Duty and Inclination/Chapter 52
CHAPTER IX.
"What though the field be lost!
All is not lost; th' unconquerable will,
And study of revenge."
Milton.
It was about the hour of eleven when Rosilia entered her apartment for the night; and the late conversation of Sir Howard recurring to her thoughts, she did not feel disposed to sleep. The warnings also, that had been given her regarding him by Mrs. Philimore rushed upon her recollection. Unable to penetrate the cause which had wrought him into so serious a mood that evenings, "One who is capable of being thus impressed," thought she, "cannot be innately bad. His view of mortality, it is true, leans to the dark side; yet he must be well persuaded that nought but virtue and a well-spent life will avail him whenever he is overtaken by that awful hour—the last of his existence!" During the interval of such reflections the winds ceased to rage, and a perfect calm ensued.
She rose from her seat, approached the window, and drew from before it those curtains which veiled from her sight the distant country and the glories of the Heavens! How far was it from entering her thoughts, to conceive that Sir Howard and Melliphant, restless and disturbed in spirit, had been wandering about her dwelling. In seeing the light beam from her window, that innocent object, who had been the chief theme of their conversation, and whom they imagined to be wrapt in quiet slumbers, stood revealed before them.
The moon had risen in all her pale majestic grandeur; the watchman, in pacing his usual round, had called the hour of twelve; but Rosilia, in preference to retiring to rest, contemplated that heavenly orb, so often the subject of the poet's muse. Scarcely a cloud chequered the dark expanse, the general stillness being only occasionally broken by the bark of a watch-dog, and the tolling of a bell as if from some distant church. What a night for meditation!
Rosilia felt her soul, transported above the vanity of earthly things, to rest solely upon its Omnipotent Creator. "Alas!" she thought, "how often have I sighed for other pleasures! The seclusion which attends my youth, how often have I lamented—what a sacrifice have I thought it! But never! Oh! never! have I wished for an over-indulgence in the tumultuous pleasures of life. Plays, operas, concerts, afford me no relief; I return from them vexed, dissatisfied with myself, weary of a scene that never presents any one who could associate with me in the bonds of friendship,—one whom I could truly esteem,—one in whom I could place an entire confidence,—who could participate with me in joys, pure, elevated, refined,—who could direct and influence my taste, enlighten my judgment, and correct my errors. If ever such a friend should fall to my lot!—but hush!—be still, my heart!—Ah! no!—such a bliss will never be thine! But if perchance it should, the world, and all its vain uncertain joys, I will renounce without a sigh! Fixed but to one—the centre, the central point of every future happiness."
The enthusiasm of her thoughts caused in her a total suspension of movement, and she remained at the open window. Alas! how little did she suspect that those base destroyers, then gazing upon her like midnight assassins, only waited an occasion to infuse their deadly venom, and rob her for ever of that sweet enjoyment of breathing forth her soul in language so pure and pious!
As each contemplated her, each hoped for the fruition of his own infernal plan. Despicable wretches! Think ye to pollute the sacred shrine of Truth? can your deep envenomed guile spread its malignancy in the fair tabernacle of Rosilia's breast? Will not hypocrisy drop its mask? Will ye not appear in all your false deceptive colours, ere virtue falls, or innocence is betrayed, and existence ceases to have its charms!
"Virtue may be assail'd, but never hurt,
Surpris'd by unjust force, but not enthrall'd;
Yea, that which mischief meant most harm,
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory."
Rosilia has closed the curtains of her window,—she has withdrawn to the interior of the room,—no longer is she visible to the unhallowed eyes of those vicious companions; but, as if transfixed, they still remain, their eyes uplifted to the window whence she has vanished. Sir Howard was the first who spoke.
"Can the practice," said he, "of a system, so rigid as hers, be called happiness!—wasting the blooming spring of her charms in a life of mere vegetation. She has still to taste of the cup of pleasure, and can form no idea of what a delicious draught it is."
Ruminating more deeply over his own dark reflections, Melliphant started at the sound of his companion's voice, but still hung his head and maintained silence. Having reached his door, Sir Howard invited Melliphant to walk in; and, as was frequently their custom, they spent the night in gambling. The manners of Sir Howard were unusually agitated, a sort of restless irritability prevailed over him. He spoke rapidly upon subjects of indifferent concern, and foreign to the moment. The game they played was hazard; and, depending upon his usual good luck, he accepted of Melliphant's bets, which ran high, and lost without being conscious of doing so,—consulting at different intervals his watch with the interest of one who had an appointment requiring to be kept with exactitude, but, in reality, only to note to himself the advance of the hours, which dragged too heavily for him.
Melliphant continued to win, and, at length, transported to find himself free, that he had cleared off the debt so long owing to Sir Howard, springing from his seat he would have departed, had not Sir Howard again challenged him and demanded his stay. By a long succession of good fortune on the side of Melliphant, Sir Howard lost to a very large amount, while in the hope of recovering, he continued playing, and doubling the bets, until Melliphant, favoured as before, won every thing.
Pale, trembling, enraged, Sir Howard saw himself, in a short space of time, deprived of every pecuniary resource. The love of money held its predominating influence over his mind; so that now, with feelings of bitter disappointment, he not only bemoaned his recent loss, but the frustration also, for the present, of that nefarious act he had so deeply planned and arranged. He found himself on a sudden defeated,—and by whom? was it by Melliphant?—by himself rather, and by his own egregious folly.
Calm and unmoved, Melliphant regarded, from under his bent brows, the tumult raging within him; and, whilst maintaining the most sedate aspect, proposed his taking his revenge. With a hurried and impulsive motion, Sir Howard approached the table,—cast the dice,—which were still against him.
"I am ruined!" exclaimed he, starting up, "I am undone,—irretrievably lost! My affairs are involved, and all besides, Sir, is at your disposal."
With a profound, cool, and sullen air, Melliphant viewed him whom he had reduced from a state of comparative affluence, to one of absolute distress,—giving himself to bursts of passion, and striding the room with hasty and unequal steps. Melliphant spoke, and Sir Howard stopped abruptly, facing him, to listen to what he had to propose.
"Wealth!" said he, "what is wealth to me? I despise its glittering toys! It never was the object of my pursuit,—nor is it now. It will not purchase me the blissful certainly of being loved by Rosilia! Sir Howard, take the dice again,—let us venture the stake for what to me is of infinitely more value than all the mines of Peru! Let us play for Rosilia! If you win her, I will purchase her of you; I will give you, in exchange for her, all that I have this night won; and should the prize become mine!—if that you will promise me henceforth to renounce all claim to her, and even to lend me your assistance, should I require it, in aiding me to obtain her—if, I say, you will frankly promise this, I will restore to you the half, and more, of what you have just now lost,—reserving to myself that only more immediately necessary to my present emergencies. In a situation so desperate as yours, how can you one moment hesitate? Reflect, Sir Howard; the advantages of fortune are entirely on your side,—in that respect, you cannot be the loser; your gain is certain!"
The early morn was beginning to shed its ray, and ere that period would revolve,—ere another morning dawned and sent its light to re-illumine this world of darkness,—Sir Howard had allowed his ideas to revel in the raptures of carrying off Rosilia,—of bearing her away beyond the utmost stretch of human ingenuity to discover. Cruel alternative!—at the very moment his fondest hopes were about to be realized,—that happiness should thus elude his grasp!
Torturing state of mind! to what should he resort? The ardour of his passion for Rosilia insensibly cooled when he surveyed the danger, the numerous embarrassments that would necessarily surround him from the heavy pecuniary loss he had sustained. Dispirited, bewildered, how could he, at such a crisis, summon resolution for carrying on so desperate an undertaking?
Melliphant awaited his decision; Sir Howard seized the dice from his hand; pecuniary necessities, ideas of entanglement and ruin, prevailed over every other consideration less urgent.
"You know the terms?' exclaimed Melliphant.
The dice were thrown, and Melliphant,—the triumphant and exulting Melliphant,—won the chance!
His face crimsoned with joy, and he bounded like lightning from his seat.
"Auspicious omen?" cried he, "Sir Howard, you have sworn to the agreement."
"You need not doubt me," replied he, "I shall fulfil it."
Thus with them terminated that night, and with it that iniquitous plot contrived by Sir Howard, which, had it not been thus defeated, would have involved not only the innocent Rosilia, but her suffering family, in the greatest of their hitherto sustained afflictions.
In the regular correspondence of Rosilia with her sister, she had not failed to transmit accounts of Sir Howard and Melliphant, and of the suspected character and warning she had received, respecting the former, from Mrs. Philimore. Oriana, in consequence, conjured up to her fancy a thousand fears, and imagined her sister to be surrounded by dangers. Some months had passed since she had seen her family, and, beginning to feel impatient for a renewal of that happiness, her aunt obligingly gratified her wishes, and she once again found herself in the embrace of her parents and sister.
The General had returned from his excursion into Wales, and the family were all assembled to receive her. She feared she pained their minds by giving them those accounts she had so frequently heard to the prejudice of Sir Howard, finding that he had not lost the estimation of her father, who, so little disposed to mistrust or observe defects, maintained that he was an honourable man, sometimes, perhaps, by a natural volatility, betrayed into indiscretions, but which, in his prudent and reflecting moments, he himself was the first to condemn. Oriana, nevertheless, thought it prudent to caution her sister, wholly in the dark as to Sir Howard having so suddenly relinquished his claims, and that it was now against Melliphant only that Rosilia had to stand upon her guard.
"My dear Oriana," said Rosilia, "your apprehensions are groundless; how is it in the power of either Sir Howard or his friend to injure me?"
"Ah! Rosilia! you are so unsuspicious, you know so little of the wickedness of the world and its deceptive arts; but at any rate receive the affectionate advice of a sister in this matter, and never go with either of them to any public place; never see them alone, should they ever happen to call when our parents are not at home. You change colour,—you can scarcely credit what I say to you; but trust me those men are seeking an opportunity to undermine your happiness; avoid them, dearest Rosilia, as you would a pestilence!"
"You carry your fears to an undue extreme," replied Rosilia; "never have either of them received from me the most distant mark of encouragement; and, believe me, no power on earth could prevail upon me to become the wife of either."
"Of that I am assured," rejoined Oriana, "and of which, doubtless, they are, likewise, assured; and there rests the danger,—causing the greater suspicion to attach to them. Why does Sir Howard live so near, and yet conceal his residence? What mystery does it not involve?"
Rosilia shuddered at the insinuations her sister's reasonings thus conveyed, and resolved to act in accordance with her advice; to shun their presence as much as possible, and when she could not avoid it, to be distant and reserved in her manners to each. It then became Rosilia's turn to offer the language of sympathy and consolation. Oriana replied to her anxious inquiries concerning Philimore in a style calculated to surprise and pain her beyond measure.
"If I have not," said she, "written to you upon the subject of my grief, it was because I feared my letter might fall into the hands of our parents. Oh! Rosilia, you can form no idea of the sufferings, the pangs that Philimore has overwhelmed me with; his affection for me is wholly withdrawn; he has ceased to write to me; my name has become odious to him; if, as my friend Miss Morris informs me, I by chance am ever mentioned in his presence, his countenance assumes an expression of gloomy displeasure, too striking to escape notice."
"I have myself," replied Rosilia, "witnessed such a conduct in him, but never could suppose it proceeded from what you say. But why!—what proof have you that he is influenced by inconstancy?"
"How else am I to attribute," continued Oriana, "the excessive coldness, apathy, and indifference towards me, into which he has fallen. May Heaven, Rosilia, shield you from the misery he has caused me to undergo—so cruelly, so barbarously, has he acted towards me!"
Mortification, disappointment, and indignation, were by turns manifested in the speech of Oriana, as she continued to paint to her sister the blighted hopes, withered prospects, and severe wounds her heart had sustained. Philimore was then in London, but did not, according to his wont, hasten to see his Oriana; who, in taking leave of her family on her return to the Park, silently, yet deeply ejaculated,—"I shall never see him more!" starting at the thought, as if foretold it by some unerring and fatal prediction!