by the Author of "Shirley Hall," etc. [William Gilbert].
Originally published in The Argosy (Strahan & Co.) vol.2 #9 (Aug 1866).
It was late in the autumn of 18— when I left my lodgings in Ramsgate, where I had been residing during the season, to return to London. As I was not pressed for time, I proposed to journey by the steamboat instead of by rail. Rightly or wrongly, I considered the sea air and iodine obtained by the voyage a most efficacious alternative, and one especially well adapted to the constitution of a sedentary literary man.
There were few passengers on board the boat, as by far the greater portion of the visitors had already left Ramsgate; besides the day was squally and threatened rain. We left the harbour, and went on to Margate, where we took on board a few more passengers, and then proceeded on our voyage to London. Sunshine and showers now alternated, the wind, the while, blowing somewhat briskly, which had the effect of driving almost all the passengers into the cabins. Another person and myself were, for some time, the only individuals on deck. He sat in the fore part of the boat, while I continued my solitary walk, from one end of the vessel to the other. It was not long before I began to perceive the fore-cabin passenger eyeing me attentively, as if he were acquainted with me. I looked at him narrowly, but could not recollect ever having seen him before. Judging from his appearance he was by no means of the class a gentleman would like to associate with. He was upwards of fifty years of age, and very shabbily dressed. He wore a rough soiled greatcoat, had a large woollen comforter round his neck, and on his head a misshapen hat. His shoes were old and dilapidated. He wore gloves on his hands, but there was not a finger which was not greatly in want of mending. The form of his face was not by any means objectionable, but even this redeeming point was, to a considerable degree, dimmed by a beard of at least three days' growth, and a complexion which unmistakably showed the man to be a drunkard.
He continued to gaze intently at me each time I passed him. At last I was somewhat annoyed at his conduct; and a shower of rain coming on, I plunged into the after-cabin, where I remained for some time occupied with my newspaper. But the close atmosphere of the place so oppressed and disgusted me before long, that I was forced to go upon deck again. I determined to treat myself with a cigar, and having lighted it, I, of course, went forward, no smoking being allowed "abaft the funnel." Fortunately the disreputable-looking man was no longer on deck, and I seated myself on the seat at the boat side, and puffed away at my leisure. A shower came on, and, as my cigar was only half finished, I descended into the fore-cabin to finish it. There I found the bête noire of my journey. He was seated at the table, evidently half tipsy, and with a glass of rum and water before him. I sat down at a table, the furthest from him, and, taking no notice of him, pretended to be wholly unaware of his presence. He continued to gaze fixedly at me, and at last I got so annoyed that I threw away my cigar, and was just about to go on deck again, when, on passing the table at which he was seated, he said to me—
"Don't you know me?"
"No," I answered, abruptly.
"Is that really the case? To speak truth, I suspect you want to cut me."
"I told you truly, that I do not know you," I said, angrily. "Why should you imagine I would tell a falsehood about it?"
"Well, don't get out of humour," he said. "I thought it probable you might not like to speak to me. When I was respectable I know I should have been sorry to have been seen speaking with any one so disreputable-looking as I am now."
"I trust you are respectable still," I said; "but tell me who you are, for really I have not the slightest remembrance of you."
He watched me attentively for a moment, and then said—
"My name is X--, I was formerly clerk at Messrs. (naming a well-known publishing firm who were among my first patrons), and you used to know me well enough then."
I looked at him, and by degrees recognized his features, though they were fearfully altered for the worse. It was difficult to believe that so great a change could have come over the appearance of any man. Formerly he had been remarkably neat in his person and gentlemanly in his manners, and, as I have before stated, his appearance was now completely the reverse.
"I remember you perfectly well now," I said, "and I acknowledge with gratitude having several times received favours at your hand. Why did you leave the firm? I know they used to have a very high respect for you."
"I was dismissed for drunkenness," he said, with a coolness which surprised me; "but I am proud to say they had no other fault to place on the debit side of my account."
"Had you no complaint to make against them?" I said.
"Not the slightest; a more honourable firm is not to be found in London. In fact, I wonder they put up with me so long as they did. Even now I have occasionally to thank them for acts of liberality which I have certainly no right to expect at their hands."
"If it is not an indiscreet question," I said, " what induced you to contract the vice of drinking? I should have thought you the last man in the world to have been guilty of anything of the kind."
"I thank you for your good opinion," he said, "and I believe I was formerly not undeserving of it. Without being a teetotaller, a more strictly sober man never lived than I was when you knew me. I contracted the habit of drinking as most other people do, gradually. It was no love of the vice, or any absurd wish for conviviality that made me take to it. I was led to it by that same power which changes many other sober people into drunkards—sorrow."
"Might I ask the cause of your sorrow? Were you unfortunate in business?"
"I never started in business on my own account. I was quite content with the appointment I held. It was not a very lucrative one, it is true, but I was content. My sorrow was caused by—a stroke of good fortune."
"I confess I do not understand you," I said.
"As the rain continues," he said, "it will be impossible for you to go on deck, so if you remain here, I will prove to you, if you like, that a stroke of good fortune may be as prejudicial to a man's happiness as the most serious misfortune that could befall him."
"Go on," I said, smiling, "that will be'a curiows problem to work out."
Well then (said he), to begin. At the time I knew you, I lived at Camberwell. I had a wife and two daughters, and two finer or more amiable girls than they were, or a better wife than Margaret then was to me, it would have been impossible for any man to have. My income was not large, but it was sufficient. I had a hundred and fifty pounds a year; and if four people could not obtain many luxuries upon a sum of the kind, certainly we suffered no privations, and, more than that, we had some amusement, and a great deal of happiness.
There lived in the neighbourhood an old lady, a Mrs. Clarke, who had taken a great fancy to the girls. She was a widow without children, with no relatives but distant ones, and even with these she was on no very good terms. Except that she was comfortably off, we knew little about her, for she was exceedingly taciturn and reserved about her affairs. She took a great fancy to the girls, and occasionally treated them to the theatre and other places of amusement, as well as made them little presents. Once she took them for three months to Brighton, and they returned home much benefited both in health and appearance. Of course she used to joke the girls frequently about getting married. She promised when that event should take place to give Margaret, the elder, a present of an old-fashioned gold watch, and Alice, the younger, a silver teapot and cream-ewer, which she said had been her father's, and for which she had a great respect.
The old lady died very suddenly one day, to the great and genuine grief of us all. In her we lost a very dear old friend to whom we were much attached, notwithstanding her many little pettish peculiarities. I was invited to the funeral, and obtained a day's holiday for the purpose of attending it. When I left the house my wife and daughters were in tears. On arriving at the house of mourning, I found in it the solicitor, the doctor, and two or three old ladies, distant relatives of the deceased. I used the word mourning just now, but really there was not the slightest appearance of grief shown by any one of them. I believe I was the only person present who was really sorry for the loss of the good old soul. The ceremony was duly performed, and we returned to the house, where the will was read. I was little interested in the matter, seeing that I had not the slightest expectation from her. In her will she left many bequests. A hundred pounds to an old servant who had married out of her house, two sums of fifty pounds each to the two servants who were then residing with her, and five hundred pounds each to several distant relatives. To my elder daughter, Martha, she left the gold watch as she had promised her, and to the younger the silver teapot and cream-jug. She then left divers moderate sums to different charities, the whole amounting, in fact, to far more than I imagined she was possessed of. To my great surprise, however, the will concluded by her naming my two daughters as her residuary legatees.
"But," I said to the solicitor, before I left, "will there be anything over for them to receive?"
"Oh yes," he said, smiling; "I cannot exactly say how much. Although it may seem unprofessional on my part to make an offer of the kind, I shall be very happy to give them seven thousand pounds apiece for their chance if they will let me take all that shall exceed that sum, while I, on the other hand, will make good all that shall fall short of it."
I was perfectly astonished at the intelligence; it seemed to me like a dream. My two poor girls who, when I left home in the morning, might have calculated their whole assets as somewhere under five pounds each, were now each of them possessed of a moderate if not ample fortune. Even when I quitted the house and got into the open air I could hardly believe the intelligence, and I walked leisurely home, reflecting in what manner I could best break it to my family, knowing that joy sometimes has as prejudicial an effect as grief. I at length reached home. One of my girls opened the door, and I entered the parlour. Darkened as it was by the blind being down to its fullest extent, I could easily perceive that my wife and daughters had been crying bitterly during my absence, and their prayer-books lying on the table told me that they had been occupied during my absence in reading the funeral service. For some moments after I had seated myself no conversation took place between us. My wife at length broke the silence by asking me who were present at the funeral, and whether everything went off properly. I gave her a description of the whole affair, which she and the girls listened to attentively. When I came to the opening of the will I described to them the several legacies which had been left. I told Margaret that the old lady had bequeathed to her the gold watch and to Alice the silver teapot and cream-ewer.
"Bless her!" said Margaret, "she was a dear old soul, and we shall miss her sadly."
"I had no idea she was so wealthy," said my wife.
"But I have not yet finished," I remarked. "She has named the two girls her residuary legatees."
"What does that mean, papa?" said Alice, the younger.
"That whatever is over will be divided between you and your sister."
"Will there be anything to speak of?" inquired my wife.
"I thought there would not, and inquired of the solicitor, who told me that he should be very happy to offer the girls seven thousand pounds each for their chance."
For some moments there was a dead silence, so overwhelmed were they at the intelligence. The first who appeared to comprehend it fully was my elder daughter Margaret. She leaped from her chair, and, clapping her hands joyfully, exclaimed, "Now I will never ride in a second-class carriage again."
"Nor shall that fellow Johnstone ever pass off his clumsy boots on me again," said Alice, who had a remarkably neat foot and ankle; "I will soon find out another shoemaker. When shall we receive the money, papa?"
"My dear," I said, "I think before you trouble yourselves about that, it will be necessary to know what mourning you will wear as a mark of respect to the dear old soul that's gone."
"Certainly," said my wife, "we ought to see about it immediately. It will, at any rate, show people that we are not ungrateful for the kindness we have received from her," she continued, mechanically drawing up the window-blind which had been pulled down out of respect for the funeral.
As the old lady's solicitor was an honest man, and none of the legatees had a disposition to quarrel, the estate was quickly wound up, and my daughters were soon in possession of their property. As they were both under age (Margaret, the elder, still wanting a few months of being twenty-one), I was of course their guardian.
The first thing we did, after we had procured very handsome mourning, was to entertain the question of moving to a different locality. My wife found that although many very respectable people resided in Camberwell, still those whose acquaintance we might make among them would always remember that we had hitherto lived in a very ungenteel street. Besides, it would be annoying if those we had been accustomed to visit should continue to call on us. She had certainly a great respect for them all; but still, she said, it was our duty as parents to consider the welfare of our girls, and to introduce them into such society as would prove beneficial to them. I endeavoured to prove that Camberwell had hitherto suited us perfectly well, and I could not see why we should now quit it. My wife, however, held a contrary opinion, and as she was backed by the girls, it was resolved that we should remove to the far genteeler neighbourhood of Paddington. I was powerless in the matter, and they immediately set out in search of a house. One was at length obtained which suited them exactly. It was a showy-looking place with plate-glass windows, the front being profusely ornamented with stucco mouldings. The bedrooms were not much better than our own, but the reception rooms, as we began to call them, were certainly handsome; in fact as much so as plaster and gilt cornices could make them. I had an impression that there was more show than respectability about the whole affair, but I was overruled.
Furnishing now commenced, and some very expensive articles were purchased. I remonstrated, but was told by my wife that as the girls bought them with their own money I had no right to interfere. I objected to the legality of the decision, as they were both under age; but I was obliged to give way, though I did so both in sorrow and in anger. It was the first time my children had ever opposed my wishes in any material point, and my sorrow was increased by the knowledge that my wife had encouraged them in their disobedience.
The house was at last furnished, all arrangements were completed, and we entered on possession. I am sorry to say that when we quitted Camberwell, we parted finally with many estimable friends, my wife and daughters considering they were hardly genteel enough for our new position in society, although the ostensible reason put forth was the great distance between Paddington and the neighbourhood we had left. Being now fully established in Terrace, my family began to form acquaintances with those who, to use their own phraseology, were in our own position in society. I cannot say I liked the acquaintances they made. They were certainly respectable, but among all of them there was a tendency to vulgar show, the most of them living up to the full extent of their means, if not beyond it. Among the ladies were several mothers with families of marriageable daughters whose only doweries were much gentility, little education, and no money. Among the men, again, were several who were clerks in public offices. These I liked best. True, their incomes were small, and hardly any of them could be regarded as good matches for the girls; still they were steady and well-conducted. There were also several young men of no particular qualifications, who appeared to consider trade as beneath them, and were yet without the ability to attain eminence in any profession. However, things went on smoothly enough, no great reason arising for complaint on my part, till I found that my wife and daughters now began to think my position as a publisher's clerk somewhat derogatory to their position in society. My wife broke ground by asking me whether, with our family prospects, and my highly-respectable connection, I could not start in business on my own account. I told her it was impossible. It would require a large amount of capital, and I had none whatever.
"But, my dear," said my wife, "I was this morning talking the matter over with the girls, when I told them that I thought your want of capital would be the objection; but Margaret said that sooner than papa should remain in the employment of anybody, he might make use of any portion of her property he pleased; and really, my dear," continued my wife, "I do not see why you should not do so. The money would be quite as safe in your hands as in the Bank of England, and you could allow her five per cent. for it, instead of the three she is now receiving. Why, the difference would allow us to keep a brougham."
At first sight my wife's suggestion seemed tempting enough, but the word "brougham" brought me to my senses, and I refused to accept the proposal. I positively declined to touch one shilling of the money on any condition whatever, and I stated my refusal in such strong terms, that my wife left the room in a towering passion.
Two days afterwards she laid before me another proposition. She said, as the incomes of the girls were quite sufficient to enable us to live comfortably, they could not see why I should continue toiling and slaving in a house of business. At my time of life I was entitled to take things more easily, and that both she and my daughters hoped that I would no longer continue as a drudge in a firm that after all cared very little about me. This second proposition I also refused to entertain. I was still in the prime of life; I had all my energies and my wits about me. I felt I should be miserable without occupation, and why should I throw away a hundred and fifty pounds a year? Besides, I was of a far too independent spirit to live upon the generosity of any one, even on that of my own daughters, and I requested my wife never to speak to me on the subject again. My family, I could easily perceive, were by no means pleased at my firmness, still I felt that I was right, and so I cared but little for their ill-temper.
Our acquaintances continued to increase in number, and among them there were one or two families who by no means pleased me. One of these was the family of a gentleman, a junior partner in a firm with which our house frequently transacted business. They lived in considerable style, far more so in fact than their means warranted. I had not one word to say against the husband. He was a hard-working, good man of business; but his wife, who had a family of daughters, considered that the only means of finding suitable matches for them was by living in an expensive manner, and keeping a great deal of company, and I was fully persuaded that she was thereby spending every shilling her husband earned, if she was not even going beyond it. As I did not like such an example, I demurred to our forming any intimacy with them; but my wife held a contrary opinion, and she had her own way. The parties given by this family, in point of expense and splendour, greatly exceeded our own, and this fired my wife with the wish, if not to excel, at least to do things on an equally liberal scale. We determined, therefore, to give a party which should fully equal any of those we had attended at this house. Our acquaintances, however, were not yet upon a level with Mrs, Brown's (for by that name I will call the lady). Whilst ours continued solely among the middle class, the Misses Brown had many acquaintances among outsiders of the aristocracy, and several honourables, whose "honour," as Byron says, "came more before their names than after," were to be met at their parties. However, the Misses Brown were very good-natured girls, and on my daughters mentioning to them how much they regretted that their gentlemen acquaintances were not equal in point of position with those they met at their house, the latter unhesitatingly offered in the kindest manner to ask their mother to bring some of their stars with them to our next party. The proposition was joyfully accepted, and by way of doing these gentlemen sufficient honour, still further preparations were made for the very splendid party we were about to give. The evening at last came, and Mrs. Brown was true to her word. She brought with her three gentlemen, one an honourable, one a captain in a dragoon regiment, and the third, a Frenchman, Baron De Villebois. The last-mentioned gentleman was certainly the star of the evening. He was a tall, handsome, gentlemanly man, remarkably well-dressed, and he spoke English with great fluency. Although he would have had no difficulty in choosing any lady in the room for a partner, he confined his attentions principally to my elder daughter Margaret, with whom he frequently danced, while the captain paid great attention to the younger. Altogether, I must admit, our party was a very brilliant affair, although there were several things about it I did not quite approve of, but the pride I had in my girls, and their fine appearance, made me pass them over without any observation.
A few days after the party, the baron and the captain paid my wife and daughters a lengthened visit during my absence on business. They made themselves very agreeable, and evidently left a pleasing impression behind them. By some extraordinary series of chances, they were continually meeting them afterwards, and a considerable intimacy sprang up between them and my wife and daughters (for I began now to find that I was of little importance in my own house), which ended at last by the baron making an offer for Margaret's hand. When I heard of it, I confess I was far more surprised than pleased. I knew very little of him, and I refused to give my consent to the match till he had given me some reference as to the respectability of his family. This he unhesitatingly promised to do, and I must say the description he gave was not an untruthful one, as I afterwards found on inquiry. His father, however, who he said was somewhat prejudiced on matters of religion, refused to give his consent to the match, as he did not like his son marrying a Protestant. The latter, however, persisted in his determination, and the father withdrew his objection, but refused to advance his son any money, as he had still some scruples about the alliance. This, however, appeared to my wife and daughters a matter of secondary importance, as I had ascertained that the old gentleman was a man of considerable fortune (even taking an English view of that matter), and that by the French law his son would, at any rate, inherit a very considerable portion of it, even if his father's objection should continue—a point I very much doubted after he had formed Margaret's acquaintance.
Altogether, I cannot say I ever liked the match, or the manner in which it was brought about, but I was helpless. My child, who was now her own mistress, was desperately in love with her future husband, while my wife was so dazzled with the idea of having a baron for a son-in-law, that she was blind to every other consideration. I endeavoured to impress upon them the necessity of Margaret's having at any rate a portion of her property settled upon herself, a proposition to which the girl indignantly refused to agree. "Everything she had in the world," she said, "should be his without the slightest reservation." And she kept her word.
I was told that the wedding of my daughter and the baron was a very brilliant affair; but to say the truth, although it took place in my house, I was so much distressed at the idea of losing my daughter, that I paid very little attention to what was passing around me. After the ceremony the bride and bridegroom returned to the house for the wedding breakfast, and they then started for France, where they intended to reside. It would be doing my wife a great injustice to say that she did not feel much at parting, but she soon recovered her spirits; the idea of her daughter now being a baroness greatly mitigated the pain she felt at their separation. We frequently heard from Margaret; she and her husband had taken apartments at Paris till such time as a reconciliation could be effected with the baron's father. In her letters she always expressed herself as living very happily with her husband; but I thought I perceived, after they had been married for some months, that these expressions did not seem altogether genuine. The idea pained me greatly, but I did not mention the subject to my wife. The latter now received a letter from Margaret, intimating the probability of her soon becoming a mother. This news gave me great satisfaction in more ways than one, and not the least was that I thought the birth of the child might act as a peace-maker in the baron's family.
Shortly after Margaret's departure, my younger daughter, Alice, received an offer of marriage from the captain, which she accepted. I did not like the match, and I argued as strongly against it as I could. My principal objection was, that the captain had now left the army, and had not obtained any other occupation, and I did not like the idea of seeing my daughter united to an idle man. My wife, however, insisted that the match was a very genteel one, and that the captain's relatives were highly respectable, even aristocratical; all of which was certainly true, and she added that she had no doubt they would soon be able to obtain for him a government appointment. Finding my arguments of no avail, I offered no further opposition. I will also admit that I rather liked the captain, notwithstanding his faults. He was a very brave, good-natured fellow, could be active enough when he pleased, and had not the slightest particle of snobbishness about him. Had it not been for his utter recklessness, I should have accepted him willingly as my son-in-law. Again, I had more power in this case than I had in Margaret's. She was of age at the time of her wedding, and I had no control over her fortune, but Alice still wanted a year of being twenty-one, and so I refused to give my consent to the match unless five thousand pounds of her property were settled upon her, leaving the balance at her own disposal. I must do the captain the justice to say that he made no demur whatever to the stipulation, on the contrary, he expressed himself much pleased at my foresight. Alice and her husband determined to spend their honeymoon in Paris, where they could have the opportunity of frequently seeing Margaret. Before they left I requested, as a particular favour, that the captain should make what inquiries he could about the baron, as I much suspected that Margaret was not so happy as her letters tried to lead us to imagine. He promised to make every inquiry upon the subject, and faithfully to let me know the result.
When Alice and her husband returned to England, they took up their residence at our house, having no home of their own to go to. I questioned the captain as to the information he had been able to obtain about Margaret. He told me that she and her husband were living in a good deal of style, that she had expressed herself as perfectly happy and contented, but from the expression of her face, he believed that she was not altogether without anxiety.
"Fortunately," said the captain, "I picked up a fellow of the name of Jones, who is now living in Paris, and knows pretty well everybody, and I put him on to make inquiries about the baron for me, and to let me know the result. I have no doubt I shall have it in a few days, and then I will tell you all that he says without reservation."
About a week after his return, he received a letter from Paris one morning, which, without opening, he put into his pocket, saying that he would read it after breakfast. In the evening, as we were having our cigar together, suddenly the captain broke out with—
"Between ourselves, governor, I begin to suspect that the baron is, after all, little better than a scoundrel."
"Why so?" I remarked, greatly alarmed, for I had began to entertain a somewhat similar opinion of him myself.
"Well, this morning I received old Jones's letter. He tells me he has found out a great deal about the baron, but nothing whatever to his credit; in fact, that he is one of the most profligate and notorious gamblers in Paris. He says, also, that he had just heard that he has lately lost a great deal of money, and that he is considered by everybody there as an utterly ruined man. I hope he has not got hold of any of Margaret's money."
This intelligence caused me the greatest alarm, and I determined the next morning to ascertain what had been done with Margaret's fortune. To my horror I found that the whole of the money had been withdrawn from the Bank of England and sent over to France. I now determined on writing to Margaret on the subject; but before I had finished my letter, we received one from her saying that her husband wished her to come over to England for her accouchement, so that she might be with her mother at the time, and that she expected to arrive at my house the next day. The letter caused us much surprise, but the pleasure we felt at the prospect of so soon seeing our child, considerably neutralized it. Margaret arrived late the next evening, greatly fatigued with her journey. After the first joy of meeting was over, I began to examine carefully the expression of my daughter's countenance, and I was much pained at the impression it conveyed to me. She was poorly clad, too, and had brought with her but very little luggage, and my wife found that no preparation whatever had been made for the expected infant.
One morning, shortly after her arrival, Margaret, during my absence, received a letter from the baron, which had such a violent effect upon her, that it caused a premature accouchement, and the child was dead. I inquired what was the nature of the letter, and the captain, who was certainly not overwhelmed at our misfortune, placed it in my hands, and then, folding his arms coolly, walked up and down the room smoking his cigar, while I read the letter. In it the baron said that he much regretted to inform Margaret that after he had taken good legal advice on the subject, he had come to the conclusion that their marriage was an informal one, inasmuch as he had not received the consent of his parents to the match. It gave him, he said, great pain; but his conscience at the same time told him that he had done wrong. Much as it grieved him, he had no alternative but to insist on their separation. He had not had the courage to inform her of it personally, and for that reason he had invented the excuse for her to visit England. He would now say adieu to her, and for ever; but that she might rest assured, though separated, he should always hold her in the highest esteem and affection.
The letter fell from my hands, and I threw myself on an easy. chair, utterly overcome; the captain the while walking up and down the room with an air of most perfect indifference. At last I said to him—
"What can possibly be the scoundrel's meaning? Why, he knows perfectly well that he received a letter from his father, stating that although he would not be present at the wedding, or countenance it, still, as it seemed to be so essential for his son's happiness, he would withdraw all opposition to it."
"Have you got the letter?" said the captain, taking his cigar out of his mouth at the moment, and knocking the ashes into the fire-place.
"No, I have not," I said; "he kept it."
"It's a pity," said the captain, quietly replacing the cigar in his mouth.
"What would you advise me to do?" I said.
"Consult your lawyer," was the only answer he made me.
I resolved on following his advice, and early the next morning I left home for that purpose. On my return I found Margaret in extreme danger, and my wife and Alice in the greatest distress of mind, The captain was no longer there. After breakfast he had packed up his carpet-bag, and left the house without saying where he was going, or even bidding adieu to his wife. A few hours afterwards, however, she received a hurried note stating that before leaving the house he had forgotten to mention that he should not be home for two or three days. I should possibly have been much surprised at his conduct, but my anxiety about Margaret's health shut out from my mind all other considerations. Even the villanous behaviour of the baron seemed to interest me but little, so great was the terror I was in. The day passed over, and when at night the doctor paid his visit, I waited with great anxiety for the report he would give of the patient.
The news I received from him was, on the whole, satisfactory. He said that he had found Margaret considerably better than she had been in the morning, and, although he could not pronounce her out of danger, still, with youth and a good constitution on her side, he had great expectations that all would end well. "Above all things," he said, "she must be kept quiet, and nothing allowed to excite or annoy her."
The doctor's directions were difficult indeed to carry out. Possibly we might be able to keep her quiet, but to keep her from anxiety was a different affair. As the acute symptoms of her case diminished, her distress of mind increased in proportion. By degrees the full extent of her calamity came before us, and I was puzzled how to act. My employers, with great kindness, gave me permission to remain away from business as long as I might consider it desirable. My lawyer advised that as soon as Margaret should be capable of travelling, I should take her, armed with all documentary evidence of her marriage, with me to France, and there apply to the law to establish her position as the baron's wife. I determined on following his advice;but how to carry it into effect I hardly knew. The greatest difficulty of all was, that I could not speak one word of the French language, although I could read it with tolerable facility. Here I had great reason to be discontented with the captain's behaviour. He spoke French fluently, and could have assisted me much; but although it was now nearly a week since he had left the house, we had not heard one word from him, and where to address a letter to him I knew not. Alice also began to be dreadfully alarmed at his silence, for though she knew him to be a bad correspondent, she did not believe him capable of so much cruelty as to neglect her and her family in the distress they were in.
Four days more passed over, and Alice received a letter from her husband. It was dated from a prison in France. In his letter the captain detailed his adventures since he left the house. He had determined, he said, that that rascal Villebois should not go without the reward of his villainy, and for that purpose he had left England to challenge him. On arriving in Paris, he found the baron was at his father's château, and he immediately started off to meet him. When he arrived at the village near which the château is situated, to his intense indignation he found that, to oblige his father, the baron had married a French lady of large fortune.
"All idea of challenging the baron," the captain continued, "immediately fled from my mind, and, instead of fighting a duel with him, I chose a thick heavy horsewhip, and, having waylaid him, I inflicted on him so fearful a chastisement, that for some hours the villain's life was despaired of." The captain having performed, as he called it, "this great moral duty," was on the point of turning his steps homeward, when he was seized by the police, and thrown into a prison to await his trial for the murderous assault he had committed. In the letter, he begged his wife to come over to France immediately, and bring with her some money that he might be able to engage lawyers to defend him, and especially not to forget to pack up with her things some good cigars, as those provided by the authorities were not fit for "a dog to smoke."
Here was a new tribulation for us. Alice, of course, immediately left England to join her husband, taking with her a considerable sum of money as well as the much-desired cigars. I must say, although I was at first grievously annoyed at the captain's conduct, it increased my regard for him, as it showed, in spite of the blundering manner he had carried out his intentions, that he had been solely actuated by his love for my family. I may here state that he was sentenced to three months imprisonment, which he underwent, and then returned to England.
Margaret had now sufficiently recovered to leave England, and I started off with her to claim what in English legal phraseology is called "a restitution of conjugal rights." I had a letter of introduction to an avocat of eminence, who commenced proceedings on my daughter's account, and the baron commenced counter proceedings against her for illegally bearing his name. His cause came off first. Margaret was tried in the Imperial Court of Douay. It was then proved that no formal consent of the parents had been received to the match, the baron's father positively denying that he had ever written the letter withdrawing his opposition to the match, which had been shown me by the baron. The result was a verdict against Margaret, condemning her to a nominal fine of fifty francs, with a warning that, in case she should again be guilty of calling herself the baron's wife, she was certain to be imprisoned.
I had now no alternative but to take my poor child back to England with me, neither married nor unmarried; her wedding, according to the English law, being legal—according to the French, illegal. However, it mattered little either way. The shock had been too great for her to withstand, and she gradually sunk under it. She had no particular disease, but seemed simply to fade away, and before twelve months had expired, after the trial at Douay, I followed her to the grave.
With regard to the captain, he still continued the amiable, good-natured, idle fellow he was when I first knew him. As he would take to no occupation, and as his family yearly increased in number, the interest of the five thousand pounds settled on his wife was not sufficient to maintain them in England, so we gave up the house in Paddington, sold off the furniture, and my wife, the captain, and Alice, with their children, went over to France, where they are now residing in genteel poverty in a town on the Normandy coast. Alice has already five children, and is daily expecting another. My own part in the family history is soon told. During the illness of poor Margaret, I had unfortunately learnt to seek consolation from the bottle, and after her death, I sought it more eagerly than before. After the departure of my family for France, the habit increased to such an extent that I could not break myself of it. If I attempted to leave it off, the utter misery of my solitude was so great that I was obliged to take to it again. My employers, after frequently threatening me, at last dismissed me, and with good cause. I then went over to my family in France, and, with the exception of the captain, they seemed anything but delighted to see me; "my appearance," they said, "being so ungentlemanly." I left them, and returned again to England, where I have resided ever since. Occasionally I receive little commissions from my late employers, such as copying papers, or odd bits of accounting. I also keep the books of two or three petty tradesmen, and altogether I contrive to earn enough to keep me in meat and—drink;and so, I suppose, it will continue till the end of the chapter.
He had hardly concluded when I found the boat was upon the point of arriving at Blackwall, and I prepared to leave the cabin. Before doing so, I told him how much I regretted that a man possessed of so many natural good qualities should have become a victim to the filthy vice of drinking, and I concluded, as I warmly shook his hand, "I hope, when next we meet, I shall find you the same sober man that I knew you formerly."
He shook his head mournfully, but made no reply. I had good proof, however, that my advice was useless, for, as I ascended the cabin stairs, I heard him say,
"Steward, bring me a glass of rum, and let it be neat."