaken faith upon his love, and not believe in the possibility of a change upon his part. She not only promised this, but she kept her promise in a way that was to be expected from very few women. She sincerely believed in Darnley's love although undeclared by himself, and feeling that she could love no other upon earth, she waited his return witha patient submission that nothing ruffled or disturbed.
"In the spring (six months after Darnley's departure) I lost sight of the Warringtons, for her physicians had for some wonderful ailment, of which no one alive had ever seen the slightest symptom, prescribed for Mrs. Warrington the waters of Carlsbad. Charlotte and I corresponded, and I did not need her assurances to convince me that my letters formed the charm and solace of her life. At last, as they were returning home by the Rhine, a letter of mine reached Miss Warrington at Bonn, and brought a recompense for all her resignation. I enclosed to her a letter I had myself just received from Darnley, and in which he announced at length his return to Europe after nearly a twelvemonths' absence. The letter was full of Charlotte Warrington at every line, and never were the anxieties and hopeful fears of timid and yet passionate affection better expressed. As this letter contained no allusion to the motive of its writer's disappearance, I tore off the name of the place whence it was dated (a town on the coast of Norway) and sent it straight to Miss Warrington, well knowing what honey it must be destined to distil into her heart's ears.
"The answer I got was such as I had expected; and with it was an invitation from Mr. Warrington to spend the month of October at his place in Staffordshire, whither they were all to return in the course of a fortnight. We were then in the middle of September. I, of course, accepted. Charlotte, in her letter, gave me a full account of all their proceedings. They were returning home not quite alone, for they had with them, as she informed me, a most interesting young widow, whose mother had been a schoolfriend of Mrs. Warrington's, and who, after a series of domestic misfortunes, had agreed to seek for such comfort as could yet fall to her lot by the hospitable fireside of one of her childhood's intimates.
"I contrived so to manage matters with Darnley, as that he should agree to accompany me to Fernwood, proviced I obtained an invitation from its master. This, as may be supposed, was no difficult affair, and although some delay in Darnley's arrival in England prevented him from actually going with me to Mr. Warrington's, it was settled that he was to follow me within a few days. In the eyes of the father and mother of his beloved, Henry Darnley passed for a very handsome, clever, and rather eccentric young man, destined moreover to be exceedingly rich; here was plus qu'il ne fallait to constitute an unexceptionable guest during the shooting season.
"For my own part I began to feel perfectly happy, and at my ease, upon the subject of Darnley's future welfare; for shall I avow to you my weakness? Immediately after hearing of Milnthorpe's death I had taken the trouble to make minute enquiries after Walter Eliot and had ascertained that he was in perfect health, and spending the winter with his family at Naples.
"All was then couleur de rose, and I assure you I have seldom felt happier than when, on one fine brilliant October morning, the Stafford mail deposited me at the lodge-gate of Mr. Warrington's family place.
"Mr. Warrington was already out shooting, and his better half had not yet rung for her breakfast in her own dressing-room. I found Charlotte alone with the friend of whom she had spoken to me, a young, delicate-looking woman in deep mourning. You may guess, but I need not dwell upon the reception I met with. I was, indeed, the harbinger of 'glad tidings,' and before I received my reward from Charlotte's cordial welcome, Charlotte's brighter eye and rosier cheek had attested to me the efficaciousness of the remedy I had applied to her ill.
"After luncheon, Miss Warrington proposed to show me the grounds, and out we went together. But there was no thought of 'the grounds,' or of showing me anything. Rapidly and in panting silence did Charlotte lead me through the park over the bridge beyond the entrance-lodge across the high-road, and into a pine-planted stag-stalked wilderness, called the Fern-wood, and whence the entire place took its name. Once hidden in these dark avenues, lost in these wild heathery paths, far from mortal ear or ken, then began the outpourings of the too full, too happy heart.
"But here you will allow me to interrupt my story," said Mr, Heatherstone, "I do not care even to myself to revive the memory of those days, or to conjure up before my own fancy the image of the trusting, enthusiastic girl, whose joys and sorrows were so intimately my own! Passons!
"As we were returning from our walk—
"'How selfish one is!' said Miss Warrington, stopping suddenly, and laying her hand upon my own; 'I had almost forgotten to caution you about poor Emily—Mrs. Mannering I mean.'
"'What about her?' asked I.
"'Only this,' replied Charlotte; 'that you must, as much as possible, in conversation, avoid speaking of sudden deaths, for her misfortune is so recent that an unguarded word has often the most shocking effect upon her.'
"'How did she lose her husband?' said I.
"'Not only her husband,' answered Miss Warrington; 'but her husband and her brother at once. They were out together upon the Lake of Lucerne, when a storm came on, and both were drowned—the bodies were not found until two days after, and then Emily was incapable of recognising them: she was ill of a brain fever and delirious, and to Mr. Mannering's servant fell the task of rendering the last duties to the victims. Poor thing! it is a most horrible history—she had not been married a year!'
"'And this happened?' I enquired.
"'Four or five months ago,' was the reply; 'she was sent for her recovery to Carlsbad, and there we met.'
"'As we were entering the hall-door—
"What was Mrs. Mannering's maiden name?' said I.
"'Bainbridge, answered Miss Warrington; 'her father was killed at Waterloo.'
"The next day Darnley arrived, and here again," pursued Mr. Heatherstone; "there will be no gratification of your curiosity. The walk Miss Warrington had taken with me the day before she this day took with him, whilst I, who was intended to be their chaperone, discreetly discovered paths wherein to lose my importunity. Oh! the bright sweet sunshine that sat upon those faces! On our return homewards we met, and both pressed my hands with an effusion that warmed my very heart.
"As we were taking our seats round the dinner-table, Mrs. Warrington addressed to her daughter the following words:—
"'Well, Charlotte, dear, the Eliots will be here next week.'
"Darnley was busily listening to Mr. Warrington's account of the damage done to one of his farms by the last month's heavy rains. I bent towards the lady of the house, and scarcely knowing why I asked at that moment,—
"'What Eliots are those?' said I.
"'Emily Mannering's father and mother,' answered she.
"'But I thought Mrs. Mannering was a Miss Bainbridge,' pursued I.
"'So she was,' replied Mrs. Warrington; 'but her mother married a second time, and—but, hush!' she added, 'Emmie is looking this way. There is a history about it, and I will tell it you another time.'
"I could not get over the uncomfortable feeling that had seized upon me, and more than once old Warrington rallied me with more good humour than good taste upon my gravity. Darnley, who was too happy to conceal his delight, joined in this, and I had to make immense efforts to escape from the jokes of the whole table.
"As soon as I could find a pretext for drawing Miss Warrington aside, I put to her the question I was burning and yet, I will confess it, trembling to ask. Coming close to her, as she was searching for I know not what in the leaves of a book,—
"'Tell me,' said I, with an earnestness I could not control, 'was Mrs. Mannering's brother named Walter?'
"'No,' answered Charlotte, rather carelessly, I thought. 'His name is Charles.'
"I breathed, and then another thought struck me.
"'Is,' I repeated; 'but I mean the one who was drowned.'
"'Oh! Walter, poor fellow!' she rejoined, shutting the book and pronouncing herself the ill-fated name. 'Yes,'—she continued, with more serious attention to the sad subject I had recalled to her mind,—'Yes; his name was Walter—but how did you know that?' she suddenly inquired. 'Did you know him?'
"'No—yes!'—stammered I,—"a little.'
"'Don't you take coffee, Mr. Heatherstone?' drawled out Mrs. Warrington from the other end of the room, and I hastened towards her, glad at the moment to escape from her daughter's further investigations.
"When I retired for the night, which I did somewhat earlier than usual, Darnley was sitting beside Miss Warrington, watching her as she miscounted the stitches of her tapestry, and as I turned upon my pillow to go to sleep, her voice struck upon my ear, warbling forth the complainte of Eloisa in the "Puritani,'—
'Ah! rendete mi la speme
O lasciate mi morir!'
IV.
"The next day, before any one was stirring, I betook myself to Darnley's room. He was up, and smoking at the open window.
"'Why, what the devil, man!' exclaimed he, seizing my hand: 'you have your same long face of last evening,'—and then, in a gentler tone,—'dear George,' he added, 'has anything happened? Is anything serious the matter?'
"'That depends upon yourself,' I replied, looking at him steadily. 'If it were my affair, I should at once say no: but you have Scotch blood in your veins, and there is no answering for the crotchets that may harass your brains. But, however, just put down your cigar and answer me one question. How old are you?'
"Darnley hesitated for an instant, and seemed undecided whether to smile or frown,
"'I was twenty-four last July?' said he.
"'Humph!' growled I, beginning really to feel savagely sulky against something I could hardly understand or define. 'Well, now listen to me, Darnley, and try to be a man, and not give way to all sorts of superstitious absurdities. Walter Eliot was drowned five months ago in the Lake of Lucerne, and Mrs. Mannering, who is staying here, is his sister.'
"A shudder he could not control passed over Darnley's whole frame. He went to the fire, stirred it, and then, seating himself in a low chair, began picking out small bits of coal from under the grate with the tongs, shivering all the while as he did it.
"'It is very strange, Heatherstone, is it no*?' said he, at length, making prodigious efforts to keep the words, as it were, straight in his mouth, and prevent them from knocking one against the other like his teeth.
"'Why, as to that,' I commenced, 'I must say that I am not struck by the great mystery of all this as you are.' (At the moment this was not precisely true, for Darnley's chilliness was communicative, and I was not myself at all free from a certain shivering sensation in the back.) Henry interrupted me—
"'Such as we are, George,'—he stuttered, for by this time his teeth had set to clattering, as though the very wind of death were whistling through them,—'such as we are, you and I, we can never understand one another upon some points. Leave me a little to myself now, and come to me again in a couple of hours. I will wrestle with this phantom, George,' he added, holding out to me an ice-cold hand; 'I promise you I will, but I must do so alone.'
"I left him then; and I had hardly returned to my own room, when I caught sight of a figure I had no hesitation in recognising to be his, striding across the park towards the Fern-wood, in whose sombre recesses he was soon lost to view.
"When I again sought Darnley at the end of the two hours, he was perfectly composed, though very pale, and though the nervousness was gone, the chill remained behind, and the touch of his hand froze me to the core.
"His resolution was taken, and it was an inflexible one. He would never, he said, consent to associate Charlotte Warrington in the anxieties of a life overhung with so dark a shade. His plan was formed, and I cannot say that I found any reasonable argument to oppose to it. He meant to leave again immediately, as he said he could not support the thoughts of being so near to her whom he had condemned himself not to approach.
"'Right or wrong,' said he, 'reasonable or absurd, I will not see Charlotte again, until the period has elapsed when I am to hold existence as a forfeit. Laugh, if you will, Heatherstone' (I was not at all inclined to laugh), 'not until my twenty-fifth birthday is passed, will I reclaim from the only woman I ever loved, her promise to be mine. But, when that day is passed, not an hour will I lose in flying to her, and in laying my whole life at her feet, for I must either cease to be, or be happy with her. I know of no other alternative.'
"As he said, so he did; and when I joined the party at breakfast, I announced, in as careless a way as possible, that Mr. Darnley had been suddenly called to London upon some pressing law business, and had begged me to explain an unavoidable absence, which he hoped, upon his return in a day or two, to excuse. This was all very well for the rest of the party, but as to Miss Warrington, it was useless to dream of deceiving her.
"The explanation which I sought for came, and left her calmer than even I expected.
"'On the 20th of next July, Darnley will return, never to leave you.' These were the words which, often repeated, gave Charlotte courage to affront all contingencies. It was but nine months, and what were nine months to ensure a long life of happiness?
"Not a word of the real motive of her lover's departure did I whisper to Miss Warrington; it was enough that it was absolutely necessary—necessary to him—and that when the time came, and that he judged fitting to do so, he would tell her all.
"There lay one of the great beauties of Charlotte Warrington's character. She bowed her head with serene submission to that which they, in whom she had confidence, told her must be, and never evinced one particle of that uneasy, unhealthy hankering so common to the greater portion of her sex, after what it was unadvisable or unwise that she should know.
"During the month I spent at Fernwood, not a day passed without my receiving some new proof from Miss Warrington of the strength and depth of her devotion for Darnley. Once I asked her if she did not regret not having his picture, but she instantly answered me in the negative, and taking from her bosom something folded in a piece of white silk—'You would laugh at me,' she said, 'if you were to see how very, very slight is the only material remembrance I have of him, and yet I prize it beyond all the miniatures that could be painted.' The little relique was nothing else than a small sprig of white lilac that had dropped from Darnley's coat at the ball at Madame D—'s on the night when I first saw Miss Warrington. It was faded and dry, but, as she told me, nothing could persuade her that it was not redolent with the spring-time of their love.
"In the first days of November I left Fernwood, and that winter was the one, my dear S--, in which I made your acquaintance at Munich. Three or four times I heard from Darnley in those nine months, and both his letters and those by which I answered them, were, as you may imagine, full of Miss Warrington, nor was the history of the white lilac forgotten; this, indeed, made such an impression upon him that he begged me to send him as accurate a design as I could execute of the little faded flower his Charlotte never parted from.
"Time wore on, and in the month of June I betook myself to the banks of the Rhine, meaning to return to England by Belgium and Paris, and be one of the witnesses of Charlotte Warrington's joy at the return of the long absent and so faithfully awaited bridegroom.
"As day after day passed by, Miss Warrington's letters to me became more and more cheerful and sure of happiness; in Darnley's last ones, on the contrary, there was a feverish excitement, a something that worried me, malgré moi, and, spite of all I could do, I found it impossible to surmount a certain uneasiness that amounted almost to positive apprehension. This feeling increased as the period approached which was, as I believed, to deliver me of it for ever. I intended to be in London on the 16th of July, and to pay a visit to Fernwood on the 20th, certain that I should at that period learn something decisive concerning my two friends. The 19th, I must tell you was Darnley's birthday, and he had, in all his letters to me, repented the determination not to let four and twenty hours elapse, after the expiration of the term, during which he felt himself bound by the spell of the prediction, without hastening to the side of his beloved.
"Unavoidable delays, however, which have nothing to do with my story, prevented my reaching Paris until the 19th, and, whatever might be my annoyance, I was forced to give up my project of reaching Fernwood so soon as I expected. The idea that, this day once passed, this mysterious 19th of July, on which Darnley was to complete his twenty-fifth year, once numbered with its parent days in the sepulchre of eternity, I might laugh to scorn, as I had been till then used to do, all the ghostly train of superstitious fancies, and rest secure in the well-being of those whom I so much loved; this idea, absurd as it was, tormented me to such a degree that I could find peace and tranquillity no where. In the evening after I had rambled up and down the Boulevards till I was tired, I, from sheer want of knowing how to kill time, turned into the Théatre des Variétés, and, finding nothing but a spare ticket in an already tenanted box, took my place on the bench allotted to me, behind a rather nice looking woman and two gentlemen who were with her.
"What piece was played is more than I can now recollect, but it was something so attractive that the house was filled to overflowing.
"Between the acts, the lady I have mentioned, and an elderly man who seemed to be her husband, were busily employed in explaining, to the other person who was with them, some event which seeme to have caused a sensation in "la Société."
"'But,' said the person who was being instructed, 'if this association of the Prince de M— is a public one, as I understand, why should not this Madame Varburton belong to it? She is, to be sure, dazzlingly beautiful," and, following the direction of his lorgnon, I perceived that the lady of whom they spoke (and whom I now made out to be an Englishwoman by name, Mrs. Warburton) occupied a box on the opposite side of the house. Splendidly beautiful she certainly was, though not apparently very young. They resumed their conversation.
"'Why,' said the elderly gentleman, 'you see, though the association is after a fashion a public one, still the patronesses form a private body, and must be composed as much as possible of persons in a position to visit one another.'
"'And,' interrupted the other gentleman, 'Mesdames de M—! and D—, and de V—, thought themselves too virtuous to be exposed to the impure contact of la belle Madame Varburton—quelle modestie! to think that anything could hurt them.'
"'No,' said the lady, 'that was not exactly the case; but unfortunately the English ambassadress was one of the patronesses, and she declared that she must retire, if this other lady, her compatriote, were to become one of the twelve dames patronesses, and it seems there was such a scene as never was heard of, and Monsieur Varburton went to Lord X—, and was in a great rage, and Lord X— told him he had better be quiet, and in his particular position, accept gratefully from society what society might be willing to give him, but never exact or expect more."
"'Then what is so terrible in this particular position?' asked the listener.
"I was, during this colloquy of my neighbours, leaning against the door of the box, and trying to inhale a little air by opening every now and then the lucarne which looked into the lobby. I could not at the moment recollect to what train of ideas in my mind this name of Warburton corresponded, but that I ought to know more of it I instinctively felt—to say the truth I took no very great notice of what my companions in the box were saying. However, my attention was soon awakened by a circumstance of which I found out too late all the gravity.
"Turning round to answer the last speaker's question—
"'It is certain,' replied the lady who sat before me; 'that for the English ambassadress, Madame Varburton has a position that prevents her mixing in good society. She is a divorcée, and that under, as it seems, most scandalous circumstances. I cannot think of her first husband's name, but she ran away from him with Monsieur Varburton, and it seems the procès was a most horrible one, quite affreux.'
"Before the sentence was finished our box was literally shaken by the violent manner in which the door of the adjoining one was shut.
"'Ah! mon Dieu! quel bruit!' exclaimed the French lady.
"As I looked out of the lucarne a figure dashed by me, which for a second rooted me to the spot. And then without reflecting upon how mad it must appear, I snatched up my hat and burst from the box in breathless pursuit of this apparition. I thought I had seen Darnley.
"My pursuit was vain, and I returned to my hotel more than half inclined to believe that the over-excited state of my nerves had made me also a fit subject for superstition to play its tricks upon. I had, however, now discovered the link which connected the name of Warburton with my perceptions; it was the name of Darnley's guilty mother, and once, but once only, in the first days of our friendship, had he mentioned it to me.
"At four o'clock on the following day I was to leave Paris. Just as I was about giving the last instructions to my servant, and getting the bill of the house paid, a man, looking like a lacquais de place, entered my apartment, bearing in his hand a small sealed packet.
"'De la part de Monsieur Darnley,' said he, taking off his hat and
looking round the room. 'Does Monsieur Adersion live here?'
"I sprang forward with one bound. 'Is Mr. Darnley in Paris?' I exclaimed. 'Where is he? Why did he not come himself?'
The man gave a melancholy stare. "Poor gentleman!" said he, "he died last night at twelve o'clock!" * * *
Mr. Heatherstone walked once or twice up and down my room, and then resuming his seat, "The packet the man gave me," continued he, "contained this ring, which I have worn ever since, and which I will carry to my grave."
"When I came to question the messenger I found that Darnley had been in Paris upwards of a month, that on his arrival he had been seized with a tremendous attack of typhus fever, from which he was recovering gradually but slowly. On the previous day, the fatal 19th, it seems his nervous excitability had arisen almost to madness; he could not remain still a moment, and, notwithstanding the peremptory orders of his physician, he had gone out towards evening, and had been brought back two hours later by two gentlemen in a hackney-coach, who said they had found him in a fainting fit in the Rue de Richelieu, and had discovered his address from a jeweller's bill contained in his pocket-book. When the doctor arrived, all hope was over and five minutes before twelve he breathed his last, exhausted by the ravings of delirium.
"In his writing-case, which lay open on the table, the first thing found was a paper superscribed, 'To whoever may be near me when I die,' and in which he earnestly entreated that the black ring worn by him upon his forefinger might be carried, or sent as quickly as possible to me, wherever I might be to be found.
"'And how did you find me so soon?' I asked.
"'It was not difficult,' replied the man, 'I had the honour of serving Monsieur two years ago, when Monsieur and Monsieur Darnley were lodging together at the Hotel du Rhin, and then the near neighbourhood—'
"'How!' I ejaculated; 'near neighbourhood—why, where did Mr. Darnley lodge?'
"'In the room above this,' replied the man.
"'And no one came to tell me?' I exclaimed.
"'Helas! Monsieur,' he answered; 'it was not till this morning that the paper was discovered, and Monsieur was out until a few moments back.'
"The jeweller's bill, which was the means of poor Darnley's address being discovered was for an object that was but ill specified on this facture.
"'It is, nevertheless, my firm belief.' remarked the lacquais de place, 'that Monsieur Darnley came to Paris for no other reason than to get that bijou made, for he talked of nothing else during all his illness.'
"'When the little écrin containing this trinket was put into my hand, I discovered a brooch representing a sprig of lilacs in diamonds; upon the back of one of the leaves which hung down over the stalk, were engraven these words:
'Liebe ist des Lebens unsterbliche Frühling.'"[5]
"And Miss Warrington?" said I, when the tale was ended.
"I purported not to tell you her history," said Heatherstone, gravely; "there are sorrows too deep to be disturbed by idle words."
"Well," resumed I, "you must allow that the 'Prophecy' was not in this instance the 'cause of its own completion,' and there certainly was something very extraordinary."
"Oh!" interposed he, "if once we get upon the chapter of 'extraordinary' occurrences, coincidences, and the like, we have small chance of bringing it to an end. I ask you now again, after the story of my black ring, and of poor Darnley's catastrophe, as I asked you before,—do you believe in witchcraft?"
"No," I unhesitatingly replied.
"Neither do I," added Heatherstone, "E pure!"
1. The leading facts of the following story are strictly true, and were related to me by my esteemed friend, Lord D * * * *.—Note of the Author.
2. Query? In English is it not humane?
3. A peculiar kind of salad made with onions and tomatos.
4. A sausage, boiled and served habitually in the ella podrida.
5. Love is life's eternal spring.