Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
GEORGE MONTAGUE placed his precious burden upon the bed, and
for a moment contemplated her pale but beautiful countenance with mingled
feelings of admiration, interest, and desire. The lips were apart, and two rows
of pearl glittered beneath. The luxuriant light chestut hair rolled over his
arm, on which he still supported that head of perfect loveliness: his hand thus
played with those silken, shining tresses.
Still she remained motionless-lifeless.
Gently withdrawing his arm, Montague hastened to sprinkle
her countenance with water. The colour returned faintly, very faintly to her
cheeks; and her lips moved gently; but she opened not her eyes.
For a moment he thought of summoning Louisa to her
assistance; then, obedient to a second impulse, he hastily loosened the hooks
of her semi-military frock-coat.
Scarcely had his hand thus invaded the treasures of her
bosom, when she moved, and unclosed the lids of her large melting hazel-eyes.
"Where am I?" she exclaimed, instinctively closing
her coat over her breast.
"Fear not, dearest," whispered Montague; "it
is I - I who love you."
The scene with the burglars instantly flashed to the mind of
the lady; and she cried in a tone tendered tremulous by fear- "And those
horrible men - are they all three gone?"
"They are gone - and you are safe."
"Oh! you will pardon me this weakness," continued
Walter, hastily moving from the bed to a chair; "but two of those villains
- I recognised them but too well - were the men who threw me down the trap-door
in the old house near Smithfield."
"Hence their alarm - their panic, when they saw
you," exclaimed Montague: "they fancied that they beheld a spirit
instead of a reality. This accounts for their sudden and precipitate flight,
till this moment unaccountable to me."
"And you, George," said the lady, glancing
tenderly towards the young man - "you are my saviour from a horrible
death! Another moment, and it would have been too late - they were going to
murder me! Oh! how can I sufficiently express my gratitude."
She tendered him her hand, which he pressed rapturously to
his
lips;- and she did not withdraw it.
"I heard a noise of a shutter closing violently, and of
a pane of glass breaking," said Montague: "I started from my bed and
listened. In a few moments afterwards I heard footsteps on the
stairs —"
"Those were mine, as I descended," interrupted
Walter; "for I was alarmed by the same disturbance."
"And, then, while I was hastily slipping an my
clothes," added Montague, "I heard a scream. Not another moment did I
wait; but —"
"You came in time, I repeat, to save my life. Never -
never shall I sufficiently repay you."
Again did Montague press the fair hand of that enchanting
woman to his lips; and then, as he leant over her, their eyes met, and they
exchanged glances of love - hers pure and chaste, his ardent and brimful of
desire. He was maddened - he was emboldened by those innocent tokens of
affection upon her part; and, throwing his arms around her, he imprinted hot
and burning kisses upon her lips.
With difficulty did she disengage herself from his embrace;
and she cast upon him a look of reproach mingled with melancholy.
"Pardon me, dearest one," he exclaimed, seizing
her hand once more and pressing it to his lips, "is it a crime to love you
so tenderly - so well?"
"No, George - no: you are my saviour - you soon will be
my husband - you need not ask for my forgiveness. But now leave me - retire to
your own room as noiselessly as you can; and to-morrow - to-morrow," she
added with a blush, "it is not necessary that Louisa should know that you
were
here.
"
"I understand you, dearest," returned Montague;
"your wishes shall ever be my commands. Good night, beloved one!"
"Good night, dear George," said the lady;- and in
another moment she was again alone in the boudoir.
Montague returned to his apartment, full of the bliss which
he had derived from the caresses enjoyed in a chamber that seemed sacred to
mystery and love. He paced his own room with hasty and agitated steps: his
brain was on fire.
His own loose ideas of morality induced him to put but
little faith in the reality of female virtue. He moreover persuaded himself
that the principles of rectitude - supposing that they had ever existed - in
the bosom of the enchanting creature he had just left, had been undermined or
destroyed by the cheat which she was practising with regard to her sex. And,
lastly, he fancied that her affections were too firmly rivetted on him to
refuse him anything.
Miserable wretch! he was blinded by his own mad desires. He
knew not that woman's virtue is as real, as pure, and as precious as the
diamond; he remembered not that the object of his licentious passion was
innocent of aught criminal in the disguise which she had assumed; he reflected
not that the caresses which she had ere now permitted him to snatch, were those
which the most spotless virgin may honourably award to her lover.
He paced his room in a frenzied manner - allowing his
imagination to picture scenes and enjoyments of the most voluptuous kind. By
degrees his passion became ungovernable: he was no longer the cool, calculating
man he hitherto had been;- a new chord appeared to have been touched in his
heart.
At that moment he would have signed a bond, yielding up all
hopes of eternal salvation to the Evil One, for a single hour of love in the
arms of that woman whom he had left in the boudoir!
His passion had become a delirium:- he would have plunged
into the crater of Vesuvius, or throw himself from the ridge of the Alpine
mountain into the torrent beneath, had she gone before him.
An hour thus passed away, and he attempted not to subdue his
feelings: he rather encouraged their wild and wayward course by recalling to
his imagination the charms of her whose beauty had thus strangely affected him,
- the endearing words which she had uttered, - the thrilling effect of the
delicious kiss he had received from her moist vermilion lips, - and the
voluptuous contours of that snowy bosom which had been for a moment revealed to
his eyes.
An hour passed: he opened the door of his chamber and
listened.
A dead silence prevailed throughout the house.
He stole softly along the passage and through the anteroom
which led to the boudoir.
When he reached the door of that chamber he paused for a
moment. What was he about to do? He waited not to answer the question, nor to
reason within himself: he only chose to remember that a thin partition was all
that separated him from one of the most beauteous creatures upon whom the sun
ever shone in this world.
His fingers grasped the handle of the door he turned it
gently ;- the door was not locked!
He entered the boudoir as noiselessly as a spectre. The lamp
was extinguished; but the fire still burnt in the grate; and its flickering
light played tremulously on the various objects around, bathing in a rich red
glare the downy bed whereon reposed the heroine of the villa.
The atmosphere was warm and perfumed.
The head of the sleeper was supported upon one naked arm,
which was round, polished, and of exquisite whiteness. The other lay outside
the clothes, upon the coverlid. Her long hair flowed in undulations upon the
snowy pillows. The fire shone with Rembrandt effect upon her countenance, one side
of which was completely irradiated, while the other caught not its mellow
light. Thus the perfect regularity of the profile was fully revealed to him who
now dared to intrude upon those sacred slumbers.
"She shall be mine! she shall be mine!" murmured
Montague; and he advanced toward the bed.
At that moment - whether aroused by a dream, or startled by
the almost noiseless tread of feet upon the carpet, we cannot say - the lady
awoke.
She opened her large hazel eyes; and they fell upon a figure
to whom her imagination, thus suddenly surprised, and the flickering light of
the fire, gave a giant stature.
Her fears in one respect were, however, immediately
relieved; for the voice of Montague fell upon her ears almost as soon as her
eyes caught sight of him.
"Pardon - pardon, dearest one!" he said in a
hurried and subdued tone.
"Ah is it so?" quickly ejaculated the lady, who in
a moment comprehended how her privacy had been outraged; and passing her arm
beneath the pillow, she drew forth a long, sharp, shining dagger.
Montague started back in dismay.
"Villain, that you are - approach this bed, and,
without a moment's hesitation, I will plunge this dagger into your heart!"
"Oh! forgive me - forgive me!" ejaculated the
young man, cruelly embarassed. "Dazzled by your beauty - driven mad by
your caresses - intoxicated, blinded with passion - I could not command myself
- I had no power over my actions."
"Attempt no apology!" said the lady, with a calm
and tranquil bitterness of accent that showed how profoundly she felt the
outrage - the atrocity, - that he, whom she loved so tenderly, had dared to
meditate against her: "attempt no apology but leave this room without an
instant's delay, and without another word. Within my reach is a bell-rope - one
touch of my finger and I can call my servants to my assistance. Save me that
exposure - save yourself that disgrace. To-morrow I will tell you my opinion of
your conduct."
There was something so determined - so cool - so resolute in
the manner and the matter of this address, that Montague felt abashed - humbled
- beaten down to the very dust. Even his grovelling soul at that moment
comprehended the Roman mind of the woman whom he would have disgraced: a coward
when burglars menaced her life, she was suddenly endowed with lion-daring in
defence of her virtue.
The crest-fallen young man again attempted to palliate his
intrusion: with superb scorn she waved her hand imperiously, as a signal to
leave the room.
Tears of vexation, shame, and rage, started into his eyes,
as he obeyed that silent mandate which he now dared no longer to dispute.
The moment the wretch had left the boudoir, the lady sprang
from the bed and double-locked the door.
She then returned to her couch, buried her head in the
pillow, and burst into an agony of tears.
WHEN Louisa entered the boudoir on the morning which succeeded
this eventful night, nothing in Walter's countenance denoted the painful
emotions that filled her bosom. She narrated the particulars of the burglarious
entry of the dwelling, and Montague's opportune arrival upon the scene of
action, with a calmness which surprised her faithful attendant. The truth was,
that the attempt of the robbers upon the house, and even the danger in which
her own life had been placed, had dwindled, in her own estimation, into events
of secondary importance, when compared with that one atrocity which had
suddenly wrecked all her hopes of love and happiness for ever.
The usual mysterious toilet was speedily performed; and,
with a firm step and a countenance expressive of a stern decision, she
descended to the breakfast-parlour.
Montague was already there - pale, haggard, abashed, and
trembling. He knew that the chance of possessing a lovely woman and ten
thousand pounds was then at stake; and, in addition to the perilous predicament
of his nearest and dearest hopes, his position was embarrassing and unpleasant
in the extreme. Had he succeeded in his base attempt, he would have been a
victor flushed with conquest, and prepared to dictate terms to a woman entirely
at his mercy:- but he had been foiled, and he himself was the dejected and
baffled being who would be compelled to crave for pardon.
As Louisa entered the room close upon the heels of Walter,
the latter greeted George Montague with a most affable morning's welcome, and
conversed with him in a manner which seemed to say that she had totally
forgotten the occurrence of the night.
But the moment that Louisa had completed the arrangements of
the breakfast table, and had left the room, Walter's tone and manner underwent
an entire and sudden change.
"You must not think, sir," she said, while a proud
smile of scorn and bitterness curled her laps, "that I have this morning
tasted of the waters of oblivion. To save you, rather than myself, the shame of
being exposed in the presence of my servant, I assumed that friendly and
familiar air which appears to have deceived you."
"What! then you have not
forgiven me?" exclaimed Montague, profoundly surprised.
"Forgive you!" repeated the lady, almost
indignantly "do you suppose that I think so little of myself, or would
give you such scope to think so little of me, as to pass by in silence a crime
which was atrocious in a hundred ways? I loved you sincerely - tenderly - oh!
God only knows how I loved you; and you would have taken advantage of my
sincere and heartfelt affection. The dream in which I had indulged is now
dispelled; the vision is over; the illusion is dissipated. Never would I
accompany to the altar a man whom I could not esteem; and I can no longer
esteem yon. Then again, I offered you the hospitality of my abode; and that
sacred rite you would have infamously violated. I cannot, therefore, even
retain you as a friend, in another sense, too, your conduct was odious. You
saved my life - and for that I shall ever remember you with gratitude: but you
nevertheless sought to avail vourself of that service as a means of robbing me
my honour. Oh! all this was abominable - detestable on your part; and what is
the result? My love can never avail you now; I will crush it- extinguish it in
my bosom first. My friendship cannot be awarded; my gratitude alone remains.
That shall accompany you; for we must now separate - and for ever."
"Separate - and for ever!" ejaculated Montague,
who had listened with deep interest and various conflicting emotions to this
strange address: "no - you cannot mean it? you will not be thus
relentless?"
"Mr. Montague," returned the lady, with great
apparent coolness - though in reality she was inflicting excruciating tortures
upon her own heart; "no power on earth can alter my resolves. We shall
part - here - now - and for ever; and may happiness and prosperity attend
you."
"But Mr. Stephens?" cried Montague: "what can
you say to him? what will he think?"
"He shall never know the truth from
me,
"
answered Walter solemnly.
"This is absurd!" ejaculated Montague, in despair
at the imminent ruin of all his hopes. "Will not my humblest apology - my
sincerest excuses - my future conduct, - will nothing atone for one false step,
committed under the influence of generous wines and of a passion which obtained
a complete mastery over me? will nothing move your forgiveness ?"
"Nothing," answered Walter, with unvaried coolness
and determination. "Were I a young girl of sixteen or seventeen, it
might be different:
then
I might be deceived by your sophistry.
Now,
it is impossible! I am five and twenty years old; and
circumstances, she added, glancing over her male attire, "have also tended
to augment my experience in the sinuosities of human designs and the phases of
the human heart."
"Yes - you are twenty-five, it is true," cried
Montague; "but that age has not robbed your charms of any of the grace and
freshness of youth. Oh! then let your mind be cautious bow it adopts the severe
notions of riper years!"
"I thank you for the compliment which you pay me,"
said Walter, satirically; "and I can assure you that it does not prove a
welcome preface to the argument which you would found upon it. Old or young -
experienced or ignorant in the ways of the world - a woman were a fool to marry
where ehe could not entertain respect for her husband. I may be wrong: but this
is my conviction;- and upon it will I act."
"This is but an excuse to break with me," said
Montague: "you no longer love me."
"No - not as I did twelve hours ago."
"You never loved me! It is impossible to divest oneself
of that passion so suddenly as this."
"Love in my mind is a species of worship or adoration,
and can be damaged by the evil suspicions that may suddenly be thrown upon its
object."
"No - that is not love," exclaimed Montague,
passionately: "true love will make a woman follow her lover or her husband
through all the most hideous paths of crime - even to the scaffold."
"The woman who truly loves, will follow her husband as
a duty, but not her lover to countenance him in his crimes. We are not,
however, going to argue this point:- for my part, I am not acting according to
the prescribed notions of romances or a false sentimentality, but strictly in
accordance with my own idea of what is suitable to my happiness and proper to
my condition. I repeat, I am not the heroine of a novel in her teens - I am a
woman of certain age, and can reflect calmly in order to act decidedly."
Montague made no reply, but walked towards the window.
Strange and conflicting sentiments were agitating in his brain.
'Twas thus he reasoned within himself.
" If I use threats and menaces, I shall merely open her
eyes to the real objects which Stephens has in view; and she will shrink from
the fearful dangers she is about to encounter. Whether she changes her mind or
not with regard to me, and whether I proceed farther in the business or not,
the secret is in my hands; and Stephens will pay me handsomely to keep it.
Perhaps I had even better stop short where I am: I am still in a position to
demand hush-money, and avoid the extreme peril which must accrue to all who appear
prominently in the affair on the 26th of the month."
The selfish mind of George Montague thus revolved the various
phases of his present position and in a few moments he was determined how to
act.
Turning towards Walter Sydney, ha exclaimed, "You are
decided not to forgive me?"
"I have made known to you my resolution-that we should
now part, for ever."
"How can we part for ever, when your friend and
benefactor, Mr. Stephens, requires my services ?"
"Mr. Stephens informed me '
that a third person was
necessary to the complete success of his designs, and that he had fixed upon
you.
' Consequently, another friend may fill the place which he intended you
to occupy."
"You seam to have well weighed the results of your
resolution to see me no more," said Montague bitterly.
"There is time for thought throughout the live-long
night, when sleep is banished from the pillow," returned the lady proudly.
"I can scarcely comprehend your conduct," said
Montague, after another pause. "You do not choose that your servants
should know what occurred last night: is it your intention to acquaint Mr.
Stephens with the real truth?"
"That depends entirely upon yourself. To speak
candidly, I do
not
wish to come to any explanation
with Mr. Stephens upon the subject. He will blame me for having concealed from
him the attachment which has subsisted between us; and he will imagine
that some levity on my part must
have encouraged to violate the sanctity of my chamber. If you, sir, are a man
of honour," added the lady emphatically,- "and if you have a spark of
feeling and generosity left, you will take measures with Mr. Stephens to spare
me that last mortification."
"I will do as you require," returned Montague,
well pleased with this arrangement. "This very day will I communicate to
Mr. Stephens my desire to withdraw from any further interference in his
affairs, and I will allege the pressing nature of my own concerns as an
excuse."
"Act as you will," said the lady; but let there
remain behind no motive which can lead you to repeat your visits to this house.
You comprehend me?"
"Perfectly," replied Montague. "But once more
lot me implore you —"
"Enough - enough!" exclaimed Walter. "You
know not the firmness of the female mind: perhaps I have this morning taught
you a lesson in that respect. We must now part, Mr. Montague, and believe me -
believe me, that, although no power on earth can alter the resolution to which
I came during the long and painful vigil of the past night, I still wish you
well;- and, remember, my gratitude accompanies you!"
Walter hesitated for a moment, as if another observation
were trembling upon her tongue: then stifling her emotions with a powerful
effort, she waved her hand to the delinquent, and abruptly left the room.
"Is this a loftiness of mind of which not even the
greatest of men often afford example? or is it the miserable caprice of a
vacillating woman?" said Montague to himself, as he prepared to take his
departure from the villa in which he had spent some happy hours. "I must
candidly admit that this time I am at fault. All appears to be lost in this
quarter - and that, too, through my own confounded folly. But Stephens's secret
still remains to me; and that
secret shall be as good as an
annuity for years to come. Let me see - I must have money now to insure my
silence, upon breaking off all further connexion with the business. Then I must
keep an eye upon him; and should he succeed on the 26th of this mouth - and he
must
succeed,
if this punctilious lady does not see through his designs in the meantime -
then can I step forward and demand another sum under a threat of exposing the
entire scheme. And then, too," he added, while his countenance wore an
expression of mingled revenge and triumph,- "then, too, can I appear
before this vain, this scrupulous, this haughty woman, and with one word send
her on her knees before me! Then will she stoop her proud brow, and her prayers
and intercessions upon that occasion shall be expressed as humbly as her reproaches
and her taunts were tyrannically levelled at me to-day! Yes! - I will keep my
eye upon Walter Sydney and her benefactor Stephens," he said with an
ironical chuckle: "they may obtain their princely fortune, but a due share
shall find its way into my pocket!"
These or similar reflections continued to occupy the mind of
George Montague after he had left the villa, and while he was on his way to the
nearest point where be could obtain a conveyance to take him into the City.