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LIGHT AND DARKNESS

MrSTEHIES OF

LIFE,

BY

MRS. CATHERINE CROWE,

AUTHOR OF
THE NIGHTSIDE OF NATURE," "SUSAN HOPI.EY," &C.

IN

THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. IL

LONDON:

HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,

GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1850.

LONDON:
Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.

CONTENTS
THE SECOND VOLUME.

PAGE

THE bride's journey (CONCLUDED)

THE MONEY SEEKERS

33

206

GUENTIN

241

ANTOINE DE CHAULIEu's WEDDING DAY

273

THE monk's STORY

305

THE STORY OF LESURQUES

THE PRIEST OF

ST.

THE BRIDE'S JOURNEY.

(CONTINUED.)

CHAPTER
During

the progress of the conversation

already described, Karl

whatever.
out

11.

He

attention,

made no

observation

listened in silence;

but without

not with-

objection,

even

although, in the different plans that were proposed, he heard himself always designated as

When

the active agent in the murder.

the

council broke up, the parties retired to bed

their present station being too near
for their purpose.

VOL.

II.

Dresden

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

Next
as

day, they

way

their

resumed

their journey

lay through a

of the

the presence

nothing but

saved the young bride's

gloomy

and

forest,

postilion

The night was

life.

passed at a post-house, where there were so

few rooms, that Adelaide had to sleep in the

same apartment with the daughter of the

owner:

here

so

was nothing

to

be done

either.

The
these

began

Italians

difficulties,

change in their

to

grow impatient

and Mazzuolo proposed a

tactics.

On

the previous

evening, the weather being very cold,

dame Louison had

chamber.

to

fill

ordered

fire

in

and

all

her

they had to do

the stove with charcoal,

and her

death would follow in the most natural

They were

in the world.
at

Ma-

She would doubtless do the same

on the ensuing night

was

at

Nuremberg

way

to pass the night

and, as soon as they arrived,

Karl w^as sent out to procure the charcoal;

but,

after

remaining away a long time, he

came back, saying the shops were

and

all

shut,

and he could not get any

Nuremberg was not

place for any other

kind of attack,

fit

was

Adelaide

as the inn at

respited

for

another four-and-twenty hours.

On

the following day, in order to avoid

such another contretemps, the charcoal was

secured

in

the

morning whilst they were

changing horses, and placed in a sack under

the seat of the carriage.
It

happened

was very

on

hiUy,

day that the road

this

and as the horses

Madame

dragged the vehicle up the ascents,

Louison proposed

walking to

They aU descended

selves.

stout,

and heavy

tired,

and

zuolo,

got

on
in

again

with a view to

Adelaide,

fell

his

warm them-

but Tina, being

her

slowly

feet,
;

was soon

whilst

design

Mazagainst

into conversation with the driver

about the different stations they would have

to

stop

at.

He

wanted

information he could

to

extract

obtain, so

B 2

all

the

he walked

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

Madame

beside the carriage, whilst

and Karl, who were very

cold,

Louison

walked on as

fast as they could.

You

"

look quite chilled, Karl," said she

" let us see

first

who

a race will

The youth
thing

will

be at the top of the

warm

hill

us."

strode on without saying any-

but as she was the more active, she

got before him; and

when she reached

the

she turned round, and playfully clapping

top,

her hands, said, " Karl,

Karl said he had had an

was not so strong

gone

Fve beaten you

into the water

and

illness lately,

as he used to be

!"

he had

when he was very warm,

and had nearly died of the consequences.

This led her to observe
clad

how

was

and when the carriage overtook them,

she proposed

that,

as

others, as they did not

their

glasses up,

hands,

and the

was plenty of

there

room, he should go inside;

upon

thinly he

to

want him

consented.

which the
to fall

With

furs that the party

ill

the

were

THE bride's journey.

wrapt

in,

the inside of the carriage was very

to the

different

out;

and Karl's nose and

cheeks, which had before been blue, resumed

their original hues.
It

was

station,

orders,

when they reached

their night

and, whilst the ladies went

look

to

late

their

at

rooms, Karl

up

received his

which were, that he should

stove with charcoal, and set

the others were at table.

composedly that he would.

have done

it,"

fill

"

the

whilst

fire to it,

The

stairs

lad answered

And when you

" give

said Mazzuolo,

me

wink, and I will step out to see that

all is

right before she goes to her room."

tittle,

and

ready, he gave the signal,

and

Karl obeyed his directions to a

when

all

was

Mazzuolo, making a pretext, quitted the

He

found the arrangements quite

and having taken care

to

dow was

he

well closed,

supper-room.

He was

see

table.

satisfactory,

that the win-

returned

to

the

no sooner gone, than

the boy took the charcoal fi'om the stove, and

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

threw

came

it into

the street

and when Adelaide

was no

to undress, there

Cold as

fire.

it

was, however, she had no alternative but

to

go to bed without one, for there was no

bell

in the apartment;

and Mazzuolo, who

had lighted her to the door, had locked her

in,

under pretence of caring

for her safety.

Karl, having watched this proceeding,

companied him back

the

to

where they discussed the plans

Whether would

ing day.
in the
all,

it

for the follow-

be better to

whether

make

the

discovery

murder.

it

settled,

but

would be

its effects

an end of the matter.

her behind,

This

It

plan

had put charcoal

the stove, not being aware of

left

themselves?

first

for the second.

easy to say that the lad

there would be

to find

they were far on the road, or

Karl ventured to advocate the

Tina decided

start

for her at

and leave the people of the house

when

they

supper-table,

morning without inquiring

her dead,

ac-

in

and
If

would be avowing the

they went to bed.

What

He was

Karl did not know.

to do,

natui-ally a stupid sort of lad,

and what

little

sense nature had given him, had been nearly

beaten out of

him by harsh

had had a miserable

and un-

in a rude

life

He

treatment.

happy home, and had never found himself so

comfortable as he was
her husband.

now with

his aunt

They were kind

make use

cause they wanted to

to

and

him, be-

of him.

He

did not want to offend them, nor to leave

them

again,

for if

he

he must return home

did,

which he

above

dreaded

him

all

things.

Yet there was something

in

against killing the lady.

Grossly ignorant as

that recoiled

he was, scarcely knowing right from \vrong,

it

was not morality

or rehgion that deterred

him from the crime

perfect idea of the

for

he had a very im-

amount of the mckedness

he would be committing in taking away the

life of a

fellow-creature.

virtue he

Obedience was the only

had been taught

in authoritv over

and what those

him had ordered him

to do,

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

he would, under most circumstances, have

To

done without question.

travelling

kill his

beauteous

who had shown him

companion,

such kindness, was, however, repugnant to

feelings

he could not explain even to himself.

Yet he had not

to

sufficient

know how he was

of the task.

The

grasp of intellect

performance

to elude the

only thing he could think

of in the meanwhile was to take the charcoal out of the

which he went

stove

and he did

to sleep,

and

left

it

after

the results to

be developed by the morning.

He

had been desired

when he
and

to

early;

rise

and

quitted his room, he found Mazzuolo

his wife already

him go below and send up

be careful that
of the house.

it

They bade

stirring.

breakfast,

and

to

was brought by the people

This was done

and when

the waiter and the host were present, Tina

took the opportunity of knocking at

Louison's door,
the great

and bidding her

amazement of the two

Madame
rise.

Italians,

To
she

THE bride's journey.

answered with

she was nearly

that

and should be with them immediately.

dressed,

They

alacrity

stared at each other

but presently she

opened the door, and appeared as fresh as

ever

observing, however, that she had been

very cold,

for

she went to

before

the whole

for

that

the

fire

had gone out

This

bed.

accounted

and Karl escaped

thing,

all

blame.

During the ensuing day nothing remarkable

occurred
at night

it

was provided

fresh charcoal

was found there were no stoves

the bed-chambers

and

as the houses

all

the same thing hap-

at several successive stations.

The
tical,

ill-

the good inns having been dis-

mantled by the troops

pened

in

on the

road they were travelling were poor and

furnished

but

delay

for they

began to render the

affair cri-

were daily drawing near Augs-

burg,

where M. Louison

wife

and Mazzuolo resolved to conclude the

w^as

business by a coup de main.

to

meet

He had

his

learnt

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

10

from the

postilion that the little post-house

which was

to

form

was admirably

their next night's lodging

fitted for

a deed of mischief.

It lay at the foot of a precipice, in a

the mountains

gorge of

the district was lonely, and

the people rude, not likely to be ver}^

much

disturbed, even if they did suspect the lady

had come unfairly

to her end.

It

was

not,

however, probable that the charcoal would be

of any use on this occasion

the place was

too poor to be well furnished with

so

Karl was

instructed in

stoves

what he would

have to do.
"
"

When

she

is

asleep,"

said

Mazzuolo,

you must give her a blow on the head that

Then we

will be sufficient to stun her.

complete the job

in the

and

as

we

morning with Tina

will

shall start early

in

female

attire,

they win never miss her."

Karl,

as

when they
fully

usual,

made no

objection

and

arrived at night at the inn, which

answered the description given, and was

THE bride's journey.

11

as lonely as the worst assassins could desire,

men

the two
nient

place

disposing

for

Neither had they

much

what they wanted:

deep

field,

the

of

the

body.

difficulty in finding

was not only a

there

mountain torrent hard

a

seek a conve-

sallied forth to

by, but there

was

also

mysterious hole in a neighbouring

that looked very

young

traveller

much

w^ould

as

the body of

if

not be the

first

that had found a grave there.

Every circumstance seemed

and,

enterprise;

two

men

thought

it

all

returned

to favour the

arrangements made, the

to

the

house.

Karl

He

was aU over with him now.

was too timid

to

oppose Mazzuolo, and he

had nobody to consult.

weapon apt

Tina had found a

for the purpose,

already secured

which she had

and when they

sat

down

to

supper, considering the completeness of the

preparations,

Adelaide's

nobody

life

would

have

worth six hours'

However, she was not destined

to

thought
purchase.
die

that

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

12

Just

night.

they

as

had

supper, the sound of wheels

finished

was heard

their

then

was a great noise and bustle below;

there

and Karl being sent down

what

to inquire

was the matter, was informed that a large

party of travellers had arrived

was a

and

scarcity of apartments,

as there

was hoped

it

the lady and gentlemen would accommodate

the

strangers

by

allowing

them

Consent was inevitable

theirs.

Sultan's wdfe in the Arabian

was allowed
"

Now,"

tale,

share

to

so, like

the

the victim

to live another day.

said

Mazzuolo, " we have

only

two nights more before we reach Augsburg,

so there

must be no

the matter.
to-night,

If there

we may

is

a stove in the

try that;

though,

house be in a pretty safe situation,

prefer

more

about

shilly-shallying

decisive measures.

The

room
if

the

should

charcoal

has failed once already."

"

Tina

That was from bad management,"

;

"we

said

could be secure against such an

THE bride's journey.

At

accident on another occasion.

13
the same

time, if the situation be favourable, I should

prefer a coup de main.'"

When

they arrived at their night's station,

the absence of a stove decided the question.

It

was merely a post-house, a place where

horses were furnished

the accommodation

was poor, and the people disposed

them.

little

attention

river,

which obviated

to

all

to

pay

Close .by ran

to the

difficulty as

disposal of the body.

"

The thing must be done

Mazzuolo;
contrary.

and Karl

He

did not see

said

nothing

said

also feared that

how he

to-night," said

could avoid

eventhing necessary

must

it

to inspire

promises of future benefits

the

for

he

His aunt

it.

courage and determination, and

to

him with

made many

whilst Mazzuolo

neither doubted his obedience nor his resolution,

within

and spoke of the thing as so

the

range

entirely

of ordinary proceedings,

that the boy, stupid and ignorant, and accus-

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

14

tomed, from the state of the country, to hear

of bloodshed and murders

committed by the

little less

and neither pu-

soldiery,

nished nor severely condemned,

of his

own

pusillanimity

atrocious

felt

ashamed

such his in-

for

stinctive pity appeared to himself.

But

Madame

as he stood opposite

at supper,

Louison

with his eyes, as usual, fixed upon

when

her face, his heart involuntarily quailed

he thought that within a few hours he was to

hand against that

raise his

head

beautiful

yet he

still felt

within himself no courage to

refuse,

nor any

fertility

of expedient to elude

the dilemma.

When
to bring

supper was over, Tina desired Karl

up two

and several
do us

all

or three pails of

cloths.

good

warm

" For," said she, "

to bathe our feet."

her,

time he had been

and

so,

it

will

carried

room, which was done by Karl.

was now alone with

first

it

Where-

upon Adelaide requested one might be

to her

water,

He

was almost the

except

when

they

THE bride's journey.

ran up the

hill

When

met.

15

together, since the day they

he had

set

down

the pail by her

bedside, he stood looking at her with a strange

the water he had fetched

that

up was designed

for

purpose of washing away the blood he

the

was about
so,

He knew

countenance.

expression of

and

to spill,

her on her guard

set

He

afraid.

and he longed

looked

at

to

tell

but he was

looked at

her,

her

the

water, and looked at the bed.

" Well, Karl," she said, laughing

night

When we

morrow,

part the

I shan't forget

your

day

*'
;

good

after

to-

services, I assure

you."

The

lad's eyes still

wandered from her

to

the water and the bed, but he said nothing,

nor stirred

till

she repeated "

Good

and then he quitted the room in

" Poor,
laide.

"

stupid

He

has scarcely as

as the horses that

"

creature

!"

night

!"

silence.

thought

much

Ade-

intelligence

draw us."

Now, we must have no bungling to-night,

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

16

"

Karl," said Mazzuolo.

two

till

asleep,

"

o'clock,

We

will

keep quiet

and then, when everybody

is

we'E to business."

But what

is it to

be done with ?" inquired

Tina.
" There's something in the carriage, under

the seat.
slept

at

brought

away the night we

it

"

Baireuth," replied Mazzuolo.

step and fetch

it,"

and he

left

I'll

the room, but

presently returned, saying there were people

in

the stable-yard,

and he

w^as

might wonder what he was going

to

do with

so suspicious-looking an instrument.

can fetch

it

As it was

when

rest

" Karl

they are gone to bed."

yet only midnight^

that they should

Tina proposed

down and

all lie

take a

and the suggestion being agreed

made

little

to,

and her husband stretched themselves on

bed, whilst Karl

they

afraid

she

their

the floor his couch,

and, favoured by his unexcitable temperament,

was soon
him.

asleep, in spite of

what was before

THE bride's journey,

It
self

17

was past two o'clock when he

shaken by

stirring," said

without delay

the

Mazzuolo

"

shoulder,
;

"

felt

him-

Come, be

we must about

it

the house has been quiet for

some time."
Karl was a heavy sleeper, and as he sat up

rubbing his

he could not

eyes,

member what he was awakened

he came to be upon the
Mazzuolo,

"

come

just been to her

must

step

down now

began

Karl

awkwardly
ing

left

to

rising

under the

You
and

seat."

himself,

and,

a dog,

like

prepared to obey, indifferent to

he

everything

moment, but the annoyance of being

disturbed in his slumbers.

meet anybody,"
mistress

is

ill,

" If

you should

said Mazzuolo, " say that your

and that you are going

the medicine-chest."

VOL.

have

his hard couch, shak-

and stretching himself

at the

the carriage

recollect

from

how

" Come," said

to look at her.

to

re-

nor

for,

she's fast asleep

room

bring up the axe I

floor.

at first

II.

to fetch

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

18

By

the time he got below, the motion and

the cool air had aroused the lad, and, with

his recollection, revived his

work

him

before

avoiding

but he saw no means of

and with an unwilling step he

it,

yard where

the

and having found the

axe,

proceeded to
stood,

repugnance to the

the

returning with

it,

or trumpet.

seen such a thing at several of

remem-

the post-houses on the road, and he

bered to have heard one

sounded on the

night they slept in the mountains,

arrived

travellers

to

himself

done

he

it

late,

reflect

for if

and

terrified

at

lustily

his

how he

when

prevented

the
the

and

without

should

excuse

he had, he could not have

placed

mouth,

and

Instinctively,

assassination.

pausing

was

he

when he observed hanging

against the wall a large horn

Now, he had

carriage

the instrument

blew

temerity,

it

and

and
its

to

then,

probable

consequences, rushed into the house, and

the stairs again to his master.

his

up

THE bride's journey.

"

The

horn

travellers'

frantically.

The

speak, but

stood

may

frightened to

pale and

still,

the

Mazzuolo,

said

lad was too

" Wait," continued

it

!"

19

Italian

trembling.
;

" perhaps

only be for horses, and they

on again.

may go

I hear the people stirring."

Feet were indeed heard upon the

stairs,

and presently a lantern gleamed beneath the

" I

window.

And

Mazzuolo.
listening

any

"

for

observed

some time they

sat

but there being no appearance of

travellers,

how

see

no carriage,"

hear

he said he would go below and

matters stood.

Nobody

is

yet arrived,"

said the master

of the post-house in answer to his inquiries

" but doubtless the signal

avant- courier,
station

was given by the

has rode on to the next

and the carriage

We

sently.

who

must

be

will

be here pre-

ready

with

the

horses."

As

the travellers, however,

did not arrive,

but continued to be expected, the postmaster

c 2

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

20

remained up to watch for

and the

postilions

them

and when four o'clock came,

was bidden

to

go

Karl

to bed, as nothing could be

attempted under such circumstances.

"

Now,"

day, "
is

we

Mazzuolo on the following

said

our last station.

too busy

must

which

sleep to-night at Meiningen,

know

the place

we must be

charcoal again

it is

main ; we

a house for a coup de

try the

but this time

sure of our game."

Karl hoped there might be no stoves in

the bed-chamber

house, and there

but

it

was a well-farnished
Adelaide said how-

were.

glad she should be to have a

had suffered

so

much by

and desired Karl

to

appeared, however,

"

So much the

well heated,
coal,

there

burning."

hers

that the

better.

it.

The

be

early.

Mazzuolo

said,

stove will get

in the char-

no danger of

And Tina

It

servant of the

and when you put

will

again, she

the want of one,

light

house had already done

fire

suggested

its

that

not
that

THE bride's journey.

should not be done

went

to

bed,

of

effects

till

just before Adelaide

she should

lest

vapour

the

21

perceive

whilst

the

was

she

undressing.

The young

had never,

traveller

on

her

journey, been in such high spirits as to-night.

Well she might

it

had been so prosperously

performed, and to-morrow she was to meet

her

husband.

She

prattled

and laughed

during supper with a light heart

her

gratitude

protection

the

to

and said

Italians

that, if

kindness to her.
velling

at

valuables,
as

such

knew how

acknowledge

their

" Really," she said, " traa

period,

with

so

many

me,

was a bold

under-

!"

Mazzuolo,
speech,

their

and such a large sum of money

have with

taking

to

for

Monsieur Louison

could be of any use to them, she

happy he would be

expressed

during the

was beginning

to

first

part

of her

weigh the advan-

tages of the commissary's favour against the


22

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

dangers and

difficulties

difficulties

which

had

and

expectations,

of the assassination

exceeded

far

dangers

his

which were of

course augmented by the proximity to Augs-

burg

but

question

the latter part of

the

money and

it

decided the

valuables prepon-

derated in the scale, and the good opinion of

the commissary kicked the beam.

Partly

from the exaltation of her

spirits,

and partly because the day's journey had

been a short one

for the stoppage at

Mein-

ingen was quite unnecessary, as they were

within four hours of Augsburg, and might

very well have reached

it

Adelaide was

fatigued and less willing to

usual.

She

sat

late

go

and

less

to

bed than

it

was past

twelve when, having asked for her candle,

Karl received the signal to go and prepare

the stove.
see

Mazzuolo followed him

that the

work was

well

done,

out,

to

and the

charcoal ignited before she went to her room.

When

all

was ready, her candle was put

into

THE bride's journey.

23

her hand, and Mazzuolo having

conducted

her to the door, took the precaution of turn-

She

his pocket.

rallied

of his guardianship

him on the

strictness

but he alleged gravely

was a busy

the house

that

put in

which he afterwards

key,

ing the

and she

one,

might perchance be disturbed

if

her door

were not secured.

They

listened

Mazzuolo

said

till

she was in bed, and then

that they could not do better

than go to bed too

" for," said

earlier w^e are off in the

There
less

will

he,

morning the

" the
better.

be the fewer people up, and the

chance of her being missed."

When
on the

Karl reached his room, he sat down

side of his

bed and

He had

reflected.

observed that the last thing Mazzuolo had

done before leaving Adelaide's chamber, was

to see that the
I

could open

shall

window was

it,"

well closed.

" If

thought he, " to-morrow we

be at Augsburg, and then I should not

be told any more to

kill

her.

wish

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

24

before she

awake, and so

is

With

found out."

went down

away

go

They'll

could.

stairs,

should never be

letting himself out,

high

passengers

the

used

steps,

first floor,

to reach

In

overcome.

it

and the

the

for

stood

convenience

These he carried

fastened on the inside, he could

wake
betray

occurred to

her,

loosely fitted

by a

since, as it

not open

that the noise

it,

might

The window, however, was

in the lattice fashion,
little

off the hinges.

the curtain

him

he was

and cause an alarm that would

him.

that,

of

to the spot,

window,

about to break some of the panes,

it

some

when they mounted the waggons

diligences.

when

diffi-

but this was soon

stable-yard

and having reached the

it

he

end of the house where

on the

slept

was how

culty

saw

he

window was.

She

and

morning

this idea in his head,

and

crept round to the

her

the

in

and he

contrivance, he could

He

lift

did so, and drew aside

there lay the intended victim

THE bride's journey.

in

sound
he

thought

disturbing

sleep

might

sound

so

safely

There

her.

Karl

that

step

she

25

in

without
in

lay

her

beauty.

He

could not

tell

looked at her, he
at

all

risks.

that he

felt

The

not be enough

why, but, as he stood and

he had

air

might

let in

he would take the charcoal

from the stove and throw

window; but what

noise,

must save her

and screamed?

out

of the

awoke with the

she

if

it

He hesitated a moment

but he remembered that this would be a safer

window open,

plan than leaving the

might be observed
below,

in

the

as that

morning from

and he would thus be betrayed.

as quietly

as possible,

So,

he emptied the stove,

burning his hand severely in the operation,

and then, having

sufficiently aired the

he hung on the window again, and

During the
Adelaide

had

whole

of these

remained

quite

appeared to be sound asleep.

room,

retired.

operations
still,

and

But was she

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

26

The

No.

opening

awakened her:
first

kept her

that

were

no

by

discovering

and

surprise
silent

who

window

of the

surprise

means

had

terror

diminished

the

by

Although

the intruder was.

endeavoured, by

at

and terror

she had always spoken kindly to Karl,

even

had

amenity

and

of her

manner, to soften his rude nature, she had

from the

most
a

moment,

first

and

repulsive,

disliked

his appearance

him exceedingly;

was not diminished by the

that

dislike

felt

persevering stare of his dull eyes, which she

found at
face

all

opportunities,

upon her

when she saw him

so that

fixed

entering

room through her window, she

her

did not

doubt that he was come for some very bad

She hoped the worst he intended

purpose.

was

to rob

to get

likely

with

all

placed
Still,

her, although the booty

was

her

trunks,

her valuable property, were nightly

under
the

small, since

he was

little

Mazzuolo's

money she

care

for

carried

safety.

in

her

THE bride's journey.

purse, together

her rings and watch,

with

would be a great deal

for so

and expecting

him

to see

these, she

thought

and feign

sleep,

when she found

take the

jest

it

be

more prudent

it

to lie

still,

But

than to disturb him.

that

all

to

he came for was to

conceive

he

motive.

his

But what a strange

a jest?

However,

poor a creature

possess himself of

out of the stove, she was beyond

fire

measure puzzled

Could

2?

did

nothing

else

he

touched neither her money nor her watch,

though both were lying on the

went away as empty-handed

as

table,

but

he came.

The amazement and alarm that

so extraor-

dinary a visit inspired, drove sleep from her

eyes,

and

it

w^as not

till

the day

dawned that

she so far recovered her composure and sense

of safety, as to close

them

in slumber.

Then,

however, fatigue got the better of her watchfulness,

and she gradually sunk into a sound

sleep.

In the meantime, Karl, whose unexcitable

;!

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

28

temperament insured him

his

night's rest,

even under the most agitating circumstances,

was

in a

aifair,

state of oblivion of the

when he

shoulder,
"

happy

felt

and heard

Come, come

The sun

is

out and be

whole

by the

himself shaken

his uncle say

and make haste

rise,

we must

up, and

get the horses

off."

Karl was as anxious to be off as anybody

the sooner the better for

him

for if Adelaide

should awake before they started, he, on the

one hand, dreaded that he might incur his

uncle's suspicion, and,

new

plot

on the other, that some

might be formed, which

impossible for

him

to evade

exertions of one and

were out, the

bill

so,

it

between the
the horses

the other,

paid,

would be

and the carriage

the door, very soon after the sun had

his broad disc above the horizon.

female attire and a

stairs

steps

by Mazzuolo

and bowed,

veil,

at

shown

Tina, in

was handed down

the waiter stood on the

for the landlord

was not yet

THE bride's journey.

up

they

all

29

three stepped into the carriage

the postilion cracked his whip, and away they

drove, rejoicing.

In the meantime, Monsieur Louison had

become very uneasy about

no

received

Dresden

intelligence

He had

his wdfe.

since

she

quitted

for although she had, in fact, written

more than

Mazzuolo had not forwarded

once,

the letters.

Day

after

day he had waited in

impatient expectation

to bear his suspense

any longer, he resolved

to start

till,

at length,

on the road she was

hope of meeting

her.

to

When

unable

come, in the

he reached the

gate called the Gozzinger, his carriage was

men and

stopped by a berlin containing tw^o

a w^oman.

thinking

It

that

expected, he

was loaded with luggage, and,

this

jumped down, and put

into the

window of

his wife

was

bow^

way.

might be the party he

there.

his

head

the berlin, to ascertain

She

w^as not

so,

if

with a

and an apology, he proceeded on

his

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

30

At
horses

he

Meiningen,
;

and the

him was,

if

first

stopped

change

to

question that was asked

he had seen a heavily-laden

containing two

men and

berlin,

woman.

On

answering in the affirmative, he was informed

that they

a lady,

had gone

whom

was then

with the property of

off

they had

in the inn

left

behind, and

who

and in a moment more

the young husband pressed his bride to his

heart.

Eager

to chase the thieves, however,

they wasted no time in embraces, but started

On

instantly in pursuit of them.

reaching

the same gate where the berlin had been seen,

the officers described in what
party

had driven

immediately on the

and

the

alert,

direction the
police

being

the criminals were

discovered and arrested just as they were on

the point of starting for Vienna.

The ample

confession of Karl disclosed the

villany of the Italians,

and made known how

narrowly the commissary had escaped the loss

of his fair young bride

whilst, as

he told his

THE bride's journey.

rude and simple

tale,

31

without claiming any

merit, or appearing to be conscious of any,

Adelaide learnt that to this repulsive, stupid

clown she had three times owed her

The
galleys

Italians
;

wxre

condemned

life.

to

the

whilst Monsieur Louison and his wife

discharged their debt of gratitude to Karl, by

first

educating him, and then furnishing him

with the means of earning his living with

respectability

and comfort.

De Monge was

degraded from his situation,

and the universal execration that pursued

him, drove him ultimately to America, w^here,

under a feigned name, he ended his days

obscurity.

in

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
CHAPTER L
" Pray,

sir,"

said a

little

man, who, with

a great-coat buttoned up to his

chin,

a red worsted comforter round his

was standing
House,

in

morning,

and

throat,

in front of the Glo'ster Coffee

one

Piccadilly,

" are

you waiting

cold

winter's

for the Tele-

graph ?"
" Yes, I am,
addressed,

sir,"

who was

answered the person he

a

handsome, gentle-

manly-looking youth, somewhat above twenty,

VOL.

II.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

34

" I wish with

for

it's

"

all

my

soul

would come,

it

devilish cold standing here."

be up

It'll

said a porter,

directly, sir,"

touching his hat.

" There's

fire

walk

in,

came

to the door.

"

"So
had

do

first

ye," answered

"I want
I,

sir,"

spoken

to

advantage of the

"I am not

like to

just then

the impatient

be off."

said the httle

" but as

we

we may

the coach comes,

tin

you

who

a clerk,

said

sir,"

No, thank

traveller;

in the office if

man who

can't get off

as well take

fire."

answered

cold,"

the

young

man, walking rapidly backwards and

for-

wards, with his hands in his pockets,

and

forgetting that he

was

cold.

from here

had just asserted that he

"I thought

the

coach

started

at half-past six ?"

" Seven, sir," said the porter.

"They

always

seven," said the

tell

little

you half-past

man.

six

for

35

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
" I wish they'd be a

more punctual,"

little

exclaimed the other.

" There's

coach coming up," said the porter

the
at

seven striking now, and here's

the

same moment,

the

and

well-appointed

and

vehicle turned out of St. James's Street,

dashed up to the inn door

the ostler placed

himself at the horses' heads, the coachman

down

flung

his

box, turned into the

began

to

manteaus

office,

throw up

the

Several

near,

and began

boxes

in

the

at

and porton the

the
fire,

also,

street,

or

now drew

to take their seats.

" Inside or out, sir ?"

issuing

whilst the porters

other passengers,

who had been lounging

warming themselves

rolling off the

accumulated

were

that

pavement.

and

ribbons,

from the

office,

said the

coachman,

with the way-bill in

his hand.

"Inside,"

answered

the

impatient

tra-

veller.

"

Then we

shall

have the pleasure

D 2

of

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

36

travelling together,"

v^ho had

first

" Stop

Hoigh

stop "

hoigh

comin

preliminaries being arranged,

other

coachman mounted

the

pleasure in the

However, they both stept

panionship.

"

addressed did not look

much

as if he foresaw

all

man

little

spoken.

The gentleman he

and,

observed the

his box,

and away.

screamed a female voice

!'*

cried the

men

at the inn

door.
*'

Is

Bath coach ?"

the

that

asked the

belated passenger.
"

No room

outside,"

the

cried

coach-

man.

"

No room !"

"

Why,

ago,

and saw

why then

inside.

it

booked himself

my
I

s'pose

Put her

place a

girl.

week

!"

dear ?" said the coachman

we must give you an

inside,

somebody upon the

bandbox

my

our John took

" Did he,

"

exclaimed the indignant

Bill,

road,

into the boot."

till

we drop

and put that

'ere

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

37

These orders were quickly obeyed, and,

once more, the
with

its

coach started on

three insides and

its full

its

way,

complement

out.

After the
former,

till

glance at each other, the

first

they had got off the stones and

proceeded some distance beyond

seemed

Gates,

houses
flying

through.

reality,

not

dim

the

glass

Probably,

at

with
the

were

they

road

the

lined

that

occupied

sufficiently

through

peering

Hyde Park

however,

in

one of the party was thinking

anything about the material objects to which

their

were

eyes

Their

directed.

were with what they had

were going

to.

left,

or

thoughts

what they

Jenny Spike, for example,

was thinking of John, the footman

place she

that

was just

leaving,

at

the

wondering much

he had not made her the proposals of

marriage which she had been daily expecting

for the last six

months

but concluding that,

as he had not taken the trouble to leave his

bed on that morning

early

enough

to conduct

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

38
her

the

to

coach,

had no

he

design

of

carrying his attentions any further, she deter-

mined

him from her

to banish

heart for ever.

Following up this resolution by fixing her

mind,

on

fortitude,

the

image of the footman yet unseen,

visionary

with

uncommon

with

whom

she was next to be domesticated,

she considered

would be

taJl

it

and

highly

probable

that

he

and interesting and

thin,

amiable, because she had observed those to be

the attributes of footmen in general

and that

he would be struck with her she could not

doubt, for that had been another peculiarity

attending
with,

all

the footmen she had yet lived

circumstance which caused her

look upon

it

as

something

that she should

plicable

still

to

inex-

rather

be called Miss

Spike.

The thoughts

little

man, who was a

and whose name was Mr.

lawyer,
Pilrig,

of the

James

were intent upon the condition of a

purchase

that

he

was

travelling

country to effect for a client of his

into
;

the

starting

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
from which

point, they took a rapid survey of

many and

the

complicated

concluding

with

himself on

having

desirable

so

whilst his mind, for a single

old

that,

possibility

man's business

faction,

should

appear,

codicil,

if

might

be

client;

moment, dwelt

he transacted the

which

in

congratulating

much

verj-

of that

affairs

gentleman,

on the

39

to his satis-

his

own name

added

testamentary document he had lately

engaged
tain

drawing up.

in

but,

ployed at

in

all

the

the

to

been

This was uncer-

meantime, the being em-

by so wealthy an indi\idual, was

and

extremely gratifying,

would,

infallibly,

be the means of introducing him to more

business, not to
costs in

all

mention the beautiful

their lovely longitude,

bills

of

and leaves

"thick as the leaves of Valombrosa"

that

presented themselves to his delighted fancy.

The

truth

success in
great;

he

was,

that

business

had

Mr. James

Pilrig's

had not hitherto been

had

no

opportunity

of

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

40

getting into a profitable line, and he looked

upon
his

employment by

his

step

first

world but

towards

know

that I

this

gentleman as
" Let

fortune.

am

the confidential

agent of Obiah Livingstone, Esquire, and

name

up,

is

the

my

was the agreeable conviction

with which he closed his cogitations on the

subject.

With

respect

the impatient

to

he had his thoughts

too,

traveller,

not less engrossing

than those of his companions, but the subject

of

them we

shall leave

time and the course of

this history to disclose.

In

the

meanwhile,

having wound up his

factory
feel

Mr.

James

reflections, in the

manner we have

indicated,

a disposition to loose his

Pilrig,
satis-

began to

tongue and

unlock the casket of his thoughts

so, rous-

ing himself from his air of pre-occupation,

he rubbed his hands, and, turning briskly to

his

fellow-traveller,

posed

the

coach

remarked that he sup-

would stop to breakfast

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
about nine o'clock

41

a proposition which the

gentleman addressed did not seem to

feel

himself called upon either to affirm or deny,

and

to which,

but Mr.

who,

Pilrig,

nothing;

he said

therefore,

above

the reasons

for

mentioned, was feeling extremely comfortable,

was not

be depressed by one

to

turning his

asked her

Bath

as

to

to

so,

Jenny Spike,

he

she was going

if

question

unreservedly
following

attention

failure

the

all

way

which that young lady

answered

the

in

affirmative,

up the conversation by an inquiry

what hour the coach was Ukely

arrive there.

Neither did

encom-agement

to

nicative

to

and

make

before

it

require

her further
they

to

much

commu-

reached

their

breakfast station, with the exception of the

loves

of the

possession

footmen,

of the

Spike's history,
sufficiently

The

Mr.

leading

Pilrig

of

events

which, however,

was in

were

Miss
not

remarkable to be set down here.

conclusion

was that she had

left

her


LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

42

where she was housemaid, because,

last place,

after

being always accustomed to wait- on her

had thought proper

that lady

mistress,

engage

"

regular lady's-maid,

to

and she

wasn't going for to be under her, in course

a proud,

minx

conceited

!"

and, indeed, she

confessed that not only this lady's-maid in

particular,

were

ception,

aversion
to

Mr.

but

all

the

especial

to confide

Pilrig her firm determination never to

The

was.

of her

objects

and she did not scruple

in the house

live

lady's-maids without ex-

where " one of that

they give themselves,"

airs

assured him, " wasn't to be told

her part, she never could abide 'em

started

again,

they

she

and, for
!"

This conversation lasted Mr. Pilrig

coach stopped for breakfast

sort

till

the

and when they

found the fourth

seat

occupied by another passenger, and one who,

to

the

chatty

little

lawyer's

satisfaction,

appeared perfectly well disposed for conversation.

He was

man

apparently about five-

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

43

and-thirty years of age, well dressed,

sleek,

and not

confi-

ill-looking

manners were

his

and his mode of speaking

dent,

seemed

Benevolence
virtue

amiable

very

had been

was he

own

in

sentiments

Maidenhead, to look

quite

In

it

romancing with
the

vexatious.

their

streams,

and

appeared

said,

which

the
those

customers were

They kept him running

velvet

the other,

to

looking for what he never found

woods,

he was

amused them-

auctioneers,

and perplexed

that

he

short,

from one end of the island

ing

an

so inferior to the

it

of

description

disgusted.

gentlemen,

at

to be sold in that neighbour-

hood, but he had found

extravagant

Nor

informing the company that

to

was

auctioneer's

of

he

before

the coach half an hour.

affairs,

estate that

selves

favourite

his

communicative with respect to

less

he had been

quite

be

to

plausible.

and he had delivered himself

several

his

lawns,

nowhere

but

the hang-

and

silver

in

their

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

44

advertisements.

He

then proceeded to draw

a splendid picture of the sort of place he

wanted

and, altogether, talked in a

that could not

magnificent

fail

to inspire his hearers with

idea

of

his

and

fortune

At

profound veneration of his person.

if

manner

least,

they were not so impressed, the fault must

have been theirs not his

Mr.

Pilrig, for one, yielded

the fascination.

to

and, accordingly,

without a struggle

Miss Spike would, no

doubt, have been equally enchanted, had she

been able to discover any possible connection

between the wealth of her fellow-traveller and

own

the advancement of her

did not

by her
his

and

side,

own

fortune, but she

as for the impatient

he appeared too

reflections

to

gentleman

much wrapt

in

be conscious of any-

thing that was going on.

But the lawyer was subdued

evidently of
nections,

an

estate,

man

immense fortune and high con-

running about the world to look for

and not able to find one magnifi-

45

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
enough

cent

sublime

the idea was

And, then, there was so much

much

urbanity, so

frankness, not the sUghtest

reserve about his affairs

was

for his purpose

his agent

How

he wondered who

desirable

should have somebody

who

it

was that he

could relieve

him

from part of the trouble of pursuing these

unattainable beauties,

at least, prevent his

or,

being deluded by the excursive fancies of the

auctioneers

at once that

discern in her

agreeable

In short, Mr. Pilrig perceived

which Miss Spike had

own

case

connection

he saw that a very

might

be

established

between the stranger's purse and

pocket.

He

therefore felt he

justice to himself,

tunity

such

of a
it

that he

when he

pause in

failed to

the

his

own

was only doing

seized the oppor-

monologue^

for

had hitherto nearly been

was himself a

man, and

professional

to insinuate delicately that

to

hint

no one understood

his business better; taking

occasion to cite

several instances in which, through his acute-

LIGHT AND pARKNESS.

46

enormous sums had

ness and penetration,

been saved to his

He

clients.

observed, that

about to purchase estates could

gentlemen

man

not be too cautious in selecting a

examine the

business to

one

who

title-deeds

of

some

thoroughly understood the thing;

he himself had had considerable experience in

had been

that line, and he flattered himself

the

means of preventing a great

deal

of

mischief.

These words appeared by no means

upon an

inattentive ear

to fall

the stranger seemed

struck with Mr. Pilrig's account of Mr. Pilrig;

he asked his opinion on several knotty points,

and gently insinuated that whenever he met
with anything to suit him, he should like
very

much

to

have the

affair

looked into by a

gentleman who seemed so thoroughly conwith

versant
flattered,

the

subject

it

Pilrig

and became excited and voluble

had evidently made a

clench

Mr.

so,

with

hit,

felt
;

he

and he resolved to
significant

nod,

he

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
avowed that he was then on

47

his

way

into

Somersetshire for the purpose of transacting

a

little

private business for a client of his, one

men

of the richest

person than the

He

in the country

great

no

less a

Obiah Livingstone.

placed his hand beside his mouth, and

stooped forward to meet the stranger's ear

when he pronounced

name

the awful

the whisper was so loud, that

there

if

but

had

been twenty people in the coach, they might

and he would, probably, have

have heard

it,

been sorry

if

made on

the

except

the

they had not.

present

stranger,

The impression

company,

seemed

however,

very

slight.

Jenny Spike had never heard of Mr. Livingstone in her

life,

and appeared

moved; the impatient

totally

traveller slightly

un-

turned

name reached

his ears, as if

he, like the rest of the world,

had heard of

his

head

as the

the enormous wealth imputed to the owner,

but

he

position,

immediately

and seemed

resumed
to

take

his

former

no further

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

48

But he

conversation.

the

in

interest

for

the hit was intended, was evidently

whom
struck

" Indeed

astonishment

"

!"

cried

he,

with evident

you surprise me.

have

no acquaintance with Mr. Livingstone whatbut

ever;

Wright and
Mr.

had always

understood

Miller were his solicitors"

he looked a

Pilrig felt that

little

that

and
incre-

dulous.

"Yes,"

said he, "for general business

general business, he does employ

Miller

nature

but for

of

you understand me

and Mr.
" I

anything

am
The

Pilrig nodded,

as

Wright and
a

particular

confidential"

much

as to say,

the man."
stranger then

fell

to asking a variety

of questions about Mr. Livingstone, as of a

person whose

great

character rendered

mate

Mr.

curiosity

to

and eccentric

wealth

him an

object of legiti-

the world;

all

of which

Pilrig answered, to the best of his

ledge, with evident pride

and

pleasure.

know-

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
"

Among

other

strange

49
he

peculiarities

has," observed the stranger, " I understand

he

is

make

determined never to

a will."

" That's a mistake, sir," said

" he has

made

Mr.

And when

a will."

Pilrig

he had

said this, he knitted his brow, folded his lips,

and looked out of the corner of

nothing,

who

as

should

w^eighty matter for

you

more

to
;

you

his eye at

" There's

say,

There's a bone for

I'm not going

say

any

I'm going to think of something

else,

pick

to

while you digest that as well as you can."

" Well," said the stranger, in a tone of

bonhomie^ "
indeed.

As

am

glad of

it

I said before, I

very glad of

know nothing

it,

of

Mr. Livingstone, nor of anybody belonging

to

him; but

man

think

always a pity

when

of his fortune does not provide hand-

somely for his

wealth to
person,

it's

fall

connexions, but
into

the

who perhaps

hands

doesn't

allows

of a
deser\^e

his

single
it;

mean, of course, where there are no children.

VOL.

II.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

50
I

Mr. Livingstone

believe

At

least, I

not married?

is

never understood that he had any

family."

"

He

never was married,

sir,"

Mr.

said

Pilrig.

" I thought I had heard as

much,"

the stranger, with assumed indifference

man who,

every

like

replied
*'
;

but

Mr. Livingstone, has

been the architect of his own fortune, must,

necessarily,
sisters,

have poor relations

who have

with him

brothers and

not been able to keep pace

nephews and

nieces, perhaps,

who

have no means of rising but through the

of their rich

assistance

much

better

is

uncle.

fortune

Now, how

bestowed,

when

divided amongst ten or a dozen such worthy

persons,

or even half a dozen, than if the

whole w^ere accumiilated on the head of one

thankless,
trust

good-for-nothing

spendthrift.

Mr. Livingstone, under the influence of

your advice, has avoided an error so

to wealthy persons."

common

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
" Ah,

replied

sir,"

Mr.

51
"

Pilrig,

moneyed men could be induced

these

if

to take advice

But when once they have got a

crotchet into

their heads about the disposal of their pro-

perty, the devil himself can't get

it

What

Mr. Living-

stone

tune

v^ould you think, nov^,

to leave every stiver of his for-

v^^ere

a few small annuities excepted

immense fortune

stiver of his

who

no

is

but

whom

say

that

it

so

is

bless

whim

me

!"

this

that

if

exclaimed the stranger,

at

the

same time

much

as to

me,

and

will

go no further."

whom

I don't

course, you're quite safe with

conversation

say so

he

w^orthy of a millionaire?"

mysterious and confidential; as

Of

whom

only ask you

looking astonished, and

say, "

every

he never saw,

he never intends to see

wouldn't be a

God

whom

a person

to

relation to him, a person

never saw, and not only

"

if

out again.

strictly private,

is

"

person

God

me, you don't

bless

whom

he never saw, and

he never intends to see

It's .one

of

E 2

UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
IIRRARY

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

52

the most singular caprices I ever heard in

life.

my

What's the

But what's the motive?

connexion ?"
" None,

sir

no connexion

young man's a son of an

poor parson,

at

The

all.

old college

chum, a

who never had more than

hundred a year in

his life;

three

and the youth

himself no more expects to inherit the for-

tune than you do."

" What's his

name ?" asked

" Gerald Gage," replied Mr.

Now, when Mr.

disclosures,

Pilrig

the stranger.
Pilrig.

commenced

these

which he had done with the view

and gaining

of giving himself importance,

the confidence of

]iis

wealthy fellow-traveller,

he had not the most distant intention of

exceeding, what he considered, the bounds of

prudence and professional faith

but his

own

vanity and love of talking on the one hand,

and the leading questions of the stranger on

the other, had enticed

him on from one

to another, tiU, at last,

when the

final

stage

ques-

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
tion

was put

to

53

him, quite unexpectedly

put, too, with an air that evinced

sciousness

no con-

of impropriety, nor implied

he

doubt of a ready answer

any

had not pre-

sence of mind, or resolution to draw back.

To have

would have been

declined answering

a reproof to the asker, well-merited, certainly;

but the easy confidence and bonhomie of the

stranger, disarmed him, his apparent wealth

and high connexion dazzled and awed him,

and

his

own imprudence confounded him

so that, well-merited, as he

felt it

would have

been, he had not resolution to administer

But the words had no sooner passed

his lips

than he would have given the world to

them.

He

cast

an uneasy glance

other two fellow-travellers.

was

indicated

to her

who Mr. Livingstone

to

it

recall

at

his

Jenny Spike was

looking out of the window, with an

plainly

it.

air that

perfectly indifferent
left

his fortune

but the eyes of the impatient gentleman

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

54

were turned upon him with an expression

of the most unbounded amazement.

Mr.
and

blushed to his

Pilrig

felt

wonder

over in a heat

all

young man's

at the

unpardonable

indiscretion

ends,

fingers'

he could not

surprise at such

he could have

bitten off his tongue with vexation;

whilst

his reverence for the stranger, extinguished

by his own mortification, was changed into a

very

feeling

upon the

like

old

resentment

adage,

"

and,

when

the

acting

steed

is

stolen," he resolved to close his

hps for the

remainder of the journey, and

not

answer

another question upon any provocation whatever.

But

appeared

this resolution, wise as late,

to

be

seemed disposed

The

also

to

superfluous

soon

nobody

ask him any questions.

impatient gentleman, although his coun-

tenance

still

retained

its

expression of asto-

nishment, and although he cast sundry glances

of wonder and curiosity at

Mr.

Pilrig,

con-

55

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
tinued as silent as before

and the stranger,

seeming suddenly to have caught the

tion, said

The

not another word.

silence

Vv^as

Spike's inquiring,

borough,

infec-

if

first

when

that was

broken by Jenny
they entered Marl-

Bath

a query which,

being addressed to the general society, no one

felt

himself called upon to respond

and

to,

The

which, therefore, remained unanswered.

dinner passed over sulkily and

silently.

As

it

was the depth of winter, and the sky heavy

with snow-clouds, the evening soon closed in
after they re-entered the coach,

and

it

became

dusk, whereupon the whole party drew into

their respective corners,
sleep,

and either went

or pretended to do so.

to

Jenny's head,

however, was the only one whose nodding

betokened a genuine slumber, which was

first

disturbed by the ratthng of the coach over

the paved streets of Bath.

Everybody looked

through the windows as the vehicle dashed

through the lighted thoroughfares,

till

a sud-

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

56
den stop

at

the door of the

White Hart,

announced that those who were going no

further than

Bath had reached

their desti-

nation.

The moment

the coachman drew

up

his

and befare the door could be opened

horses,

to liberate the passengers, a person,

been standing

who had

at the inn door, advanced, and,

putting his head in at the window, appeared

to be looking for

somebody

but the passen-

gers were in the shade, and undistinguishable.

" I have a letter," said he, in a hesitating

voice,

" for a gentleman that was to

come by

this coach."

But though the passengers were

shade, the light

fell sufficiently

of the messenger

to

in

the

upon the

face

admit of their seeing

him, and the impatient traveller immediately

held out his hand, as

had

satisfied

himself.

him

if

recognising the

that the packet was

man
for

O/

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
" Stay !"

exclaimed Mr.

out his hand also,

meet
"
this

me

No,

it's

for

me ?"

replied the messenger,

who by

time had caught a glimpse of the impa-

tient traveller's

for

stretching

expected a letter to

Perhaps

here.
sir,"

"I

Pilrig,

this

Gage."

physiognomy

gentleman

it's

for

" No,

sir,

it's

Mr. Gerald

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

58

CHAPTER
Before

unexpected

the

with which we closed our

escaped

well

11.

the

lips

announcement
chapter had

last

of

messenger,

the

Mr. Gerald Gage was upon the pavement.

"

Get

my

portmanteau," said he

boot, I believe,

and take

it

"

home.

it's

in the

Tell

my

father I will be there by-and-by."

" I believe master wished to see you,

answered the man,

you go anywhere
"

Do what

sir,"

touching his hat, " before

else."

I tell you,

will

you?"

said the

59

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
young man,

he turned

impatiently,

as

me

to

walk away.
" Sir,

give

sir,

leave

word, before you go," cried Mr.

tening after
"
"

Fm

him

in

me

allow

one
has-

Pilrig,

" one word, I beg of you."

a hurry,

sir,"

Gerald

replied

some other time."

"

you a moment,"

not detain

Mr. Pilrig, "

I'll

walk by your

not detain you at

side,

if

you'll give

said

all

me

I'll

leave,

while I say a few words, that, a circumstance

so unforeseen

a coincidence

so unfortunate, if I

dinary

so

to say so, has

has

have been to blame,

was

sir,

very

guilty of such a thing in

done

it,

if I

was about.

my

But

venture

much

my

to

blame

never

life,

and

I'd

tongue out than have

had had time

taken unawares
I

may

rendered necessary.

won't attempt to excuse myself

rather have cut

so extraor-

to

think what

was surprised

into

but, as I said before,

won't attempt to excuse myself;

it

sir,

know

"

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

60

But, good

impossible.

it's

God

when

sir,

what the consequences may be

I think

consequences to you,

if

sir,

the

Mr. Livingstone

only suspected that you had got an inkling of

the matter
the most

when

such an odd man,

"

And

it

that very

" That's nothing,

should

get

you,

sir;

hour

I'm

to

be

what

not

but
the

loss

may

not be a million

word

a hint, and

make

step

into

and then,

no

sir,

but

fortune

sir,

smoke,

man,

Mr.

won't say

a word,

it's all

out

deserve

sir

it

a single

smoke.

too, sir.

but keeping silence for a few years

to

my

the altera-

considered

such

of

Livin:/stone's an old

a few months

sir,

will, sir

panted

sir,"

thousands upon thousands

Mr.

of

said Gerald Gage.

tion, I fancy,"

Pilrig,

man

say,

he'd alter his

be,

not employ you to

"

what the consequences of

imprudence may
he'd alter

character.

eccentric

I think of

sir

It is

perhaps

what a thing

incumbrance

everything

"
:

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
as the

clear

property

everything

so desirable,

just for

for

way

such a fine

secured

well

so

in every

sir,

for

all

my hand

back of

61

and

so,

to lose

it

But, by the time he had reached this point

of his

Mr.

up.

Mr.

discourse,

Gage was

Gerald

young man, with long

Mr.

race-horse.

added

this;

Pilrig

was the

man's arm

So,

tall,

slender
like a

reverse of

all

expenditure of

his

breath, betwixt his agitation

was tremendous.

done

fairly

and wind

legs,

w^hich,

to

was

Pilrig

and

his eloquence,

seizing

the

in the desperation of his

young

dilemma,

he exclaimed, in the most earnest voice that

his lungs

would permit

"For God's
speak
"

sake,

stop!

sir,

stop

and

!"

What would you

Gerald

Gage,

me

have

say, sir ?" said

abruptly turning round, and

facing him.
''

want you

quences

to reflect,

" began

Mr.

sir,

Pilrig.

upon the conse-

"

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

62

" I have no time to

impatient youth.

the

reflect, sir," replied

" Besides,

you that

sir, it's

have reflected on the consequences.

should

But, in two words, what

is

it

you want of

me?"
" I want you,

never

let

the

the

mention

it,

you

to

anybody whatsoever

to

sir,"

to

interrupted Gerald

" I think

since I do not doubt the truth of

assert,

would

namely,

I only

cautious as I shall be.

sir,

Mr.

that

alter his intentions if

were suspected.

that the fellow

in the

coach

will

Bath to-morrow, and

in

that you

have pretty strong reasons for not mention-

ing

to

will

circumstance that 1 have been so

unlucky as

Why,

you

to promise that

the secret pass your lips

will never

*'

sir,

what

Livingstone

he supposed they

wish you had been as

How

do you know,

you have been talking

not blazon
that

it

all

we may not

over

see

it

one of the evening papers by the next

night?"

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
*'

hope not,

gentleman of

Mr.

sir," said

63

Pilrig.

"

fortune and standing in

his

would be above doing such a piece of

society

But

mischief.

and speak

to

back

shall hasten

him on the

directly,

and endea-

subject,

vour to obtain his promise."

" Then, the sooner

And

you go the

better,

sir,"

pray learn to be a

little

said Gerald.

"

more cautious

in your communications for the

future."

" I shall,
said the

sir

you may

humbled Mr.

steps towards the

Pilrig, as

White Hart,

young man hm-ried on

mented
had

velocity, to

lost in the

on

rely

it,

I shall,"

he turned his

whilst the eager

his

way with aug-

make up

for the time he

above conversation.

But, by

the time the lawyer reached the inn, the coach

had departed on

its

way

to

Bristol,

and

whether the other two inside passengers had

gone on with
waiter

could

it,

or had remained in Bath, the

not

He rather
young woman asking a

inform

thought he had seen a

him.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

64

porter to carry her box for her; but, with

respect to the gentleman, he had not observed

him

at

all.

There was nothing

left,

therefore,

but to trust to the stranger's discretion

Mr.

Pilrig

an

felt

uneasy

but

conviction that

people that ask indiscreet questions are apt not

good keepers of counsel

to be

he

from

tried to banish the thing

and

to

hope

for

and, although

his

mind,

the best, yet he co\ild not

recover his former complaisance.

The

consciousness of his imprudence sat

which occasioned the

heavy

on

Welsh

rabbit he ate for supper to

on

his

mind,

his

stomach.

He

He had

heavy

passed a bad night.

His mind was disturbed, and

less.

sit

his

body

rest-

not only perilled the young

man's fortune, but, what was worse, he had

perilled his

own,

He had

favourable turn.

of the

woman

bly not attended

conversation,

just, too, as

it

not

was taking a

much

distrust

he thought she had probato,

or

sufficiently

not understood, the

to

comprehend the

65

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
importance of what had passed, or
nexion with the

was

final discovery.

and he resolved

his bete noire,

the following day in hunting for

the

streets

But

his labour

was

did not know^ his

been

man

make an

easily discovered

making

otherwise, he con-

and, after bestowing

inefi'ectual

spare fi-om

to

subject.

Unfortunately, he

vain.

name

appeal

of such eminence would have

more time on the

had

pass

to

him through

honour and good-nature on the

cluded, a

stranger

and public resorts of Bath, in

order, if he could find him, to

to his

The

con-

its

his

search than he

other business, and

vain inquiries of the coachman,

knew nothing about him, he

who

obliged to

w^as

return to London, and present himself before

his wealthy client, with the painful conscious-

ness that he had betrayed his trust, and a

distressing uncertainty of the use that

be

made

might

of his imprudence.

In the meantime, Mr. Gerald Gage pursued

his

VOL.

11.

course

\\'ith

eager steps,
F

through

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

66

street after street, to the outskirts of the city,

he reached a small house, that formed one

till

of a row,

whatever
prospect

Prospect Place

called
it

although,

once might have had,

now was

only

its

row

the back of a similar

of houses on the opposite side of the way.

"

She
up

cast

window

his eyes to a

through which a

floor,

" that's

mad
her

up," said he to himself, as he

is still

faint light

fortunate, for

before

;"

in the second

to-morrow,

should
if

glimmered
have

gone

had not seen

and, so saying, he advanced eagerly to

the door, and knocked.

" I

am

perceive,"

not too late to see Miss Bering, I

he

said

to

respectably-dressed

woman, whose appearance denoted her

to be

the mistress of the house.

"

No,

sir,"

said the

as she admitted

yet

but

longer,

we

him

woman,

shan't have

fancy

half smiling

" you're time

enough

Miss Dering much

suppose you've heard,

I'm sure everybody

is

so glad, for a

sir.

more

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

67

deserving young lady never breathed

was a

real pity to

see a lady that

such
sir,

for

and of company
as

straits

too,

it

had been

brought up to a carriage, and had the

educations,

and

first

of

reduced to

Few know,

she has been.

but me, what she's had to struggle with,

make

always tried to

she

the best

of

things,

and never complained; but many a

day, to

my

certain knowledge, a bit of

has never passed her

and an egg has been

afforded herself.

lips

all

and a cup of tea

the nourishment she

But they

say,

get to the worst, they must

trust,

poor young lady, she

worst days, and that

Mr. Weston
say he's

an

she'll

when

things

mend; and
has

seen

her

be as happy with

as she deserves to be

excellent

meat

for they

gentleman; and, no

doubt, he has a fine fortune, and can keep

her as she ought to be kept."

And,

as

the worthy

woman

liked

Miss

Bering, and delighted in the sound of her

F 2

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

68

own

no

voice, there is

telling to

what length

the thread of her discourse might have run

out;

just

but,

as

concluded

she

the

last

paragraph, the flame of the candle she held

in her right
to the

hand having communicated

wick of the one she held in her

Mr. Gerald Gage, without pausing

what further

to

itself

snatched

the

she

latter

left,

to hsten

might have

to

from her hand,

say,

and,

ascending the narrow staircase by two steps

at a time,

was

at the

door of Miss Bering's

apartment before the echo of Mrs. Venn's

last

words had died away in the passage

below.
"

Come

in," said a

sweet female voice, as

the handle of the door, half turning, indicated that

some one was

"Is

there.

it

you,

Mrs. Venn?"

There was but one dim

table,

room

beside which the

sat,

diligently

light

fair

plying

upon the

tenant of the
her

needle,

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

69

when Gerald threw open the door;

he

as

there

stood

from her seat

ai;

in

she

silence,

and,
started

perceiving the figure of a

man.
" Don't he alarmed, Emily," said he, "
only

it's

me l"

" Gerald

!"

exclaimed she, in an accent of

surprise.

" Yes, Emily," answered he, "

it's

Gerald

the person you least expected, I fancy, and,

perhaps, least

mshed

to see."

" I did not expect you, certainly," replied

" I understood from your father, that,

she.

when your shooting was

spend the

you were

over,

rest of the vacation

in

to

London,

with the Millers."

" Is that a reproach,

" If

it

It's

quite true, I did

is,

deserve

it

Emily?"

said

richly I deserve

mean

to

he.
it.

have finished

the vacation in London."

"

And why

should you not ?" said she.

"It would have been a great pity not to

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

70

have availed yourself of so pleasant an

in-

vitation."

" So I thought, Emily

" and therefore I accepted

have remembered how

forgotten,

!"

replied Gerald

But

it.

and have been

should

absent are

easily the

less confident."

" Confident of what, Gerald ?" asked Miss

Bering, raising her eyes to his face.

"

your
"

Of what
affection,

my own

thought was

Emily

!"

That would have been a strange

dence,

of

said he.

had you entertained

it,"

said

confi-

she,

assuming more coldness.

" ril

not

to

affect

Emily," answered

in

"

Gerald.

have neglected you

justified

misunderstand

thinking

You

you,

think I

and perhaps you are

so.

have been too confident.

The
I

truth

is,

thought myself

so secure of your affection, that I have not

taken sufficient pains to keep alive a sentiment

that I fancied too firmly rooted in your heart
to be easily ejected."

"

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

71

*'You have then been greatly mistaken/'

said

" The sentiment

Miss Bering, calmly.

aUude

and the existence of which

to,

you
do

not intend to deny, was awakened by your

kindness

shown
that

gratitude;

most needed

kindness

but with that

me

when

it

Not my

died.

remains

stiU

it

and

inspires

with the warmest wishes for your hap-

piness."

Am

"

I to

believe this,

Emily ?" exclaimed

Gerald, throwing himself into

a chair, and
" 1

forcing her to seat herself beside him.

cannot believe

it

did,

if I

but one step between

But
would
you
came
know my

when know
a

I did

to
I

and

conviction

not come here to threaten

be like a blackguard

that

"

that

be

there should

fate definitively

but

and then,

it

What

then ?"

asked

Emily,

as

he

paused.
"

No

" to you

matter
it

what,"

answered

Gerald

wiU, of course, be indiiferent

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

72

Mr. Weston

but this night must decide.

know

rich, I

and

it,

am

poor.

faith

changed vows

never-ending

bind

cannot

changed

changed

may

it

believe,

If

say

be,

but

your heart

is

you

so
will

But

vourself against yourself.

I

love

heart.

fickle

really

however hard

to

broken ere now, and vows

has been

faith

It is true,

me, and we ex-

you plighted your

of

is

are

and,

believe

oh, Emily,

if,

for

still

mine

have that confidence in your truth, that

what appears arrogance

you

you are

if

in

me

wealth

wealth, nor do I desire

" I never desired

and

am.

faithful

and a

now

but neither

am

not

Mr. Weston, neither does he

in love with
I

it

It is true I

I sacrificing myself.

suppose

For bread, you mean,"

interrupted Miss Bering.

am

but trust in

sacrificing yourself to pique,

or selling yourself for wealth

" For

is

He is

of an age to want a kind

companion

protector.

am

and

need a

satisfied of his

home

worth

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
and he

satisfied that I

is

cheerfully

In short,
sides,

the

fulfil
it is

73
and

shall honestly

duties

undertake.

a union of prudence on both

and therefore

likely

be

to

happy

one."

" If your heart were free from any other

attachment

better than

it,

you know

your

better

might," replied Gerald

Question

so ?

is it

it

Emily.

unchanging

know you

yourself.

estimate

constancy,

unalienable nature of your affections

been on

acquaintance

that I have

racter

have

that

felt

" but

it

the

has

with your cha-

presumed too

You

far.

yourself neglected, and are justly

and

displeased,

you

mistake

displeasure for indifference.

and

pique

But you

will

awaken from that delusion by-and-by, when

it's

too

late,

" No,

Fm

and find yourself miserable

Gerald

I"

replied

Emily

sure I shall be happy in doing

But her

lip

!"

" no

my duty."

trembled, and her voice faltered,

as she spoke.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

74
" I

tell

you, no, Emily

indeed, you had

!"

"

If,

had ceased

to

said Gerald.

supposed

love you, time and absence and

might have banished

my

image from your

heart; and you might then,

your

found

happiness

indignation

an

perhaps, have
joyless

insipid,

happiness in the performance of the duties

you speak of; but

it

is

feel

Weston,

You

it.

now

for

hateful sacrifice

it

Emily

late,

You know

can never be so now.

you

too

it

it

yourself

can never marry Mr.

would be a

a sacrifice

sacrifice

from which your

heart recoils."
" Then,

O,

Bering, bursting

Gerald

you

to

how

come

Gerald
into

selfish

!"

!"

exclaimed

tears,

"

O,

and how cruel

Miss

Gerald,
it

was of

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

CHAPTER
Before

Gerald

quitted

75

III.

Miss

Bering's

may

lodgings, on that night, he had, as

supposed,
Pilrig's

put

her

in

grand secret;

possession

and

it

of

be

Mr.

was arranged

between them, that she should throw herself

to forego

and

to

that she should ask

him

to

on Mr. Weston's generosity

forgive that
release

is,

her from

the engagement

entered into but two

days before;

she had

and

to

pardon her for the involuntary deception she

had

practised,

and the disappointment she

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

76
was about

to

inflict

and,

painful

as

dilemma was, she had every confidence

the

in the

For her own

part, she

was deeply grieved and ashamed;

but she

success of her appeal.

knew Mr. Weston was

phical mind,

and

a calm

man

of a philoso-

temperament, and

she did not apprehend that his pain would be

very acute or very durable

and as he was

and very benevolent, she

also very reasonable

assured that he would believe what was

felt

namely,

true

was

free

that she

had fancied her heart

when she accepted him and

that he

would much rather she told him the truth

now, at the expense of
disappointment, than
her

engagement,

herself

that she

the

at

risk

temporary,

should
of

necessarily,

the

her thoughts;
the

patched,

but when,
to

that

engrossed

on the following

Mr. Weston was

cares

The

communication was,

subject

first

letter

other

this

fulfil

making

and him permanently miserable.

embarrassment of

day,

inflicting a

and

anxieties

dis-

came

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
crowding

and

thick

knew Gerald

upon

fast

him

He was

handsome,

eloquent

and

in spite of

too

clever,

much

upon under any circumstances.

to be

to love,

how

little

depended on, than the manner

She,

for the last

whom

he had

and whom, he now declared,

he had never ceased to love

to struggle with
liness,

selfish

the creature of circumstance

two or three years?

vowed

she

accomplished, and

which he had neglected her

in

still

great faults.

could be a greater proof of

he was

her

to

but he was impetuous and

to be relied

What

him

many and

She

her.

and although,

well,

sorrow, she found she loved

loved

77

he had

left

her

her poverty and her lone-

unsupported and unconsoled.

Money he had

none, neither had she

for

he was the son of a poor clergyman, who was

starving himself, to keep his son at Oxford
till

he could take orders; and she was the

daughter of a general

officer,

whose income

had died with him^ and who, having

lived

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

78

expensively,

had

little

to leave for the support

of his vdfe and child, but the poor pension

Government

that

Mrs.

Bering

and a

reverse,

afforded.

had soon sunk under a

loss

which her already impaired health unfitted

and bred

affluence

seventeen,

to

educated in

elegance, v^as

in

struggle

left,

little

life

with the cold world

and a respectable appearance

Their mutual poverty

could be supported.

had prevented the young couple marrying

the

at

and to make the sad experiment, on

alone,

how

and Emily,

encounter;

her to

first

bloom of

some time

their attachment

after her

in

but for

mother's death, Emily

had been cheered and supported through her

by Gerald's attention and kind-

afflictions,

But, as time advanced, his attentions

ness.

slackened
short
first,

his visits to

Bath became rare and

and the correspondence, which had,

at

been regular and frequent, had gradually

declined,

till it

had died away

altogether,

and

Emily knew nothing of Gerald's movements

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

79

but what she occasionally gathered from his

father.

In

meantime, the reduction of her

the

circumstances had kept pace with that of her

The

consolations.
to

her

sum

less,

and

around her.

daily

and the pension she received

was altogether inadequate

Sorrows

that remained

her mother's death was

after

becoming

small

difficulties

to

her

were

support.

thickening

Gerald's long neglect not only

appeared sufficient to release

her from her

engagement, but seemed to justify her in the

belief that she

in releasing

would be doing him

him from

his

and

a service

his father,

who looked upon

their union as hopeless,

considered

attachment a mutual mis-

their

and

fortune, encouraged her in these views of the

case.

Under

accepted Mr.

these

circumstances,

Weston

she had

and, had not Gerald

unfortunately learnt her intentions, and found

his love so far revived,

losing her,

that

he

by the apprehension of

started

instantly

from

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

80

London

to

claims, a

enforce

his

own

long-neglected

few weeks more would have seen

her the wife of a worthy, wealthy man, of a

certain age,

whose kindness would have ren-

dered her duties easy, and whose reasonable

expectations would have been satisfied with

such a degree of affection as that kindness

would

have

undone

again,

the

ensured.

now

But

was

all

and Emily was once more on

wide world

for,

though Gerald had

convinced her that he could not part with her

without pain, and although he had revived

in her breast the fire that neglect

had

chilled,

and so rendered her union with Mr. Weston

impossible, he

had not convinced her that

character was changed, and he had not

her

any way

out

of

encompassed them.
story,

it

the

As

shown

difficulties

for

might not be true

Mr.

his

that

Pilrig's

besides, if

it

were, Mr. Livingstone might alter his intentions

and

will ten

times before he died

and,

even in the most favourable view of the case,

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

81

the prospect of great wealth hereafter could

now

be of no use to them

and

hundred

five

pounds in hand would have been worth a

million in prospective.

To

him

give

his

due,

thoughts

these

weighed heavily on Gerald's mind,

too,

he walked that night to his

house

and he

felt

reproach, "

him

to

of Emily's

keenly the justice

How

come

father's

selfish

as

and cruel

it

was of

But the mischief was done,

!"

and the question that remained was, how was

the injury he had done her to be compen-

There was but one way that he could

sated.
see,

and that was

marry her immediately,

to

and persuade his father to

vicarage,

until

he

let

her live at the

had taken

orders,

and

obtained some means of supporting her himself;

and

this,

had heard the

But,

when

with a heavy heart, when he

story,

the plan

Mr. Gage acceded

was proposed

to

to.

Emily,

although she consented to accept the shelter

offered her, she recoiled

VOL.

II.

from the idea of an

82

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

immediate union.

She

that there

felt

would

be a want of delicacy towards Mr. Weston in

so abruptly transferring the

hand

to another,

which she had, within so short a period,

promised to
delay of six

him; and she

months

which

be employed by Gerald in
studies,

insisted

interval

on a

was

completing

to
his

and by his father in the most strenu-

ous endeavours to obtain some provision for

his future subsistence.

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

CHAPTER

83

IV.

Mr. Livingstone and Mr. Gage had been

schoolfellows

at

Winchester, and fellow-col-

legians at Oxford.

They were both the sons

of poor clergymen, and both designed for the

Church
anxious

but just at the

hearts

moment

that,

with

and throbbing heads, they

were preparing for their examination, Obi,

as

he was commonly called by his familiars,

received an invitation to India,

nexion

who was

from a con-

prosperously settled there;

and, bidding adieu to theology and the Greek

G 2

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

84

new and more

Lexicon, he started upon a

From

hopeful career.

they had

vowed

that period, although

eternal

friendship

several

hundred times, Mr. Gage heard no more of

his

chum,

till

be happened,

many

years after-

wards, to read in the newspaper that his old

friend

had returned from India, the possessor

But

of enormous wealth.

for the last clause

of the paragraph, he would have

made some

attempt to renew the acquaintance; but he

was himself so very poor, that the " enormous

wealth" deterred him;

and

was by

it

acci-

dent only that Mr. Livingstone's recollection

of

his

fellow- student

was

chanced to see a card lying on the

day,

when he

called

scribed with the words

name
that

at

his

He

revived.
table,

one

solicitor's,

in-

The

Gerald Gage.

struck him, and, on inquiry, he learnt

the

owner of

former friend.

No

it

was the son of

intimation

of this

his
dis-

covery, however, reached the obscure vicarage

of

and

the

extraordinary

conse-

85

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
quences that resulted from

it

would have

remained an unsuspected and impenetrable

secret,

but for the strange indiscretion of Mr.

As Obi had

Pilrig.

dency to

always

eccentricity, old

shown a

Mr. Gage,

to

ten-

whom

the affair was communicated by his son, had

no great

he had

difficulty in believing that

made such

a will; but the probability that

he might

alter

it,

advantage

to

be

and the remoteness of any

expected,

if

he

did

not,

induced him to urge his son to banish the

subject as

much

as possible

from

his

mind,

and Gerald promised that he would return

to

Oxford, and finish his studies, as steadily as

if

no such contingency awaited him;

whilst

we

intentions,

leave

we

him

to fulfil these laudable

will introduce

our readers to

Mr. Livingstone's drawing-room,

Place

and

in

Portland

where, seated in an easy chair, and

surrounded by every appliance of comfort and

luxury, the respected possessor of so

much

wealth was solacing himself alternately with

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

86

and a

his hookah,

pile of

Indian newspapers

that lay beside him.

He

wore a brown wig, and a brown

and shorts of the same

might be

coat,

His age

colour.

but there was nothing

sixty-five,

either in the appearance of his face or of his

w^ell-formed

which

legs,

white-ribbed

were

to

in

would

that

stockings,

cotton

have been very encouraging

The

clothed

legatee.

expression of his countenance was not

ill-tempered; on the
spice of fun

contrary, there

was a

and humour about the nose, and

in the small twinkling eyes; but there

was

something around the mouth, and the closing

of the

lips,

amounting

On
tired,

that denoted a degree of firmness

to obstinacy.

the opposite side of the fireplace, at-

although

it

was morning,

in a small

blue gauze turban, and a green silk dress,

mth
chain,

her collar

all

that were

hanging over her

awry, and a locket and

intended
left

to

be

in

front,

shoulder, sat Miss Sally

87

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
Nichols, a middle-aged lady, to

whom

nature

had never been very kind in the matter of

personal attractions, and whose incongruous
in

taste

dress,

combined with a

total

inca-

on her wig, or anything

pacity for putting

she wore, straight, gave her a comical

else

that

to excite laughter in those

was very apt

who were not accustomed

She was a

to her appearance.

and poor

distant

Livingstone's,

air

and,

relation of

Mr.

when young, had gone

out to India to look for a husband, but, not

succeeding in the speculation, had ever since

resided with

keeper,

him

in the capacities of house-

companion,

for the old

and interpreter;

gentleman was very

more reasons than

interpreter of his
to repeat

nurse

deaf, and, for

one, preferred having an

own

to applying to people

what they had

said.

One

of these

was that he detested bawling ; whilst Nicky,

as

he

called her,

knew

was most agreeable

and another, that

the exact tone that

to his

auditory nerves

he, by this

means, avoided

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

88
the

conversations

he had no desire to be

troubled with, and only asked her to repeat

when

curiosity

his

prompted the

But the consequence of

this

inquiry.

arrangement was,

that he heard only through Nicky's ears, and

understood only through her understanding,

except on those rare occasions,
to

when he chose

hear and understand for himself, which,

perhaps, he had not quite so

in doing as

Now

he pretended

much

difficulty

to.

Nicky's ears were

much

like those of

other people, but her understanding was different

and,

although

she

was the most

honest creature in the world, and had every

intention of reporting correctly

what she had

heard, yet the discourse and propositions she

conveyed to Mr. Livingstone, had not unfrequently undergone so strange a transmutation

in

their

passage through her mind,

that they could never have been recognised

by their owners; whilst

fied of

he,

who was

satis-

her truth, never doubted the correct-

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

89

ness of her reports, and only attributed the

extravagant

and

assertions

unaccountable

nonsense that often reached him, to the daily

increasing folly of the world; a persuasion,

by the way, in which he delighted, and which

was a principal element in

it

was

his happiness, as

once the source of his mirth, the

at

maintenance of his self-complacence, and the

justification of the obstinacy, incredulity

aversion, with

of

which he received the advances

his connexions.

all
*'

and

Nicky," said the old gentleman, " what's

o'clock?"
" Twelve, sir," answered Nicky, glancing
at the
"

or-molu clock on the mantel-piece.

And

that fellow not here yet, although I

consented to see his ugly face at half-past

eleven.

What

can he have to say to

" I can't think

"

I'll

I'm sure,"

answer for

that,

Livingstone, chuckling

your

life."

"

me ?"

said Nicky.

Nicky,"

said

Mr.

you never could in

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

90
" Isn't

it

natural he should wish to see his

uncle ?" said Nicky, " even

if it

were nothing

else."
*'

it

!" said

Mr. Livingstone ; " pshaw

must be naoney he wants."

"

"

Uncle

But he

He

said he

said

it

wasn't," objected Nicky.

had something of importance to

communicate."
" I

"

stone.

How

should a fellow like that

anything of importance

Who'd
"

Mr. Living-

don't believe him," said

trust

him

know

Who'd tell it him ?

?"

But he may have found

it

out," said

Nicky.

" Then
stone.
rate.

it

won't be true," said Mr. Living-

" However, I shan't believe

I

it,

at

any

never do believe anybody, especially

him."
**

tone

No, you never do," answered Nicky, in a

of

quiet

assent

adding

" There's a knock at the door

say that's him."

presently

now

dare

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
"

Come and

over

sit

91

here,"

and then you can

can't bear the

Nicky did

me what

tell

sound of

he

him

says.

his voice."

was bid

as she

Mr.

said

Livingstone, " and leave your chair for

and, in a minute

opened, and the black

afterwards, the door

footman announced Mr. Graves Livingstone,

who, advancing eagerly across the room, with

hand extended,

his

"

hoped he saw

his dear

imcle quite weU."

Instead

of

Livingstone

returning the salutation,

pointed

to

whilst his nose curled,

and
if

his lips closed

Mr

the opposite chair;

and

his eyes twinkled,

on one another as

fii'mly as

they intended to remain hermetically sealed

for the rest of his

not a

man

easily

life.

But the

daunted;

visitor

so, before

down, he rubbed his hands over the

observed that

it

was very

cold,

was

he sat

fire,

and

and he believed

the glass was lower on that morning than

had been

all

it

the winter.

Mr. Li^dngstone did not know what he

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

92

nor did he care to

said,

remarks would have

inquire

fallen to the

and the

ground had

not Nicky observed that she supposed that

was the reason she had found a lump of

in her water-jug in the

"What

ice

morning.

does he want, Nicky?" said Mr.

Livingstone.
" I
rising

something,"

have

said

Mr. Graves,

from the chair into which he had just

dropped, and approaching his uncle,

greatest importance to

communicate

*'

of the

some-

thing for your ear alone, uncle."

" Tell

it

to Nicky," said the old gentleman.

" I believe,

should hear
'*

sir, it

me

would be better that you

yoiirself," said the

nephew.

won't," said Mr. Livingstone, taking up

his newspaper.
"

Very

well,

sir,"

evidently disappointed

said

and annoyed

matter that concerns you, not me.

wish to put

nephew,

the
;

"
I

it's

only

you on your guard against a

person that betrays your confidence."

"

"

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
"

my

am on my

93

guard, and I never give

confidence to anybody," said Mr. Living-

stone

" so nobody can betray it."

" Excuse me," said the nephew, " there's

a certain lawyer called Pilrig

"

What

him ?"

of

of

out

surprised

said

Mr. Livingstone,

determination not to

his

listen.

"

He

babbles about your affairs," continued

the nephew,

"boasts

dential agent

"

The

"

And

of being your confi-

he does

devil

!"

exclaimed Obiah.

goes about telling people that you

have made a

will."

"Did he

tell

you

so?"

inquired

Mr.

Livingstone.
"

He

did," answered

Mr. Graves

" and in

the presence of your intended heir, too."

"

Then

no doubt you asked him the

And

question.
left

I've

pray, did he

you what

tell

I'd

you ?"

" No,

sir,"

said the

nephew

" nor did I

94

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

ask him.

He

said

a stranger of the

imagine,

sir,

you had

name

Gage was

everything to

left

of Gage; and, only

in the coach himself

at the time*'*

"

And

vour business here,

that's

is

it

?"

asked the uncle.

" It is," replied
it

my
"

duty to inform you."

You

needn't have troubled yourself," said

Mr. Livingstone, resuming

"

air of indifference.

no consequence
if

they do,

it's

"

sir,

Why,

his paper, with

What

a fool says

nobody'U believe him

of no consequence

few people

intentions to be
said

" I thought

Mr. Graves.

made known

and

private

to the world,"

Mr. Graves.

"Nobody's acquainted with

intentions," said

their beino:
I

made known

want

my

private

Mr. Livingstone, nodding

significantly, " therefore, there's

now

of

still."

their

like

is

an

to read

anything more to say,

my

no danger of

to the world.

And

paper, so if you've

tell it

to Nicky."

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
"

My

95

uncle seems determined not to believe

anything against this Mr. Pilrig," said Graves,

up

in a low voice, as he took

to depart

that

my

" but I

one thing,
telling

"

Very

may

and rose

you'll explain to

only motive for coming was

vent mischief;

no

beg

his hat

him

to pre-

for,

a person that talks of

talk

of another, and there's

what may come of

it."

true," said Nicky.

"

I'll tell

him

so."

"

You know

can have no motive for inter-

fering but interest for him.

that, the

man might

If

it

wasn't for

talk to all eternity for

but I couldn't bear to hear

my

me

uncle's private

intentions blabbed in that manner, in a stage-

coach.

was quite shocked.

and make him understand

" I will," said

Nicky

''What does

he

You'U be sure

this."

" depend

say?"

Livingstone, as soon as his

upon

it."

inquired

Mr.

nephew had

left

the room.
"

He

says,"

answered

Nicky,

" that he

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

96

wouldn't interfere

if it

Wasn't for his interest

but that he wishes to prevent mischief; and

that

when he heard

of your intentions in the

stage-coach, he was quite shocked."

"

"and

warrant him," said Mr. Livingstone

I've

round that

no

John,

he

has been getting

fool of a lawyer,

Write

out of him.
tell

doubt

if

he

and sucked

to Pilrig for his bill

calls,

to

say

this

and

I'm not

at

home."

That

night,

before he

went

to bed,

Mr.

Livingstone tore up the wiU that Mr. Pilrig

had made, and threw the fragments

fire.

into the

97

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

CHAPTER
"

What

said

an

idle

dog you're grown, Gage,"

young Marmaduke Vane, on entering

Gerald's

room

him,

was usual of

as

crossed,

late,

slippers,

and smoking a

table before

him

lay

also,

sheet of paper,

sitting in

VOL.

II.

On

cigar.

the

and a

and a boxing-glove.

materials for writing,

and

w^th the beginning of a

which had proceeded as

letter,

his

with his knees

a hunting-whip,

shot-belt, a pair of foils,

There were,

and finding

one morning,

dressing-gown and

V.

far as,

''My

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

98

dear Emily, I

really

my

ashamed of

long

below which words appeared the

,"

si

am

sketch of a beautiful setter, called Rover, the

original of

which

young man's

portrait

was lying

at the

The

walls of the

room

feet.

were hung with shooting and hunting-coats,

guns and
gravings,

pistols

chiefly

interspersed

with

of horses celebrated on the

or boxers eminent in the ring

turf,

en-

and on

the mantel-piece lay a variety of cigar-cases,

mingled with
shapes

of

tubes

various

sizes

and

short and long, crooked and straight

intended

for

purpose

the

of

smoking;

together with a dice-box, and sundiy packs

of

''

cards.

How

do you expect

to

through your examination, I should

know

Why,

what the

inside of a

" Pretty

nearly,"

ponding tone.
have
at

in
!"

it

" Is

get

like to

suspect you've forgotten

book
said

is

rnade of

Gerald,

!"

in a

des-

that to-day's paper you

your hand?

Just

let

me

look

;!

THE MONEY- SEEKERS.

"

What

night ?"

"he

do you think Willoughby said

said Vane,

borrowing

him

giving

'that though

said,

everybody's

"

He

Gerald

you were always

you

paper,

"

Deaths,

and

me

too

much

honour,"

said

" I never read even so

What do you

"The Deaths!"
" Oh, I have

"A

!"

Vane,

unaffected curiosity.

replied Gerald.

it !"

said

Vane

You're expecting a legacy

plumper

much

read, then ?" said

him with

looking at

never

"

does

last

the journal

read anything but the Births,

Marriages/

99

" I have

hope

it

it's

!"

few hundred thousand pounds," an-

swered Gerald.

"The deuce!"
say so

What

"I should
Gerald

" but

cried

''You don't

Vane.

a lucky dog you are

be,
'

if

I'd

there's

got

it,"

many

know."

H 2

!"

answered
slip,*

you

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

100
'*

What,

you sure of

ar'n't

it

?"

asked

Vane.
"

Oh,

!"

sure

quite

yes,

Gerald,

replied

who, seeing how he was rising in importance,

had not resolution

enough,
"

if I live

but one

Oh, hang dying

body

dies

that's

he was not

to say

got

!"

" sure

may die, you know."

said

Vane.

"

No-

hundred thousand

!"

pounds

" That's exactly what I complain of," said

Gerald.
"

Oh, but

an old

fellow, I

" Oh, yes

many

mean when

!"

one's young.

He's

suppose ?"
said

years in India.

Gerald, " and has been

That ought

to shake a

man's constitution."
"

Oh,

he'll die !"

he'll

pop

off

thinking of

said Vane, " never fear

some morning when you're not

it."

" He'll find

it

difficult to

do

that, I fancy,"

replied Gerald, with a half smile.

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
"

Then,

suppose,

mean

don't

the

take

to

101

truth

orders,"

you

is,

continued

Vane.
"

Why,

don't

"

swered Gerald.

army

for the

mission,

fancy than

and

think I shall," an-

always had an inclination

believe
tie

much

if

could get a com-

had better indulge

myself to a profession

my

I don't

like."

"

Get somebody

to

recommend you

at the

Horse Guards, and purchase a commission,"

said Vane.

" I

have no money," replied Gerald

may be

the

months'

time

master
but

of

million

present

at

in

"I
six

haven't

a rap."
"

Won't

the old feUow

come down ?" asked

Vane.

"1

daren't

ask

" He's eccentric,

him,"

answered Gerald

and such a request migh

ruin me."

"

Whew

!"

said

Vane,

" that's the

way

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

102

them

with

They're

all.

the devil to deal

But why don't you

with, those old fellows.

try the Jews ?"

" I've

of

the reality

my

my

answered

expectations,"

They're afraid of being done

*'

Gerald.

means of convincing them of

no

hands are so

and

that I daren't take any

tied,

step to satisfy them."

"Is there nobody you can get

to

answer

you ?" said Vane.

for

"Nobody,"
fellow's

he, "

been so close

what

if I

"the

Gerald;

replied

stop,

old

though," added

could get the lawyer that

made

the will ?"

"

The

Where

very

What's

easily

the

find

his

Huzza

name

lives !"

You

?"

answered

question,

last

out.

"

Vane.

know where he

eluding

Gerald,

can

cried

does he live ?

" I don't

man !"

think

" but
he'll

do?"
"Think!
" Is

it

in

Certain of it!" replied Vane.

London he

lives

?"

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
" Yes,

much

that

103

know,"

replied

Gerald.

"

Then come along with me

" I'm off to-night, and

I'll

my

Besides,

tilbury.

feUow

honest

!"

said

you up

drive

know an

for a Jew,

mean

Vane

in

honest

that'U do

your business for you capitally."

The remaining
settled

name was

was

soon

and, at the appointed hour, the two

young men

little

were

preliminaries

started

not a

difficulty in

to

be

accordingly,

common

one,

in

thither he

the

Gerald had

discovering that

found

As

London.

for

Lincoln's

Mr.
Inn,

bent his steps.

Pilrig

and,

The

lawyer was busy at his desk, happily oblivious

of his ill-starred journey

to

Bath, and his

own imprudence, when he was

from
that

his

propriety"

rald

by the announcement

Mr. Gerald Gage was

and begged

Gage

!"

to see

" frighted

in the next room,

him immediately.

said he

to

the clerk

" Ge-

who had

LIGHT AND DARKNESS

104

"

entered with the intelligence.

was

Did you say

home?"

at

''Yes,

the

replied

sir,"

gentleman says he

wishes

"The

clerk.

to

you on

see

particular business."

"

"

Humph

Show him

!"

said

in,

he want with

Mr.

Smith

me

me

What

will I

the deuce can

under

his

To

"

suppose.

He'll

me

he pleases.

the plague can I help myself,

chooses to use the power he's got ?"

as

these agreeable

through the
receive
chair,

reflections passed

lawyer's

mind,

the visitor, to

whom

with an

and welcome

air

of as

as he could

tell

thumb, and that

he can screw anything out of

And how

with a sigh.

?" thought he.

him more about the

think he has

Pilrig,

much

he
he

if

he

And
rapidly

rose
off^ered

to

complaisance

assume on so short

a notice.
" I

dare

say,

Mr.

Pilrig,"

said

Gerald,

" that I need not remind you of our meeting

THE MONEY- SEEKERS.

the Bath

in

coach

105

December;

last

nor of

the conversation that passed on that occasion."

" I

remember

the circumstance you allude

to perfectly, sir," said

me

add that

to

that

remember

was ever

that I

and

"

and allow

not without great pain

is

it

Pilrig,

was the

It

it.

first

time

guilty of such an indiscretion,

hope you

assure you that

"

Mr.

it

believe

will
will

be the

Did you succeed

in

me,

when

last."

finding our fellow

traveller ?" inquired Gerald.

"

No,

inquiry,
I trust

sir,"

but

replied Pilrig,

without

" I

success.

he has made no iU use of

dent disclosure.

made

every

However,

my

impru-

have no reason to think

that he has."

"

Then you have heard nothing from Mr.

Livingstone on the subject ?"

" Nothing, sir."
"

Have you

seen

him

lately ?"

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

106

"Not
" I

very

lately,"

go,

of course,

only

lawyer:

the

replied

when he sends

for

me."
"

What

sort

of a

man

he ?"

is

inquired

Gerald.
"

Mr.

man

good

enough,

" but

Pilrig,

replied

I believe,"

obstinate,

eccentric,

and disliking everybody that he

suspicious,

thinks has a design upon his property,

hopes

entertains

from

But

blushing,

for

human

meant,"

to

but rather from an

avarice,

and contempt
"

of succeeding

"what

sort

it

or

not

opinion

ill

nature,"

almost

Gerald,

said

man

of a

he

is

in

person, age, health ?"

"

Oh,"

he's

against
;

should

and

as

think
his

for

you know, he was a long while

and

India,

" I

Pih-ig,

upwards of seventy

health,

years

replied

I needn't observe

how

man when he comes

for,"

thought

the

that
to

in

tells

be

in

cunning lawyer,

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
" the nearer I

cautious

107

represent the prize the

more

probably be, for fear of losing

he'll

it."

" Well, then," said Gerald, " altogether,

me

suppose you consider

stepping

into

" I do,

doubt of

property

this

my

years are over

sir,"

secure

before

of

many

head ?"

Mr. Pikig

said

provided

it,

pretty

"

IVe no

you keep your own

and that he never suspects you know

counsel,

anything

the

of

business

perhaps

before

many months."
"
pect

He
it

have any reason to sus-

shall never

from me, you may

Gerald.

"

But you

see,

rely

Mr.

on

it,"

Pilrig,

said

in the

meantime, whilst the corn grows, the steed

starves.

me
*'

want money, and you must help

to get a little."
I, sir !"

"

of alarm.
a thing

would be

exclaimed Mr.

to
all

Why,

if I

Pilrig,

with a look

were but to hint such

Mr. Livingstone, the business

up.

He'd throw

his will into

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

108
the

and, most likely, kick

fire,

me

out of the

house into the bargain."

"I'm
'"

and

well aware of that," replied Gerald

want you

don't

Livingstone.

What

want you

stand godfather to me.

and vow three things in

I

am

hint

to

my name

is

honest fellow,

somely

as

who

soon

as

first,

stricken

thirdly, that

and,

to

that

secondly, that

and has gout and asthma, with

diathesis

is,

You must promise

the heir to a great estate

the present incumbent

do

to

Mr.

to

it

my

in years,

a dropsical

am

right

debts hand-

will

pay

come

into

my

pro-

I'm

sure,

sir,"

said

Mr.

perty."
" You're jesting,
"

Pilrig.

a thing
" I

rephed

You

would'nt ask

me

to

do such

!"

was never more serious in

Gerald

"

and

my

life,"

think I've

every

right to ask you to do such a thing.

You

say, yourself, that

you have no doubt

inherit the property in a

I shall

few years at furthest

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
and where's
a

harm

the

me

helping

of

when

cash in the meantime,

little

109
to

a few

words can do it?"

"I'm

sure, sir, if I

had any money

to spare

that could be of any use to you," said

Pilrig, " I

should be most happy

Mr.

but, setting

every other consideration aside, to go and put

another
secret

person

"

Not

you must see

surely,

of imprudence

possession

in

it is

his interest as

me

it is

that I

you'U

circumstances,
" except

may

it

as

will

what property

my

to

satisfy

prospects are

them."
no

get
sir,

"

money under such

objected

upon enormous

" That

As soon

money,

You've only

expect.

I represent

" But

the height

ours to keep the

Besides, you need'nt say

the person in question that

what

"

at all," replied Gerald.

much

secret.

it's

!"

that other person has lent

be as

such

of

Mr.

Pilrig,

interest."

be," replied Gerald.

say the interest will be enormous

" I dare

but

it

isn't

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

much

want

only a few hundred pounds to

purchase a commission, and

thousand would do
*'

it

me

fit

out.

abundantly."
sir !"

thousand pounds,

" It's easy to talk of a

said

Pilrig.

thousand pounds

but

a thousand pounds isn't so easily got."

"But,
Gerald, "

tell

if you'll

" I couldn't

you

can get

replied

it,"

only do what I require."

indeed

couldn't, sir,"

said

Pilrig.

"

Nonsense

Mr.

Pilrig,"

exclaimed Gerald,

" What's the use of affect-

contemptuously.

ing such scruples after what has passed

there anything worse in helping

cash for an honourable

know

shall pay,

than

me

Is

to a little

purpose, which you

in

betraying

your

client's private affairs to a stranger in

a stage-

coach?

the two

should like to know,

if

peccadilloes were placed in a balance,

which

would weigh the heaviest ?"

" You're hard
"

upon me,

sir," said

Pilrig.

But YOU must remember that my unfor-

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

Ill

tunate disclosure was unpremeditated

mere

lapsus lingucBy while this would be a deliberate

act."

"

That makes no

observed Gerald.

you are pleased

and may

difference in the result,"

"

Your lapsus Ungues^

to call

it,

had premeditated the thing

You've risked doing

you are bound

won't

myself,
1

me,

I'll

dare say

as if

twelvemonth.

whom

go

he'll alter his

I'm

desperate;

to

Mr. Livingstone

situation.

wiU

if I

It's

do

true,

but he

man

he intended a million, and the son

of his old friend, too

the thousand
desire

and

make me some

can hardly refuse a thousand pounds to a

for

you

and, in a word, if you

my

and explain

me

a great mischief,

Besides,

must have

assist

me

for a

in justice to

compensation.

money

might have been,

be, as injurious to

still

as

is

and, situated as I am,

almost as

much an

object of

now, as the million at an indefinite

period."
" Will

you give

me

till

to-morrow morning

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

112
to think

of

?" said Pilrig, seeing the

it

de-

termination of the other to carry his point.

"

Very well

desire

!" said

Gerald

though the delay

it,

" I will

useless, seeing

is

the thing must be done.

I will

then, at ten, to-morrow;

and

man

that's to lend the

you can get

between
"

this

Now

Gerald.

it

bring the

I'll

" don't do that.

you must have the money,

to advance

be with you,

money with me."

" No, sir," said Pilrig

somebody

you

if

it

I think I can get

at a

yourself

If

cheaper rate than

consider of

I'll

it

and then."

you

reason,

talk

" Good-by,

and the unwelcome

Mr.

Pilrig," said

till

to-morrow,"

then,

visitor departed.

" Yes," said the unlucky lawyer to himself,

after

maturely weighing the pros and cons

" yes, although

if

he shouldn't

live to inherit

the property, I shall never see

pounds

again,

prudent to lend
interest,

believe

it

and take

him
his

it

my

will

myself,

bond,

thousand

more

be
at

legal

than risk

my

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

113

professional reputation by letting the secret go

any further.

Besides, I shaU be laying

under an obligation

money,

may

find

and,

my

him

he gets the

if

account in

here-

it

after."

So,

when Gerald

morning,

on the following

called

after expatiating largely

culty he should have

on the

in raising the

diffi-

sum on

the one hand, and the dislike he had to see

gentlemen cheated, as they invariably were

by the money-lending

craft,

on the other

interspersing his discourse with hints of the

interest

he could not help feeling for a young

gentleman so peculiarly situated

Mr.

Pilrig

consented to advance the required amount,

and Gerald

returned

to

his

hotel

with

thousand pounds in his pocket, to begin the

world with.

VOL.

II.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

114

CHAPTER
It

is

man,

VI.

unnecessary to observe, that

who

never had a

thousand

when

shillings,

finds himself possessed of a thousand pounds,

he thinks the
Gerald Gage.
his pocket a

sum

So thought

inexhaustible.

He
key to

felt
all

that

he carried in

manner of

pleasures,

and the only question was, which he should

explore

first.

It

is

true,

the

money was

destined to purchase a commission and his

outfit;

but he considered that six or seven

hundred pounds was enough

for

that,

and

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
the

he was

rest

But then

liked with.
six

months she had

elapsed,

and

liberty

at

there

to

115
do

The

was Emily.

on were already

insisted

and he was bound in honour

hand;

her

claim

he

as

what

but

go

to

was

subaltern in a marching regiment to do with

He

a wife?
love

and

if

loved her

still

as selfish

men

he had been in any danger of

losing her, he would probably have enforced

his

claim as energetically as he had

before.

But he

mind was
the

felt

so sure of her, that his

sufficiently

inconveniences

more

their union;

disengaged to see

that

would

especially

resolved not to go

done

all

from

arise

now, that he was

The

Church.

into the

humblest curate must have a home

and,

however his poverty may be augmented by

having a wife to support, his respectability

The world

not diminished.

manner of
companion

life
;

he

is

and an

cannot be approved,

feels that, in

destined
early
is

to,

the

he needs a

marriage,

rather

is

pitied

if

it

than

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

116
blamed.
his pay,

But

a subaltern with nothing but

and the woman he

places himself,

marries, in a situation that vibrates between

The

the melancholy and the ridiculous.

coat

and the gold

red

and the miserable

epaulets,

barrack-room that serves for parlour and bed-

room, form an incongruous whole, that no

man

with

the

choose to introduce his wdfe

Gerald had not

much

had a great deal of

to.

reflection,

The obscure

curate

but he

which served

pride,

equaEy well to enlighten him on

sion.

would

reflection

slightest

occa-

this

and the smart

ensign were two different persons; and the

one might have been proud of the wife that

the other would be
that

any

Emily's

what

ashamed

man might
beauty

of.

Not but

have been proud of

and accomplishments

but

are beauty and accomplishments to a

woman who

is

stockings ?

Gerald

thought of

it.

obliged

to

could

He was

wash her own

not

bear

the

involuntarily begin-

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

117

ning to measure himself and form his

ideas,

according to what he expected to be here-

not according to what he was

after,

and

coUege

his

soon

as

friends,

now

they

as

learned the good fortune that awaited him,

him

helped

the

cherish

to

He

delusion.

found himself hourly rising in importance.

They

declared he was the luckiest

world, with his million of

dog

money

in perspec-

man

need want

tive;

and affirmed that no

cash,

or

anything that cash can purchase,

with such a prospect before him.

was very seducing

to

life,

felt

the

All this

an impetuous, impatient,

aspiring lad of one-and-twenty,

his

in the

who

had,

all

gene and mortification of

being poorer than his companions, and had

pleasures

thirsted

for

afford.

But tying himself

tying

himself

to

he

could

not

to a

wife

was

and

obscurity.

that

poverty

Prudence, as well as selfishness

like

most men, was

selfish

and Gerald,

forbad

it;

the

misfortune was, that he had not thought of

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

118

before he prevented Emily's marriage

all this

Mr. Weston.

with

But the jealousy

that

had been aroused by hearing of her engage-

ment had rendered him

quences

and the

been so acute,
secret

fell

weigh

its

wound

that even

on

coldly

pre-occupied

reckless of

all

conse-

to his self-love

Mr.

Pilrig's

grand

nor could his

his ears;

mind and eager

had

passions stop to

importance, until he had accom-

plished the object that absorbed him, and to

which
the

all

the energies of his nature were at

moment

directed.

But,

with Mr. Weston broken

marriage

the

off,

the jealousy

appeased, the self-love and the vanity satisfied,

calm ensued, w^hich afforded

other reflections
brilliant

play

its

prospect

and then

it

leisure for

was that the

opened to him began to

part on his unstable mind.

The

dull

curacy and the sober habits which he had

always looked upon with distaste,

spired
still

him with

disgust;

loved Emily as

much

now

in-

and, although he
as

he could love

119

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
any woman,

where there was

the

neither

excitement of pursuit nor the zest of uncertainty,

enough

he

he did not love her well

bind himself,

to

term, to a

felt

for

an

indefinite

of poverty and obscurity for

life

her sake.

But how, mthout

insulting her,

was he

to

evade the arrangement that had been made

for their union,

now

had arrived

It is true that

that the appointed period

the objections

he had to urge were in the highest degree

reasonable; but

he

after

felt,

passed, that they ought to proceed

not from himself

ness,

that

had

from

her,

all

In him, caution was cold-

and he feared that she would not

discern

its

true character

offspring of reflection

the

in her,

it

fruit of

fail

to

was the
a young

mind, tutored and strengthened by adversity.

But

whilst he

some excuse

was debating whether

for absenting himself

to

make

from the

vicarage tiU he could determine what to do,

or whether to go

down immediately and

claim

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

120

the hand of his affianced bride, leaving

it

to

her judgment to consent or decline as

she

thought proper, Fate took the

her

own

hands.

His

affair into

father, returning

one dark

night from visiting the death- bed of one of

his

parishioners, rode

v^here he

into

was found lying beside

the following morning.

He was

3n a state of insensibility,

who

despatched to his son,

enough

an old marl-pit,

to receive his

hand of Emily,

last

his horse

carried

and a

on

home

letter

was

arrived just time

breath and

the

which the dying parent

placed in his, with an earnest injunction to take

her to his heart, and

make

her as happy as

she deserved to be.

The death
feelings,

of his father affected Gerald's

softened his heart, and steadied his

character for a time

and Emily's

attractions

regained their influence over his fluctuating

mind.

His dreams of ambition and visions

of splendour grew dim, and faded before the

delights of a pure

and innocent

love.

The

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

121

image of the despised curacy, and the

sures of a

plea-

of retirement and virtue, took

life

the place of his aspiring hopes and restless

and he eagerly entreated her

desires,

with his father's

to

comply

and become

last wishes,

his

wife.

But, young as she was, Emily's sad experience

how

She knew

had taught her caution.

unfitted Gerald

was

to encounter poverty,

and well understood how much worse poverty

was with a family than without

entreated

him

to

situation

that

should

from want.

wait

till

at

Whereupon,

it;

so she

he was in some
least

as

them

secui'e

gentlemen are

apt to do in such cases, he accused

her of

want of affection; declaring that true love made

no such

calculations,

and that poverty together

would be much more endui'able than poverty

apart.
to

be

But she was firm

right,

in

what she knew

and would not be shaken.

he wrote to a former pupil of his

solicit

the patronage that

father,

So
to

had been promised

122

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

to the old

man

resolving to return to

ford next term, read hard,

time,

and take

aunt

And,

orders.

while, they both took

up

of his, a single

make up

their

Ox-

for lost

in the

mean-

abode with an

woman, with

a very

small income, which she eked out by letting

part of the house she resided

All

the

money

the

in.

young people

between them was Gerald's

had

one thousand

pounds, which, indeed, appeared to him inexhaustible

but,

as

Emily thought

differently,

although she did not refuse, in some measm'e,

to share
self

it with

him, she insisted on helping her-

with her needle, as she had done before.

For a few weeks, Gerald read

and the

novelty of living under the roof with Emily

supported

him

existence

but as time crept on, ennui crept

in,

and

that he

it

through

the

tameness

was impossible not

to

was becoming depressed and

Nothing could be more

natural.

of

observe
restless.

Although

Gerald could have studied for an immediate

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
he did not love study for

its

wanted a powerful incentive

to

object,

He
to

123

own

sake.

keep him

and the remote prospect of the curacy

it,

was not strong enough

for the purpose.

Then,

though he loved Emily, the love grew cool

with security

there were

nor jealousies, to

He

bright.

stretch

fears,

the flame, and keep

stir

began

no doubts,

yawn

to

out his legs as

if

it

a great deal,

he did not know

w^hat to do with them, turn over the leaves

of his books without reading them, and look

out of the window into the dull back

where

there

was nothing

worked on the
it

him walk
so, in

while, thinking

had kept her

w^as she

to

Emily

see.

how

resolution,

street,

fortunate

and bade

out more, and see some recreation

compliance with this recommendation,

he one night went to the theatre, and there

the

first

persons

he

Willoughby and Vane

introduced

him

to

saw^
;

his

were

his friends

the former of
sister,

whom

Madame

de

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

124

a very lovely

Violane,

woman, married

to

a Frenchman.

few words, whispered by Willoughby to

and her husband, immediately

his sister

the

introduction, caused

the

lady

to

upon him, with a look of awakened

a pair of the finest dark eyes

seen

whilst the foreigner,

after

turn

interest,

he had ever

who had

already

acknowledged the introduction by the requisite

number

of bows, involuntarily

supernumerary one,
hint he

in

added a

compliment

had received; and Gerald

to
felt

the
that

he was enjoying a foretaste of his fortune

a

first

instalment of the

reputation of great wealth

"Where

are

homage which the

is

sure to

you staying?"

command.

said

Vane;

" we're at the York."

"

Fm

visiting a sick friend a little

way out

Gerald, " or else

I'd ask

of town," replied

you

to call

to stay ?"

on me.

How

long are you going

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

"
"

few

WeVe
is

only,"

little

London, and then

to

to-morrow

Our next

of the country.

you must come and

fast

Willoughby.

said

been making a tour, to show the

Marquis a

move

days

125

see us

to Paris.

come

to break-

at eleven."

Gerald promised that he would, and

dame de

But

Ma-

Violane's beautiful eyes expressed

her satisfaction at the arrangement.

and not much

It is singular,

of

human

nature, that

we

are

to the credit

more

gratified

by the homage paid to our wealth than

Gerald was an extremely hand-

our merits.

some young man;

confirmed

air

but,

of fashion,

as

he had not

Madame

de Violane's

glance had been one of utter indifference.

first

He

saw

it;

he saw the change that ensued,

and comprehended

it,

a compliment

little

so

and yet he was won by

flattering

more proud and pleased when she

his

to

arm

than

if

to lean

on when leaving the

and

felt

selected
theatre,

the preference had been given to his

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

126
personal

instead of to

qualities,

fortune

which he not only did not possess, but which

he never might possess;
supposing
effort,

he had

his,

it

and which, even

and without

attained

without

But mankind

desert.

and womankind are so fond of being admired

for

what they

that very

not,

are

few are

content to take credit for what they are.

Madame

de

cordially with

shook

Violane

hands

as

when he handed her

Gerald,

into her carriage, as if she

had known him a

dozen years; whilst the Frenchman, as he

made

stepped in after her,

bows, which

intelligibly

announced

guised respect for wealth

walked home to his

state of confusion

have made
feelings,

flushed,
pleasure,

if

it

and

triumph of

his undis-

after which,

Gerald

obscure lodging

in a

and excitement that would

difficult

he had

and

several deferential

to

eye

his

heart

gratified pride

his

own

His cheeks were

tried.

his

analyze

was

animated

by

was big with the

;

and yet there was

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

127

a weight, a constriction, about the breast

and

undefined feeling of dissatisfaction

security,

and apprehension

when he

that,

up

sitting

she

was

in-

so

who was

Emily,

puzzled

mixed expression of

His

nance.

him,

for

interpret the

for the future

accosted

an

to

his counte-

manner was gay and

excited,

complexion was heightened, and his eyes

his

were bright and triumphant; but there was

an

alloy

not

free,

about the mouth

the smiles were

and frank, and joyous; some unseen,

unknown, almost

unfelt,

portent, a shadow, that

care

sat there

came unsummoned,

and would not be exorcised, and that made

such strange discordance with the lustrous
brow, that Emily's

have you

been,

first

words were, " Where

Gerald

What

has hap-

pened?"
" Nothing,"

that

college

have

answered he,

met some

chums."

gaily,

friends

" except

some

old

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

128

"Is that all?" said

she.

" All, except that I

am

going to breakfast

with them to-morrow at eleven," said he.

"

Are

they

staying

Bath ?"

in

asked

Emily.
"

Only

" There's

a few days,"

for

Gerald.

replied

WiUoughby, and Vane, and a

sister

of Willoughby's that's married to a French-

man.

women

can marry Frenchmen."

"

Nor

never can understand

she

is,"

English

" Is she pretty ?"

I," replied Emily.

" Yes,

how

answered

Gerald

" she

has beautiful dark eyes."

"

And what

"

Oh

enough
"

not

he's

for a

man

is

he ?"

ill-looking

Frenchman,"

well

he's

replied

Gerald.

He's a Marquis, too."

"

And

are they rich ?" asked Emily.

" That I
"

sort of

She was

don't know," answered Gerald.

beautifully

dressed

but

think she could have had any fortune

don't
;

for

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
Fve heard Willoughby say
went

the

to

and that the

Baronet,

nothing but their

"And

name

where

that everything

who

son,

eldest

129

of

rest

to get

be

will

them had

on with."

you see them?"

did

in-

quired Emily.
"

At

the theatre, where I looked in for an

"

hour," answered Gerald.

They happened

to

be in the very box I was put into."

'*

how

Oh,

with you
"
"

!"

"

What for ?" asked

Why, to have seen

"

"

it

We

party,"

then,

answered

I'm glad
Emily.

we might go some
II.

saw a

don't

all

know,"

the time

it."

been out of patience.

VOL.

long since

?"

were talking

never attended to
" Well,

be

the play, to be sure,"

I'm sure

play ?

replied he.

to

Gerald.

It's so

What was

The

liked

exclaimed Emily.

answered she.
play

should have

But

wasn't of the

" I

should have

don't you think

night to the pit ?

It

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

130

wouldn't cost much, and

treat to

me

it

would be such a

I've never seen a play since

my

dear father died."

"

Oh,

yes,

we can

go, certainly," answered

Gerald, rather coldly

wait

till

we'll look

shall

our

would be

out for a nice play,"

Emily "and have

soon as your

as

It

better

they saw us."

if

Then

said

we had

these people are away.

awkward
"

" but

not have

evening,

friends are gone.

fine

much

dare say

lives, I

a delightful

gaiety
so

We

for the rest of

we may venture

to

indulge for once."

"

Why,"

asked

not to have

Gerald,

much

"

why

are

we

gaiety for the rest of our

lives ?"

"

Why,

setting

be able to afford

know we

aside

it,"

that

we

shall

not

answered Emily, " you

shall probably

be relegues to the

end of the world, when you get your curacy

far out of the

all

atmosphere of theatres, and

such temptations

!"

131

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

The

been gradually
curacy

!"

it,

to

force

it

one's

There's no use in trying

them

the thing will never do

on

enter

and

channel

into

inclinations

nature never designed

to

The

made

" I'm sure I'm not

me.

for

*'

vanished.

fading,

said he

nor

for

which had

of Gerald's brow,

lustre

for.

I'm sure

it's

better not

than to thrust oneself into

it,

a situation, only to

show

one's unfitness for

it."

what other resource have we ?"

" But,

asked

Emily,

apparently

so

surprised

at

sudden

"

and

declaration,

what

has

altered your intentions ?"

" Reflection,

own

character,"

replied

like

the profession, and

and

less

the

mind

get
"

to

some

more

to

sort of

think of

I'm sure

to do,

go

" I

Gerald.

did

what we're

my

and the knowledge of

never

like
it.

As

I can't tell.

London, and

less

it

try if I

for

I've

can't

situation 1"

But we've no

interest, Gerald,"

K 2

objected

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

132
"

Emily.

We've no

friends to help us to a

situation."

"I

know

don't

" Willoughby's

Vane's uncle

both deviUsh

some day
and

father's

is

liked to

They're

me, because they expect

be richer than any of them

opportunity of laying
told

and

think they'd be sorry to have an

I don't

Vane

Gerald.

Parliament,

in

Secretary-at-War.

civil to

I shall

answered

that,"

me under an

some time

me,

ago,

obligation.
that,

if

go into the army, he'd speak to

his

uncle about me,"

"

But the army

'11

never do for us, Gerald,

without money." said Emily.

"

What

a thing

poverty

is !"

"

Gerald, with sudden bitterness.

thing

it is

exclaimed

What

be a gentleman, and not be

to

able to live like other people.

Here are we,

pent up in this Kttle dirty hole of a lodging,

that

shall

sneak out

be obliged to sneak into and

of,

should see me.

for fear
I

told

any of these people

them

was

living

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

133

out of town, to prevent their offering to

call

on me."

vast proportion of

young women would

have been tempted to weep

the

veil

enough

and

it

that

is,

upon the

story of the egg

replace the

were before

young couple

tree

ashamed
longer

in

mean

no human

damage,

or

The charm was

They had

of knowledge, and

was living

old

exactly where they

this outbreak.

broken for ever.

cause

like the

wall,

power could ever repair the

rending of

was

there

indeed,

for certain

at this

eaten

of the

Gerald saw that he

lodging, and he was

and Emily saw that she had no

power

make

to

the lodging appear

a palace to her lover, which, whilst he was

happy, had appeared a paradise to her, and

she

felt

that they were cast out of Eden.

But she had been schooled

She knew that

this

expostulation and

Her

was

no

in adversity.

occasion

tears; so she shed

for

none.

heart swelled and her cheeks were for a

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

134

moment

suffused,

the passion had passed away

till

loving

and then

up from her work, with a sweet

looking

but she waited to speak

smile,

httle

fever,

by

caught

she

" This

said,

is

merely

Gerald, that you have

dear

your

near

sitting

fine

friends.

They've infected you with the love of grandeur.

It's

very natural.

be just the same

But

will

it

go

if

dare say I should

had been with you.

Fortunately, one's

off again.

happiness does not depend on such matters,

I'm sure we've both

as

months
have

we
are

little

fits

" I

pine

to

things

for

that

Haven't you always

so ?"

don't know,"

irritation

they don't last

of this sort,

soon cease

it

the last two

and although one may occasionally

beyond our reach.

found

felt for

than

he

said

Gerald,

with

had spoken before

less

for

Emily's judicious forbearance had sprinkled

cool

patience on his passion

have always pined to be

rich,

"

I'm sure

which

is

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
desire

that

as

likely

to

cries

for

the

135

be gratified as a child's

moon

unless,

indeed,

that old

fellow would

poverty's

more stinging when one has such

cut.

thing as that in prospect, than

hopes of ever being better

make up

mind

one's

possibility

of such

to

if

heard of

a change keeps one in a

I

wish to

my

it 1"

wish you

said

Emily.

"

for,

believe

me

is

but the

had the fortune, or that I'd never

soul 1

do

One would

then

constant state of restlessness.

" I

one had no

off.

it

think

really

to forget

iiad not,

with

all

But

that

is

it,

as

my

heart,"

past wishing

the next best thing you can

and endeavour

to act as if

you never had."

But, alas

memory

that

Gerald could not forget

had

slept for a time,

Love's zephyrs

fanned

into

forgetfulness

wings

the

pride,

it.

The

rocked by

the passions, that had been

the

ambition, that had been

by

his

balmy

impetuosity,

the

soothed into

still-

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

136

ness by his soft-t;oned melodies

and abroad again.

The

seemed a tame dream

and the

dull

were awake
two

months

the small

lodging

last

became insupportable

street

the japanned tea-board and the scanty tablecloth

mean

disgustingly

and even Emily's

pink gingham gown, in which he had often

thought she looked so pretty, seemed only

for

But what was

her maid.

The commission, even had

been attainable,

and the curacy,

Jess

desirable.

remained
source

The

former,

might

single,

few

Poverty

hundred

could he go

it

that

move
is,

him

been

he
re-

How

to

it

had not

that he

pounds,

a prison

is

can neither
for

possible,

certainly, if

have

What was

engaged himself

Where

if

and, as the thought struck him, the

profane wish crossed

his

seemed,

attainable,

done?

it

would not mend the matter

which was

to be

fit

he to do with

and

v^fe ?

advance himself?

shuts a

man

in,

the right nor to the

he
left

where discontent and pride

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
dwell with

Indomitable industry, or the

it.

may

strong energy of genius,

and

the prisoner free,

set

He was

neither.

137

burst the bonds,

not without

besides,

it;

his

but he

ability,

wanted purpose and perseverance

use of

had

but Gerald

to

make

were

thoughts

set

upon the golden harvest that awaited him

harvest which

the

another

had sown, and

which he was to reap, he could not

soon

and

all

tell

how

the ordinary methods of attain-

ing wealth appeared

to

him

slow, tedious,

Trade

uncertain, and, in short, insufferable.

of any sort he could not condescend to

and

studying for any profession was out of the

question
deal

too

nay,

his

mind

was

unsettled to think of

Mr. Livingstone persisted

it

a
;

great

and yet

in not dying.

Gerald thought he should like to see him,

and

felt

mind

to

go

to

London,

the purpose of ascertaining

if

what symptoms

of decay he could discover about him.

was an idea

an

object

only for

Here

a something to do

138

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

and the fancy took possession of him more

and more.

In

he resolved to do

fine,

many

advantages were

movement,

it

variety,

of something happening

the possibility

the

for

he was in that state in which people are apt

wiU

to think the sky

less

fall,

or

something not

miraculous occur, to relieve them from

make up

they cannot

difficulties

to put their

own

shoulders to

and not

was the advantage of getting

Emily.

Not

her; but
present
therefore

that

away from

thoughts

and

and

feelings,

no longer a companion

see

to

support them

till

his

was

him
to

go

he could not get a

if

the

to

had determined

something

or

situation,

love

had no communion with

she

London

least,

he had ceased to

so he told her that he

to

minds

their

to

do,

that

might

old gentleman dropt

oif.

Emily sighed over the delusion and the

weakness

but

Gerald's

self-will

and im-

petuosity were not things to be argued

down

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
by

common

Vane and Willoughby expressed

not amend.

great satisfaction

London

him

seated

in

barouche,

de Violane offered

So he went

seemed a

women
foretaste

hereafter

with

four

to

horses,

of the most beautiful and

beside one

fashionable

him

Madame

and

hearing he was going

at

a seat in her carriage.

London

woman,

what she knew she could

she submitted to

to

a wise

and, like

sense,

139

of the

last

season.

It

of the joys that awaited

and, forgetting the embarrass-

ments that entangled him, he became joyous

Madame

and agreeable.

him

whilst

up

take

to

was

he

pleasant,

as

his

as she took care

civility

the

house

as

too

convenient,

to

be

to

to whisper

abroad that he

an immense fortune, he had no

heir to

reason

at her

Thus, he became her guest, and

declined.

was

residence

town, an invitation too

in

well

de Violane pressed

complain of the world's want of

He

was suddenly

pleasui'es

of

the

initiated

fashionable

into

all

life

of

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

140

London, and found

in

short, his

fault,

it

present position had

and that was, that

foundation

was not

it

but upon a quicksand

day that he did not

him.

thoroughly to his taste

built

feel

nothing

rapidity
for

nevertheless,

lodging
led

proportioned to

his

shaking beneath

though

He

means.

groom

he

an

paid

he was,
very

expenses

dress worse than his associates

with a horse and

was not a

or boarding,

into

rock,

too, with rather

for

upon a

there

it

His money melted,

unseemly

had no secure

it

and

one

but

dis-

could not

nor dispense

nor decline paying

his share of expensive parties to

Richmond;

nor refuse to play at cards and

billiards for

high stakes
not, which,

the

same

at

least,

he thought he could

in its consequences,

to

thing.

Thus sped away

three

months;

which time he wrote repeatedly

tell

amounted

during

to Emily, to

her that he hoped the friends he was

amongst would do something

for

him

but

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
was not

this

Even

if

true,

141

he had no such hope.

they had the

means

and

it

not

is

always so easy to do something for people as

the lookers for something believe
if

but, even

much

they had the means, they were

thoughtless,
their

own

and too

much

occupied

amusements,

daily

serious effort about the

their friendship for

to

with

make any

matter.

Nor was

Gerald deep enough to

make them concern themselves about

interests.

that answered
ship,

was a mere holiday

It

all

too

his

liking,

the purposes of gay fellow-

but would bear no wear and tear

and

he had sagacity enough to be quite aware of

this.

But what could he do

This was

the question he daily and nightly asked himself

but,

meantime,

alas

no answer came.

Madame

In the

de Violane broke up her

establishment, and returned to Paris, giving

Gerald a

At

first

warm

invitation to

accompany

her.

he refused, but the temptation was

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

142

some

too great, and, after

sented

hesitation,

he con-

resolving, however, only to stay three

weeks, and then positively to return to Bath,

and

more

try once

to read

and prepare him-

self for orders.

Whilst these events were happening, Emily

kept on her even way, practising the most

economy, and supporting

rigid

as

was

she

Gerald had
his

able,

urged

letters

wanted more.

by her needle;

her

left

to

fifty

though

pounds, and in

him

apply to

But she knew

if

that he

have quite enough to do with

and she

as far

herself,

carefully avoided every

his

all

she

would

money,

expense that

could tend to render the application neces-

Although she supposed that he be-

sary.

lieved

what he asserted with respect

expectations

from

his friends,

to his

she had herself

and she acted

little

hope of

as if

no such promises had ever been made

most wisely

their realization,

-for

a promise

is

like

money

it

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

143

should never be anticipated, never be spent

beforehand, or be counted on

Notwithstanding

hand.

his

all

safe in

till it is

faults,

she

loved Gerald dearly, and she believed that, in

spite

of them,

shown

He had

too.

when he thought he was about

it

lose her

he loved her

and, in the

blush of his great

first

had superseded

fortunes,

it

rations.

After

other conside-

all

could

this,

to

doubt him,

she

because his ambition and the impetuosity of

his nature

him

unfitted

That

obscurity ?

this

in their circumstances,

for

was

so,

of dull

life

was, doubtless,

a serious misfortune

but these are faults of character that do not

In Gerald they were inherent,

cure affection.

and

to quarrel with

himself;

them was

must take

she

and worse, or

reject

him

to quarrel with

him

altogether;

being just twenty, and in love,

descry which counsel

held fast

to

her

must

faith,

better

for

it

prevail.

trusting

is

and,

easy to
So, she

that

time

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

144

would modify,
and

that,

relying

if

not cure, the faults of youth,

when once convinced

on hopes that might never be

common-sense and
to

of the folly of

necessity

make him do something

realized,

would combine

for himself.

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

CHAPTER
"

out

Lauk !"
of one

cried

Rue

Hotel, in the

below, " there he

"

Who ?"

from the

is

said

sofa,

Vll.

Miss Spike,

of the

145

as she looked

windows of Meurice's

St.

Honore

into the court

again, I declare

her mistress,

!"

half rising

where, tired with her morn-

ing's sight-seeing,

she had stretched herself

for a little repose before dinner.

"

ing

The young gentleman

of,

that's

to

that I

have the great

replied Spike.

VOL.

II.

was speak-

fortin',"

LIGHT AND DARKNESS,

146

"Where

he? which

is

is

he?" inquired

Mrs. Graves, starting up suddenly and approaching the window.

" He's just

come

answered

into the hotel,"

" Perhaps he's going to dine at the

Spike.

table dot.''
" I wish

"

What
"

Fd

seen him," said Mrs. Graves.

sort of looking

As handsome
know

white as fish-bones."
"

Where's Miss

He's

handsomer.

whiskers,

as
" I

and teeth as

..

Graves ?"

the

inquired

" Is she drest ?"

lady.

" Yes,
for,

he ?"

young gentleman

as I ever see a

got beautiful dark

is

answered Spike.

wish to see,"

you'd
don't

man

by

ma'am," answered the lady's-maid

" a fortuitous

concatenation

of

cir-

cumstances," the ci-devant Jenny had been

elevated into that distinguished position,

which she remorselessly

inflicted

from

upon other

unfortunate Jennys the scorn she had herself

formerly so

much

resented

" I

have just

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
finished

She's

her.

147

on

got

her

blue

muslin."
"

Ah

much

!"

Mrs. Graves,

replied

better in

*'

Go and

white.

she looks
tell

wear white

her,

Spike,

that I wish

day."

But the entrance of the young lady

her to

herself superseded the necessity of this

to-

em-

bassage.

Miss Graves was evidently a young lady

made up

for sale

to the smallest

span

her waist was contracted

;

she was dressed in the

height of the fashion

she

held her head

very high, and her gait was something be-

tween a wriggle and a

from tight

partly

which arose

and partly from the

consciousness of herself and

her

which she had been persuaded

w^as

and she believed every eye

w^as

perpetual
figiire,

stays,

twist,

ver}'

fine,

fixed

upon her when she moved.

insipidly fair,

eyelashes

She was

with very light hair, and white

her features were heavy, and her

face destitute of expression

but on the credit

L 2

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

148

up

of this exceeding fairness she set

for a

beauty, and her mother was satisfied that she

Of

was one.

doing

accomplished,

was extremely

she

course,

of everything,

little

without having the slightest

genius,

taste,

or feeling for anything.

" Rolinda,"

said

" I

Mrs. Graves,

wish

you had worn your white crape or your pink

gros-de-Naples
better in
''

to-day,

them than

mamma

La,

!"

are a great deal too

d^hote,

you look

much

so

in this blue muslin."

Rolinda,

replied

good

to

wear

" they

at a table-

where one never meets anybody worth

looking at."
" Yes,

my

body, you know.

time

to

What

but you

love,
I

wonder

may meet someif

there would be

change your dress before

o'clock

is it,

dinner.

Spike?"

" It just wants five minutes,

ma'am," an-

swered Spike.
"
will

Oh,

no,

mamma,"

make me

so red.

replied Rolinda, "

You know

if I

it

have

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

am

to dress in a hurry, I

sure to get flushed

and then the dining-room

there's such a
I

all

is

fume from the

go down heated,

I shall

can do to keep

149

my

so

and

hot,

dishes, that if

get crimson.

It's

complexion down

there of a day, by drinking cold water and

eating ice."
" Well, then,

Graves

" but

it's

better not," replied Mrs.

provoking, too, that you

it's

should have just fixed on to-day to wear that

nasty blue muslin."
"

Why, mamma,

young

in it," said the

in

I don't think I look

lady, surveying herself

some anxiety

the glass, with

bad

" do you,

Spike?"
" Lauk, miss, no," answered Spike

just your

mamma's

look better, to
"

Who

is

who had no

my

it,

idear

'*
:

" I never see

it's

you

mind."

mamma

difficulty in

?" inquired Rolinda,

rightly interpreting

her mother's anxiety.

"

Oh,

nobody

particular,"

replied

Mrs.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

150

assumed

with

Graves,

" Just

indifference.

can

my bed-room, Spike, and see if

(Exit Spike
find my vinaigarette.

tell

you who

go

to

you
I'll

is,

it

Rolinda

is

it

the

young

man

Spike said she saw this morning; he

that

is

fortune
I

have your uncle

to

he

is

just

come

Livingstone's

into the hotel,

have no doubt he's going to dine

and

at the

public table."

"

"

Did you

"

No

see

did

him

?" inquired Rolinda.

not," rephed Mrs. Graves

a pity your papa's away, for he could

it's

have

easily

duced

us

recognise
is tall

claimed acquaintance, and intro-

but,

however,

him from Spike's

we

shall

description.

easily

He

and handsome, with dark whiskers and

fine teeth."

"

He

guess that we've heard any-

can't

thing about his prospects, at any rate," observed Rolinda.

" Certainly
*'

and so

far,

not,"
it is,

answered the mother;

perhaps, as well that your

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
papa

is

away to-day

because,

if

151

you should

be struck with each other, there can be no

suspicion of any ulterior motives."
" I

wonder

will leave

him

if it is

Mr. Livingstone

certain

his fortune !"

"Your papa

thinks there

said Rolinda.
is

no doubt of

it,

from what he has heard," answered Mrs.

Graves
in the

" and, though I

am

the last person

world to wish a child of mine to make

a marriage of interest,

body has so good a right

must

say,

that no-

this fortune

to

as

yourself.

If your uncle wasn't a brute, he'd

have

it

left

squandering

to

own nephew,

his

it all

on a stranger

instead of

and then

it

would have been yours, without being obliged

to

any husband at

all."

Here Spike put

in her

dinner-bell

had done ringing

having taken a
the mirror,

head to say that the

last

they

and the

ladies

glance at themselves in

proceeded

down

stairs

Mrs. Graves giving her own cheeks a

little

rub by the way, in order to bring the blood

152

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

into them,

having observed that she looked

somewhat

pale after her morning's fatigue

The dinner-hour

v^as

The male

with Spike.

always a dull time

servants, both of the

house and of the lodgers, were engaged in

and, unless she was lucky

w^aiting at table

enough to

in with

fall

who was

stray English

much

abroad

as

she had nothing in the world to

kill

lady's-maid,
herself,

some
as

the time, but looking out of the window, or

on her mistress's things before the

trying

She was so

looking-glass.
in

this last

that

tion,

entirely

absorbed

occupation, on the day in ques-

she

Miss Graves's

had

last

scarcely

time

new bonnet

to

take

off her head,

before the ladies entered the room, clearly in

a state of less pleasing excitement

had

left

it.

Gerald had dined there, and had

actually sat opposite to Rolinda

taken no notice of her whatever

bility

than they

but he had
an insensi-

which Mrs. Graves attributed wholly

to

the sinister influence of the blue muslin, and

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

own

Rolinda to his

stupidity;

153
she had

for

remarked that he was extremely ahsent, and

appeared

much more engrossed

own

with his

thoughts than with the company he was

She was
be

quite right

and

well he

in.

might

for since

he arrived in Paris, he had been

into

some of the mysteries of the

initiated

Palais Royal

and ha\'ing persuaded himself,

that by adhering strictly to a certain system,

he might win a great deal of money, and

could only lose very

little,

he,

somehow

in the course of verifying the experi-

other,

ment, had contrived to lose pretty nearly

he had
(]uite

and what step

at

was

Another

cast

a loss to determine.

should he

tr\^

it,

what was he

Which way

turn himself?

Here he was

the most fashionable society of

Paris, feted,

back

or should he for-

But, even

do

all

it

swear play for ever?

to

all

to take next he

of the die might certainly bring

again

or

if

he

did,

could he

initiated

into

London and

and caressed, and looked upon

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

154

a millionaire

as

actual possession

in

expectation,

diverged from the truth

pounds

where

Rolinda's to

so far

had report
scarcely

nor did he
that

know

was gone.

It

charms

than

charm a man out of the

recol-

lection of such

The Graves
off;

more when
more

would need

and he had

in his pocket

get

to

in

and many even thought

that he was in possession

five

not

if

powerful

an embarrassment.

much

family were not

and, as nothing

more

is

better

irritating to the

temper than continual disappointment,

more depressing

to the spirits,

ness of hope deferred

and

nor

than the sick-

as the

lives

of

the mother and daughter were passed in a

constant

succession

of such

wonder that they vented

vexations,

no

their mortification

on each other, and were constantly quarrelling.

Theirs

commonly

was

painful

certainly

case

more than

of fortune hunting.

Mr. Graves was Mr. Livingstone's nephew

and

heir-at-law.

During the residence of the

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
former in India, he was
ing a large fortune,

known

155

to be

amass-

and having been the

victim of an early disappointment, he had the

reputation of being a determined celihataire.

The consequence

was,

that

Mr.

Graves

looked upon the large fortune as his own,

and the world in general being of the same

opinion, he enjoyed, in anticipation,

many

of

the advantages or disadvantages, as the case

may
him

Tradesmen gave

be, of the persuasion.

credit; he

better,

at least

othei-wise

woman

procured

access

much

into

higher, society than he could

have aspired to

and he married a

of quality with a fortune of ten thou-

sand pounds, and on this ten thousand pounds

and the reputation of the great fortune that

he was some day to
contrivance and

inherit,

another,

luxuriantly ever since.

he had, by one

managed

It is true

it

to

had long

been aU spent, but that did not signify

lived

on

it

still

he

w^as

a wonderful

noeuvrer, always talked very big,

live

he
ma-

and never

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

156

remained more

than

nine

months

in

one

place.

When

Mr. Livingstone landed

mouth, on his

arrival

at Ports-

from India, he found

Mr. Graves with outstretched arms on the

beach,
latter

had

ready

to

embrace him.

Had

been better acquainted with the

to deal with,

the

man he

he would have known that

nothing could possibly be more injudicious

than

this

proceeding.

Naturally of a sus-

picious disposition, and aware that nobody in

the world had sixpenny worth of disinterested

regard for him, Mr. Livingstone had returned

England with a thorough antipathy

to

heirs expectant,

to

and an inexorable resolution

not to be bored with them, and accordingly

the

empressement of the nephew, which

was extremely

difficult to

suppress,

it

was very

soon requited by the thorough detestation of

the uncle.

For a long time Mr. Graves neither could

nor

would

believe

in

the

alienation.

He

157

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
that

insisted

manner

was only Mr. Livingstone's

it

and when he found the door shut

against himself,

he forced in his wife and

daughter, who, by their injudicious efforts to

win the

man's

old

mischief; and

Mr.

Pilrig's

it

heart,

was not

till

completed

the

he wormed out

strange disclosure in the stage-

coach, that he

disappointment

was

actually convinced of the

From

him.

awaiting

that

moment, the constant study of both himself

and

had been

his wife

to keep the world in

ignorance of this fatal secret, and to get their

daughter well married on the strength of her

great

expectations,

discovered.

When

the

But with respect

enterprise, they
ful.

before

to

the latter

had hitherto been unsuccess-

suitors

came

to close inquiries,

they found the fortune was too

much

en Fair

to satisfy their tender affections for the

yeux of the young

after

another

was

truth

fell

lady's cassette
off,

just

as

beaux

and
they

supposed to be coming to the point.

one
were

And

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

158

were

matters

yet

more and more

getting

urgent, resources were wearing out, creditors

becoming
It

stale.

was

when,

growing

excuses

in this crisis of affairs that the

met Gerald

ladies

and

pressing,

at the

after a couple

Graves returned,

table- d! hot e

and

of days' absence, Mr.

he

was immediately

in-

formed of the rencontre.

"

We

must get acquainted with him,

events," said he

may come

of

" there

is

no

telling

his resorts in the Palais Royal,

the

find

from

to carry

at

one of

and found no

his acquaintance.
at his wits'

Indeed,

end

for

on the war, was too happy

to

himself courted by a gentleman who,

his conversation in

satisfied

Not

making

young man, who was

means

what

it."

So Mr. Graves waylaid Gerald

difficulty in

at all

must be

that he

had

man

the coach, he

felt

of immense fortune.

recollected his features,

Mr. Graves reminded him of

their

till

former

rencontre^ and then they shook hands very

159

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
cordially

dine with

and Mr. Graves invited Gerald

him

to

at Meurice's.

Rollnda wore her pink gros-de-Naples, and

her pale hair was

innumerable

teased into

small ringlets, with about half-a-dozen hairs

Gerald thought he had never seen

in each.

anything

less

ensemble

attractive than the

but he wanted friends and upholders at the

moment

too

much,

to

be

otherwise

His

extremely gallant and empresse.

had

friends

Paris

left

consumptive state of
his

accompanying

his

England

and he

felt

fine

the

funds had prevented

and

them,

easier to live there

but

Italy,

the

He

kept him in Paris.

difficulty

was

for

than

same

ftmcied

it

upon nothing than

in

a mixture of

shame and

remorse that made him dread the sight of

Emily.
folly

He

w^as

fully

and of her good

sensible of
sense,

wished he had had resolution

to her counsels,
far as

though he

ever from being

his

own

and ardently

to act according

felt

himself just as

able to do

so,

and

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

160

excused himself by the persuasion that

now

too

Then,

late.

loved her

still,

was

he

it

although

fully sensible of

was

really

what an

make him, and

admirable wife she would

could not bear the thoughts of seeing her in

the arms of another, he was so disgusted at
the selfishness and cruelty that had induced

him

to

break

off

match

her

Weston, when he had no support

himself, that he

had

for

even to write to her.

Mr.

with

to offer her

some time ceased

" It's better that she

should forget me," he said to himself; but he

did

not

thought

think she
so,

would,

and

if

he

had

he would probably have WTitten.

In the meantime, Mr. Graves invited him

frequently to dinner, and initiated

some gambling
useful;

secrets that

him

into

he found very

and, as they were both actuated by

secret motives of interest, unsuspected

other, they soon

became great

friends.

by the

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

CHAPTER
"

Here, Emily, look

161

VIII.

at

this,"

said

old

Miss Gage, to her young inmate one day.

"

saw

this

paper at Baxter's shop, and

asked them to lend

is

something in

it

it

that

me

for I think there

would

suit you.

You

were saying the other day that you wished

you could get a situation as companion, and

here

is

and

an advertisement for the very thing

am

sure

it

must be something of

superior kind, for applications are to be

to

Wright and

London
VOL.

Miller,

and that

is

firm."
JI.

made

a first-rate

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

162

" I have heard Gerald speak of them," said

" Charles

Emily.

schoolfellows,

" Yes,"
father

Miller

was one of

and they were great friends."

answered Miss Gage

my

and

"

brother were intimate

and his

'Wanted,

companion to an

as

their

all

Hear what the advertisement

lives.

his

says

gen-

elderly

tleman and lady, a young lady of education

and respectability

and cheerful

"I am

she must be well-tempered

"
'

sure

am

not cheerful," inter-

rupted Emily.
" Oh,

but

you are

answered Miss Gage

so just

now

cheerful,

"

and your

enough when you

are

naturally,"

though you are not

spirits will return fast

out

of

your

trou-

bles."

"

When

will that

be ?" asked Emily, with

a sigh.
" Never while you stay here, Emily, work-

ing

your fingers to the bone for

enough

to

scarcely

keep body and soul together

but

;
;

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
if

163

you were once easy in your circumstances,

you'd soon recover your spirits."

"

You

speak as

circumstances were the

if

only trouble I had, aunt," said Emily.

"

my

Upon my

word,

think they ought to be,

dear," answered

" 1 should

Miss Gage.

be sorry to think you were fretting

man who
yoiu-

has

left

he

whilst

you alone

to struggle with

nearly

a twelvemonth,

for

difficulties

living

is

after a

luxury and idleness

in

and who has not even written

to

you for some

months."
" I

may be

at least allowed

to

grieve that

Gerald should be capable of doing so," replied Emily, with a sigh.

"It
should,

is

a very lamentable

certainly, "

" and, as he

is

right to regret
do.

it

as

Miss

answered

nephew,

have as

you can have

Gage

much

and so

But the contempt such conduct deserves

ought to come

He

my

thing that he

to

your

has pursued his

aid, as it

own

does to mine.

inclinations, without

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

164

the least regard to your claims on his

tion,

and as he has sowed he must

should

think

reap.

arrant baseness in you to

it

him

continue to love

affec-

the neglect with

after

which he has treated you."

" I dare say

it

Emily

is," said

not so easy as those

who have

*'
;

but

it

is

never tried

may

think, to cure oneself of loving a person

that

has long been dear to us, by simply

Time may do

thinking of his unworthiness.

it,

perhaps."
"

And

give

to

should get free as

lonely, hopeless,

"

The

time a

fair

you

soon as possible of this

melancholy sort of

of a companion

life

chance,

life."

probably,

will,

be just as dull," said Emily.

" It will not be so laborious, at any rate,"

answered Miss Gage.

me

Now

do, Emily, let

answer the advertisement.

know Mr.

my

"

Miller myself, but

brother's

listen to

my

sake, he will

am

do not
sure,

for

be disposed to

recommendation."

165

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
And,

some

after

persuasion,

Emily having

consented to the proposal, the letter was sent

and, in due time, an answer arrived, request-

ing

of the

appearance

the

young lady

in

London.
" I

am

very

Mr. Miller

diately," said

coming

are

mercy

to

you wrote so imme-

glad

in thick

and

" for the candidates

fast

although, in

foreseeing the pressure

ourselves,

would ensue, we only

that

said

'

a liberal

salary will be given,' instead of saying, as

were

directed,

suited,

that

is

that,

'provided

terms would be no
really the case

if

person

However,

object.'

and,

the

we

your young

protegee, who, from your description, appears

eminently

fitted for

the situation, can reconshe may,

cile herself to

the confinement,

think, find

botli very profitable

it

and very

comfortable."
"

that

There now, Emily,

I

insisted

on writing.

am

quite delighted

You must

set off

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

166

to-morrow morning; and

least

wonder

if this is

should not the

to be

a turn in your

fortune."
" I
it

wonder what Gerald would think of

?" said Emily.

"I'm

sure

that

is

of very

quence," answered Miss

little

conse-

" Go,

Gage.

and

pack up your things, and think no more of

Gerald, I entreat."

Emily observed the

not the second

first

injunction,

and, in due time, she pre-

sented herself at Mr. Miller's,

compliment to the
requested

home,

till

she

other

would make

you and the

admirably,"

my

man

than I think him,

client

in

his

house her

situation

said

wiU

suit

" I

am

he.

must be a more unreasonable

although you

tricities to

had,

of his old friend,

sister

sure

and,

who

the aifair was settled.

" I think

each

though

if

he be not pleased

may have some

put up with, and

may be

eccen-

required

"

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
more than you

167
you

will

meet with a great deal of kindness, and

will

to read out loud

live in the

"What

midst of luxury."
the gentleman's name," inquired

is

Emily, " and

Why,

"

he

tell;

how

his

is

old

are not permitted to

so afraid of being troubled with

not be agreeable,

"

he ?"

is

name we

direct applications

With

from quarters that would

if

the thing became public.

respect to his age, he

But that

is

Oh,

Miller,

" everything

respectable

become very deaf

deal,

"

is

objected

afraid

interrupted

Mr.

wiU be quite correct

own

lives

woman,

suit

very deaf ?

with him, an

but

deafer than he

and that does not

Then he

am

nothing,"

fear

female relation of his

elderly

is sixty-five."

not so very old,"

Emily, with some alarm, "

"

like,

she
is

has

a great

him."

They

are both

deaf?" inquired Emily, in some alarm.

" He'll hear

what you say very

well," said

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

168
Mr.
he

He

Miller, " never fear.

can hear what

likes."

Emily had great misgivings

she should not like

at

it

all,

she thought

and regretted

her journey to London, which had cost as

much

would have maintained her

as

fortnight

for

hut Mr. Miller was so kind that

she forebore to enforce her objections, and

him

consented to accompany

man

on

the

following

perhaps our readers

will

to the gentle-

morning

whom

have already guessed

was no other than Mr. Livingstone.

Nicky's

hearing had become so imperfect as to render

her unfit for her

office

somebody

wanted

young man, he

to

of interpreter, and he
fill

her situation.

affirmed, he could

confidence in

he would be

not stupid,

and would not

prosy

life;

and

either

man

wild, if

have no

he were

like the

woman

or

quiet,

that

was not

young would not be

pliable

submit to his ways and notions.

to

sufficiently

169

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
he argued

Besides,

men more

that

easily

found employment, and that there were

whom

reduced gentlewomen to

would be a godsend
"if I

he,

said

the situation

"for you know, Miller,"

she shall not be

her,

like

turned destitute into the world

I

want somebody

shall

and

I die.

I will provide for her."

with

when

lawyer

the

alacrity

gallantry

he
as

young

but

was

and
he

sitting, as usual,

before

him,

protegee

were

papers

of Indian

file

announced

his

when

to take care of Nicky,

Old Mr. Livingstone was

the

many

his

with

arose

master

of,

and

all

as

the

much

he could assume, when he saw

lady.

spectacles,

In doing

this,

he dropt

and Emily, with the

natiu-al

deference for age of well-bred young people,

stept hastily forward,

and picked them up

for him.

"

Thank

you,

my

dear,"

her hand for a moment,

he
as

said,

holding

he took them

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

170
from
"

her, in order to get

Thank

you,"

hand

tokening that the

had been

he again, more warmly,

said

and shaking the

be-

of the inspection

" Sit down,

Well, what do you say

Do you

down.

sit

think you

humours of a gouty

could put up with the

" I dare

manner

in

result

satisfactory.

old Indian like

time to look at her.

me ?"
could,

say I

Emily,

said

sir,"

blushing.

"

At

least,

Mr.

said

whether

you are disposed to

" I

Livingstone.

am much

eh ?"

try,

don't

know

my

neigh-

worse than

bours," continued he, " but I

know

and India make one

arbitrary,

Don't

impatient.

selfish,

Nicky?"

they,

long habit of appealing

forget she

was

her

for

and
the

made him

deaf.

"

What is

"

Mr. Livingstone

being

to

that age

it?" inquired Nicky.

selfish,

is

accusing himself of

arbitrary,

and

impatient,"

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
said

Mr.

who

Miller,

was

171
beside

sitting

her.

"

Oh, yes

that's true

enough," answered

Nicky.
"

You

not

Emily,

!"

hear

Mr. Livingstone

the

said
least

Nicky's

by

offended

to

sincerity,

which, indeed, was one of her prime

qualities

in

his

"

eyes.

Does

not

that

frighten you ?"

"
in

There are

all

is

considered

true,

indeed.

true,

" even

not exempt from them."

"That's very
" very

be encountered

answered Emily

situations,"

independence

to

difficulties

my

not

said

were

that

If

would

there

dear,"

be

so

he;

better

many

discontented people as there are in the world.

However,
thing in

it

life

up with two

is

not

for

exactly

the

pleasantest

young woman

old deaf people

am

to be shut

very well

aware of that."
"

But

necessity

subjects

people to

greater evils," observed Emily.

much

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

17*2

my

" Well,

dear,

must endeavour
your while as

Mr.

to

all

make

I can,

Livingstone;

to

can say

it

much worth

as

bear with me," said

and,

some further

after

the subject

conversation, in which, however,

of salary was

terminated,

Emily

in

not touched upon,

and Mr.

the

visit

having placed

Miller,

his carriage,

that I

is,

returned

hold

to

private conference with the old gentleman.

"

Her name

is

Bering," said he

" she

is

orphan daughter of a Colonel Bering

the

and was recommended

to

me

a very old friend of yours

by the

sister of

and mine. Miss

Gage, of Bath."

This communication led to further inquiries

set

and the information

Mr.

naturally

she

is

elicited

Livingstone

a-thinking.

suspicious;

probably,

seemed

He

to

was

thought he,

acquainted with that young fellow, old

Gerald's son.

Who

a plot to bring

him about me

knows but
?

may

this

be

and the idea

took such strong hold of him, that,

much

as

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
he had Uked Emily, he

felt

173

greatly inclined

commu-

not wishing to

to reject her; but,

Mr.

nicate his real reason to

Miller,

he

dis-

missed him, saying he should hear from him

next day.

In

his business

finished

turned

meantime,

the

home

the
for

dinner;

to

lawyer,

having

morning,

the

re-

ha\ing con-

and,

gratulated Emily on the favourable impression

he saw she had made, and on the high salary

she was to receive

annum
client,

he

asked

and

if

encounter the
" I like

"

Emily.

no

less

were

difficulties

him very

300

per

she

liked

his

how

her

she

than

fuUy

to

he had dwelt upon

well indeed," answered

should think his

prepared

was a very

bearable sort of temper, in spite of the faults

he owns to

and

am

sure there

deal of real goodness behind

is

his

name ?

suppose I

it.

may

is

a great

But, what
learn that

now."
" His

name

is

Livingstone," replied Mr.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS

174
"

Miller.

He

the rich Obiah Livingstone

is

perhaps you have heard

richest

commoners

him

of

the

in

one

country,

of the

sup-

pose."

" Indeed
"

!"

said Emily, looking aghast.

Why, what

is

Why

the matter ?

do

you look so surprised ?" asked Mr. Miller.

"

How

unfortunate

who saw

!"

exclaimed

again from ease

herself plunged

and affluence into

all

for she felt that

there

indelicacy

in

Emily,

her existing

difficulties

would be a

accepting

the

sort of

and

situation,

placing herself in such an intimate relation

with Mr.

knew

besides

suspicions she

"

Why

she saw

at

might subject

once

to

what

herself.

unfortunate ?" inquired Mr. Miller.

" Because,"
private

knowing what she

Livingstone,

reasons

rephed Emily,

why

cannot

*'

there

are

accept

the

situation."

Mr. Miller expostulated with her

found

it

quite

impossible

but he

to influence

her

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
determination, or to

She even wished

the motive of

elicit

but to this he

rested

in her to consent;

her

it.

return immediately to

to

Bath;

convey

175

decision

felt

to

much

too

inte-

he promised to

Mr.

Livingstone,

which he did by a note on the same evening

but he entreated her to remain at his

house, for a

week

or two, tiU he sought out

something that might

that he

was

and seeing

sincere in his offers

of service,

suit her

she accepted his invitation and good

Mr. Livingstone
and

displeasure,

felt

a mixture of pleasure

when he learnt that Emily had

declined the situation.

more

He was sorry to lose her,

especially as his suspicions

were entirely

removed by the circumstance;

same

offices.

but,

at

the

time, he felt a certain disinclination to

have anybody connected with the Gage family

about him, after what had happened.

The

cause of her refusal he never suspected, as

Emily had forbidden

Mr. Miller

whence the objection had

arisen

to

and

hint
as the

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

176
most

desirable

candidate soon supplied her

no more was thought of the matter in

place,

Portland Place.

In the meantime, Emily remained at the

lawyer's.

her

He

indeed, he

found

had

had

His wife was an invalid

no situation

scarcely sought

for

one.

and as they had no

daughter, she found Emily's society so agreeable,

that after a short time, they proposed

her remaining there altogether, on a salary of

one hundred pounds per annum. She accepted

the proposal, and the arrangement suited
parties

extremely

Miller,

Gerald's friend,

well,

till

all

young Charles

When

came home.

he heard who she was, he was extremely sur-

and

prised to find her there

when he found she could

give

more

still

him no

so,

intelli-

gence of Gerald; for he was the confidant of

the latter, and had long been aware of the

engagement, which
father.
it

" It

is

he

mentioned

very odd," he said

must be broken

off."

to

his

" surely

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
It

177

was natural he should think

equally natural that, living under the

roof,

and

daily sitting at the

attractive a person

so

as

same

table with

his friend

But, doubtful of the actual

in her affections.

which the lovers stood, he

felt it

point of honour not to advance his suit

though he did not

by such

little

same

Emily, he should

become very desirous of succeeding

relation in

and

so,

fail to

so,

recommend himself

attentions as the circumstances

of the case warranted, he said nothing, but

bided his time, waiting to see

if

Gerald would

But no Gerald came

reappear.

and as he

had generally an opportunity of seeing the

letters that

were

on the haU-table, he was

laid

pretty sure that she received none

So,
tion,

on the strength of
he

warmth

ventured
into

his

to

refusal.

VOL.

Emily
II.

this apparent aliena-

throw

attentions,

declared his suit, but

it

from him.

and

little

more

at length

was met by a gentle

really felt grateful, for

Charles

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

178
Miller

was the son of a prosperous lawyer,

and she saw how

affection

and

was

added to

disinterested

entirely

his

he was amiable

this,

and she liked him exceedingly

clever,

but she had not yet torn the image of Gerald

from her

certainly the
for

Perhaps

heart.

it

was

fainter

pangs that his disaffection had

some time caused were much

nant

and

but the

memory

poig-

less

of his love was

still

dear to her, and she sometimes flattered her-

he might not be so

self that

Besides, even

as he appeared.
free,

much

she would have

felt

to

blame

had she been

an unjustifiable

it

thing to take advantage of her situation, by

allowing the son

house to form an

of the

engagement that would, doubtless, be

pleasing to

his

parents.

that these considerations

might have obliged

but,

on her

home, and

su re-

her to quit Mr. Miller's family

refusal,

Charles again

lieved her

from

this

little

She even feared

'

left

difficulty.

But he did

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

179

not go without disclosing the secret of his

attachment and rejection

whom

to

his

father, in

he had entire confidence.

Mr.

Miller,

although he would not have

vehemently opposed the match, was very well

with the result

satisfied

and one day, when

Mr. Baring was inquiring what had become

of Miss Bering,
stance

he

him

told

the circum-

accounting for her declining his son's

by mentioning her engagement

proposal,

to

the son of their mutual old friend and schoolfellow,

Mr. Gage.

inquiries

and,

at

This led to some further

length,

Mr. Miller was

induced to ask Mr. Livingstone,

in

if

he could

any way account for her having declined

so advantageous a situation as the one he had

offered her.

"

She was frightened

at

my

bronzed visage, or at our deafness,

replied

stern,
I

old,

suppose,"

Mr. Livingstone.

" That was certainly not the motive of her

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

180

refusal," replied

she liked

Mr. Miller

and

you,

" on the contrary,

expressed

you proposed,

grateful for the liberal salary

and much obliged

to

me

herself very

my

for

recom-

mendation."
"

my name?"

Did she know

inquired

Mr. Livingstone.
"

when

Not

Mr. Miller

here,"

replied

" but, in the evening, thinking

matter

the

came

she

settled,

told

her

who you

were."
"

And

then she

"

She

did,"

thought
there

answered

now

that,

was no

made no

objection ?"

the

lawyer,

who

the transaction was over,

necessity for

making

a secret of

the matter.

Mr. Livingstone comprehended the

in a

moment.

her about the

He
will,

affair

saw that Gerald had told

and that she had declined

the situation from the most delicate motives.

To

man

of his character, nothing she could

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

181

have done could have recommended her so

The

powerfully to his good opinion.

of his

result

experience had been so unfortunate,

that he scarcely believed in the existence of

and

disinterestedness

money was

lofty

He

concerned.

motives,

where

resolved to cul-

and bade Mr. Miller

tivate her acquaintance,

bring her, with his wife, to dine with him.

The

halo of brightness with which her dig-

nified proceeding

surrounded her in his ima-

He

gination even extended to Gerald.

sidered that surely the
that

man must

be worthy

was loved by such a woman

remembered that
to punish

Gerald

him

it

for

could not

con-

and he

was a very unjust thing

Mr.
help

Pilrig's indiscretion.
it,

and

it

did

not

appear that he had taken any advantage of

the information, even though

must be very

poor, or he

it

was

clear

would not leave

intended wife in such necessity.

he
his

So he de-

termined to reconstruct a will in his favour,

of course not employing the babbling Pilrig,

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

182

but a stranger

same reason

avoiding Mr. Miller for the

as formerly,

macy between young

being

still

namely, the

Miller

and

inti-

Gerald;

determined that the secret should

not be disclosed

till

his

own

time.

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

CHAPTER
Tbe

183

IX.

day that the projected dinner

very

took place at Mr. Livingstone's, Gerald was

married

went

to

man

Miss Graves,

in

Paris.

to the altar less willingly.

never loved Emily so much,

Never

He

had

nor had been

ever so sensible of the value of what he was

resigning,

and the worthlessness of what he

was accepting
that he swore

in exchange, as at the
to love, honour,

Rolinda Graves.

He

disliked

moment

and cherish
her person,

despised her intellect, and abhorred her cha-

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

184

He knew

racter.

very well

why

she married

him, so that his disgust was not even tempered by the solace of self-love

and he very

when he handed her

honestly thought,

into

the carriage, after the ceremony, that he had

much
post

better have

than

woman

hanged himself

to a bed-

have tied himself for ever to a

Why

he hated.

did he do

Because he was proud and

purpose, and

weak

in

idle,

difficulties,

then ?

infirm

He

principle.

neither endure poverty nor labour

involved himself in

it,

of

could

he had

by entering

into the society of those he could not afford

to live

amongst

he was too proud to confess

himself penniless, and too weak to disentangle

himself,

and kick away the trammels that

compassed him about.

to

sold himself

misery for wealth and splendour.

where were they

imagination.
it

So he

was

nowhere but

But

this

in his

He

own

he did not yet know

a truth that gradually opened

after his marriage.

But

upon him

then discovered that

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
Mr. Graves was

man living upon

much more

like himself, only so

practised in

8o

expedients,
fertile

and

them than he was.

Before Mr. Graves consented to the match,

had taken care

he

Pilrig that there

will.

As

from Mr.

ascertain

to

had been no

alteration in the

things had turned out, he regretted

exceedingly the communication he had

made

which might have had conse-

to his uncle,

quences very adverse to his present plans

but he was relieved by Mr.

that

all

was

safe.

In

Pih'ig's assurance

reality,

nothing about the matter

Mr.

Pilrig

and, having never

been employed by Mr. Livingstone

had very
subject.

considerable

But

it

knew

misgivings

since,

he

on

the

neither suited his pride nor

his interest to say so.

Mr. Graves went back

to Paris

satisfied,

and now that the marriage was accomphshed,

he hinted to Gerald that there could be no
difficulty

in

the fears of

extracting

little

money from

the indiscreet lawyer.

Gerald

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

186
represented

how much

in doing so before

down wholly

such transactions
starting for

want of cash
Gerald,

from

want of experience

and determined on

London immediately,

made

could be

but Mr. Graves set that

his

to

of

to

it

wife,

in

their

to see

what

attributing his

own

some temporary

however, soon

his

he had had

difficulty

extracted

and saw that

accidents.

the

truth

he had been

duped, or had rather duped himself; but he

was

so thoroughly conscious of deserving

that he hardly felt he

and, as he

had a right

had nothing

to

to

it,

complain

depend upon but

the manoeuvres and expedients of his fatherin-law, he

could not afford to quarrel with

him.

Mr.

Pilrig

large estates

Mr.

him.
culties,

was annoyed

coming

to

at this

man

of

borrow money from

Graves pleaded temporary

diffi-

and the money was lent and spent

then came another application, and another

and

refusals

were met by

threats.

The

little

187

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

He

lawyer was at his wits' end.

rich,

and was only now getting

of business

able line

was not

into a profit-

whilst his

purse was

being drained by these exactions at one end

as

as fast

it

filled at

But then

the other.

his professional reputation

was

and

at stake,

his fears being stronger than his understanding,

he

some time weakly

for

yielded to

menaces, that, had he had more fortitude, he

Better

would have defied in the beginning.

far is

to

it

face the

can do us than

succumbing

sell

utmost

evil

our enemy

ourselves to slavery by

to his threats.

" I don't see,

Gerald," said Mr. Graves,

one day, to his son-in-law, "

why you

not try what could be done with

Livingstone.

You

were great friends

Then

selfish

to

make

my

uncle

say he and your father

that

is

a claim in

and suspicious

as he is

not Hkely that he would wish the

means

should

itself.

it

man

is

he

his heir should die of starva-

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

]88

tion before he

make an

not

" Because

thing by

what

it,"

comes

him

application to

am

?"

of risking

afraid

"

answered Gerald.

Pilrig told us;

Why

to the fortune.

every-

You know

you know he

besides,

hates you, because you are his natural heir."

" Ay, that's very true

my

cards well.

now
to

making no
your

shall

You

work.

know

go a very

and asking

you

way

letter,

something

to do

on the strength of

situation to aid you.

you must own

to

Then,

his

if

being the

father

in

man was

will,

drunk,

and that you never believed a word of

is

to

he sees you,

he asks you about Pilrig and the

thing

for

having been imprudent;

say that you thought the

The

for the smallest

only surviving friend of your

if

man

different

him

shall write

assistance, to enable

and

the

allusion to the will, but describing

difficulties,

yourself,

but I did not play

did not

You

I do.

get

about

him,

it.

without

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
awakening
his

attachments

youth

is

as strong in

is

virulent

in

his

in love with a girl in his

she died, and he never got over

and although Nicky

it

the most insufferable

is

his kindness to her has been un-

of bores,

varying

he

as

He was

hatreds.

He

his distrust.

189

doubt, she has an

and, I have no

ample provision
him.

survives

for

her

life,

in

case

Yes, Gerald, I think

she
see

our way clearly through this business (Mr.

Graves w^as very sanguine)

if

you play your

Come,

cards well, the game's your own.

us draw up the

Gerald thought the

too,

and consented

though with much

Mr. Graves,
anything

let

letter."

to
less

who was

plan might succeed

make

the experiment,

animated hopes than

never depressed

but, having no principle

at

and very

little feeling,

pushed on, boasting and lying

through

always hoping the next turn of

life,

the die would

make

his fortune.

Gerald, on

the contrary, had both principle and feeling,

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

190

but they were weak and unstable, and they

had succumbed

in the struggle with his idle-

ness, his selfishness,

and

his ill-directed pride.

But, though not strong enough to govern,

they were strong enough to gall him,
that he

had violated

their laws

helped to

make him

disgusted

both

position.

Added

and

conduct

his

which,

to

his pride

ashamed and

heartily

with

now

there

and

his

was the

wife that he hated for ever at his side

not

the less hateful that, since their marriage, she

He

had grown fond of him.

have

said,

handsome and

indifference

and

clever,

as

we

his civil

had piqued her into liking him.

However, he wrote the

Mr. Graves's

came an

was,

advice,

letter

according to

and in due time there

invitation to

call

at

an appointed

hour.
" Don't say you are married, Gerald," said

Mr. Graves.

"He

might be very
Sink the wife."

hates me, and the effect

prejudicial

to

your interests

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
Gerald wished he could
along, on his

way

191

and

he went

as

to Portland Place,

upon

own

he very

naturally

reflected

this step

were to be taken, why had he not

taken

who, instead of being

was so

fortunes,

was

that he

How
that

far

advance his

likely to

an impediment to them,

positively

conceal

to

his

advised by her

own

connexion with

her.

he cursed his madness and extravagance

had brought him

In short, he
that he

felt

him

directed

Livingstone's

enough

into such a dilemma.

so wretched

had no occasion

of a distressed
to

man,

Mr.

when he

do,

library

in reality for

make up

to

as

and despairing,

all

he

the face

Graves had
entered

was

indeed, kindly;
his father,

own

first

purposes.

asked him

and then gradually

situation.

imprudence.

Mr.

distressed

Mr. Livingstone received him very

his

If

folly.

before he tied himself to Rolinda?

it

father

his

much

fell

well

about

to speak of

Gerald owned to great

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

192
" It

was

my

misfortune,

Church, for which

ought

my

father designed me.

my

have overcome

to

not to like the

sir,

objection, for

was the only hope he had of providing

me

to get into

but, trusting

some

situation

neglected
died, I

my

more congenial
studies

the

to

my

and when

it

for

army or
tastes, I

my

father

had no longer the means of remain-

ing at College."
"

have you been doing since ?"

And what

'nquired

Mr. Livingstone.

" Partly living on the

money

little

by the sale of by father's furniture,

also a few College friends
their houses,

and

I staid

them longer than

who

sir

invited

got

had

me

to

hanging about upon

should, in hopes that as

they were well connected, they might have

done something
"

Bad look

" but

for

me."

out,"

what would you

said

Mr. Livingstone

like to

do

now

?"

" Anything," replied Gerald, " that I

for."

am

fit

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
"

And what

are you

193

for ?" inquired

fit

Mr.

Livingstone.

"I always wished

go into the army,

answered Gerald.

sir/'

"

to

You

are too old," responded

"

stone.

"

"

What

Can you

Mr. Living-

think of nothing else ?"

situation, sir,"

suggested Gerald.

do you say to a wife ?" said Mr.

Livingstone, with a sort of

comic abrupt-

ness.

"

wife, sir ?"

afraid a wife

my
"

answered Gerald.

would be more

difficulties

likely to

" I

am

augment

than relieve them."

But what

if

she were an heiress ?" said

the old gentleman.

"Money,
acceptable

to

replied Gerald

sir

of course,

sir,

a person

my

without

affection"

II.

and,

he stopped, from mere shame

and conscious degradation.

VOL.

situation,"

" but a marriage of interest,

marriage

after hesitating,

in

would be very

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

194
"

Oh,"

should

Why

it

Mr. Livingstone, " but why

said

be a marriage without affection?

should

because she

is

woman want

an heiress

attractions

Surely, she

may

be as beautiful, amiable, and accomplished, as

if

she were the daughter of a poor curate or

a half-pay officer."

Gerald blushed at the

brought Emily

last

mind

to his

words, for they

but at the same

time they suggested a ready excuse, and he

hinted something about his affections being

engaged.
"
plied

hear

Oh, that

the case, certainly," re-

Mr. Livingstone
it,

because

The young
a

alters

it

" and I

puts an end to

will

my

plan.
is

be one of the richest

heiresses in the country.

She

is,

moreover,

both in person and mind, and the

man who
fellow,

sorry to

lady I meant to propose to you

ward of mine, and

lovely,

am

gets her wiU be a very fortunate

assure

you.

Come, think twice

195

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
before

you say

no.

attachment, and

am

certain she has

my

to

no

recom-

will

listen

sir,"

answered Gerald, with

mendation."
" It cannot be,

a sigh of deep regret.

" It

some

is

may

true, I

sort

be able to procure you

of situation in the India House,

but the candidates

vancement

You

slow.

numerous, and ad-

are

probably have a

will

good deal of confinement

at

the desk, and

small emoluments for several years; whilst

the alternative

a large fortune and a lovely

is

wife."

But Gerald

was

firm,

of

course

muttered the words, " honour and

he

affection,

and engagement of several years," blushed

and stammered,

cursed

his

own

folly

precipitance, not forgetting his wife

whom

parents,

the devil

no

would

free,

so he

and her

he consigned energetically to

but he was fast bound

getting

and

kick and

was obliged

to

there

struggle

make
o 2

as

was
he

a virtue of

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

196
necessity,

and take

credit

with Mr. Living-

stone for the most inexorable

The

fidelity.

old gentleman shook his head, said he

would

see if he could do anything for him, but that

he feared that he might

pertinacity

and

finally

live to

regret his

him

desired

to

return at nine o'clock on the evening of the

eighth day,

when he would

acquaint

him with

the

result

"

the bye," said he, as Gerald was quitting

By

the room,

of his

*'

exertions in

his

favour.

has the lady you are engaged to

any money ?"

" None, sir," replied Gerald

" none what-

ever."

On

the

same afternoon, a

solicitor

was

sent for, and directions given for the intended

will,

which was duly prepared and signed by

the day appointed for Gerald's

tions were also sent to

and Emily,

visit.

Invita-

Mr. and Mrs. Miller

to take tea in Portland Place

that evening at eight o'clock

on

and the party

were already assembled in the drawing-room.

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

when Gerald knocked

according

to

was shown

company

at the door below, and,

Mr. Livingstone's

into

him

directions,

Begging

his

for a short time,

the

the library.

to excuse

197

old gentleman descended the stairs in better

and a more agreeable frame of mind

spirits,

than

he

could

remember

himself in for the

last

have

to

thirty

testing

entirely

satisfactory

the

he had

the

terestedness of his intended heir, in a

so

The

years.

whole thing had turned up so neatly

had an opportunity of

found

disin-

manner

young people

pleased him, and he had found an occasion of

emphatically rewarding constancy and aifection

early

sentiments with which, from his

disappointment,

sympathy
he was

own

he had an exceeding

but of whose frequent existence

extremely

sceptical.

He

chuckled

with pleasure as he entered the room.

" Well, young man," said he, " I hope you

have thought better of

this business

say the truth, I fear

will

it

for,

to

be impossible to

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

198

meet with a

you

situation that

will not find

very objectionable."

"

Of what

"

Of my

this

business, sir?" asked Gerald.

proposal.

moment

The young

in the house,

lady

you are not wholly unknown

it

preference for

appears
Indeed,

to her.

have reason to believe that she

entertained a

at

and has expressed

her willingness to accept you, for

is

really

you

for

has

some

time."

Here the images of the various young

beauties

he had danced and

Madame

de Violane's recurred to the mind of

flirted

with at

the mortified Gerald, and he wondered which

of

them
"

Her

it

might

present fortune will be two hundred

thousand pounds

more

be.

hereafter,

something much

considerable."

Gerald's head seemed in a whirl

the past,

the present, the future, darted through his

mind with the

what he

rapidity of an electrical shock

was, what he might have been

199

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
madness

his

stupidity

his

"

his

and

His throat was parched,

luck."

his

tongue clave to the roof of his mouth

that

when Mr. Livingstone

he

an answer,
cannot

cannot

" Well,"

only

herself;" and,

for

" It

out,

Mr. Livingstone, "

to

effort

and that

nation,

so

be."

said

make one

gasp

only

could

him

pressed

ill

shall

shake your determi-

the sight of the lady

is,

before the unfortunate victim

could expostulate, the old gentleman had

left

the room,

Gerald

house
stone,

felt

disposed to rush

out of the

but the dread of offending Mr. Living-

and so losing w^hat appeared

his only

chance of escape from utter destitution, prevented him.

vacantly

So he

upon the

sat,

door,

with his eyes fixed

till

Mr. Livingstone, pushing

in

" There, look at her

if

her,

why

must

try

and

opened,

it

and

Emily, cried:

you don't

and get you

fifty

like

pounds

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

200

a year at the India House, to keep you from

starving."

The door was

shut,

and the young people

were

man

old

in each other's

Emily forgot the neglect

a second.

the wife

forgot

the

young

Gerald was

happiness.

was too much

for

his

in

Emily

he

and covered
felt

how he

and thought how he must have

fered

and she

him

tried to

it

pressed

loved,
;

all

delirium;

brain

in

Gerald

Emily was

her convulsively to his heart,

her face with kisses.

arms

past scenes,

loves,

remembered.

alone

gone,

suf-

calm him, and lead

into conversation, but in vain.

Some time
had passed
door

they

knew not how long

in these wild transports,

again

opened,

when

the

and Mr. Livingstone

entered with parchments and papers in his

hand.

"

Come

of love and

evening

1"

said he, "

you have years

love-making before you

must be mine.

It's

this

long since

201

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.

have made anybody happy, and now that

hope

have done

come up

me

it

stairs to the

sight

the

enjoy

we

however, before

your hand, Gerald

completely,

you must

drawing-room, and
of

my

work.

let

First,

go, I wiU put this deed in

your wife's marriage-

it is

settlement of two hundred thousand pounds

I

have chosen to vest the property in her,

One

rather than in you, for various reasons.

is,

that I

to her

own

know

her better, and

another, that I

confessions,

take care of

it.

am

that she

am

attached

aware, from your

better fitted to

is

But a good husband need

very seldom complain of this sort of arrange-

ment

women

few

make him

feel

Emily Bering

are so ungenerous as to

any difference
will

and

am

not be one of them

sure

1"

Emily turned a sweet smile of assiurance on

Gerald, but his lips were compressed, and his
features ghastly.

"

Come,"

continued

Mr.

" they are waiting tea for us

Livingstone,
let

us go up

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

202

and he gave Emily

stairs ;"

member, Gerald,"

man on

the back

she will be
Silently

my

said he, tapping the

;

"

remember, when

through

young
I

die,

heir."

and mechanically, Gerald followed

to the dra\ving-room,

and Mrs.

" Re-

his arm.

Miller,

shook hands with Mr.

took his

dumb show

the

and

seat,

of the

Everybody was struck with

went

tea-table.

his countenance

and strange demeanour, except Nicky, w^ho

never observed anything.

Mr. Livingstone

thought that this sudden heap of joy

had

He

will

him

crushed

be

for

the

right to-morrow," whispered he to

all

Miller

were not so

easily

satisfied.

former was completely puzzled

attachment

doubt

his

strong

in

passed

below,

might

Mr.

but the lawyer's sagacity, and Emil} 's

affection,

him

"

moment.

be,

her

it

to

conviction,

was sure

he began

Emily

and,

to

but

she,

from what

had

that,

whatever

was not that that was

so strangly;

The

it

affecting

true womanlike,

she

203

THE MONEY-SEEKERS.
felt

woe must be

that any other

So

remediable.

she

smiled on him, gave

tried

to

him

cheer

him sweet loving looks

and when they

took

their

handed her

into

Mr.

Miller's

pressed

hand

his

and

light

tenderly,

he

and

leave,

carriage,

she

and bade him

" see her to-morrow."

Gerald went home, knocked at his fatherin-law's door, and,

for a night

room
put

but,

in

The

and ascended

candlestick,

locked himself

one

brains.

on being admitted, asked

his

in,

to his

loaded his pistols,

mouth, and blew

report brought

out

up the

his

family,

when the door was broken open, he was

dead.

His wife died a few months afterwards,

in

bringing a child into the world, for which

Emily amply
years

had

provided

elapsed,

and

when

some

and her grief and regret

had subsided, she married Charles

Miller.

11.

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

One

of the great grievances under which

the French nation laboured, previous to the

revolution of 1792, was the extreme inequality

with which the law was

The judges were

administered.

too frequently corruptible

the influence of the aristocracy was enormous

and

if

neither of these succeeded in averting

an unpleasant verdict, the King's grace was

ready to come to the rescue, provided
solicited

it

were

by a pretty woman, or that any

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

206

of whatsoever nature, disposed his

interest,

Majesty to a favourable view of the criminal's

case.

The law

therefore became, in too

many

mere instrument of oppression,

instances, a

from which the people had everything to fear

and nothing
used

it

to

hope; whilst the aristocracy

as a convenient veil for their injustice

and exactions.

was

to

remedy these crying

evils

that

the National Assembly established the

trial

who have long

suf-

It

by jury

but as people

fered from one

remedy

extreme are apt to seek a

in the other, they at the

same time

abrogated the right of pardon, enacting the

terrible statute that,

provided

all

the forms of

law had been duly observed in a process, the

verdict of the jury should be irrevocable.

It

was not long before instances occurred which

exhibited the fearful nature of this edict

of these

we

and

are about to relate one of the

most remarkable;
experience

rendered

but
the

so

distrustful

people,

that

had
they

207

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

could never be brought to annul, but only to

Unwillingly, they consented

modify the law.

to restore the royal privilege of

to this

pardon

but

day, in France, not only cannot the

verdict of a jury be reversed, but

criminal to arraign

its justice.

held

is

it

Neither,

when

they pronounce their decision, can they re-

commend

the

criminal to mercy

the

tence once registered must be executed

sen-

but

to avert the fatal consequences of this rigour,

One

they have recourse to two expedients.

is,

that if they entertain a

shadow of doubt

with respect to the guilt of the prisoner, they

give in

a verdict

of

'*

guilty,

This particularity

tenuating circumstances."

wiU account

Madame

for

the verdict in the

with

jurisprudence

in

extenuating
;

case

of

Lafarge, which surprised everybody

unacquainted

public

but with ex-

the

forms

France.

circumstances

of

criminal

There were no
apparent

to

the

but the jury feehng too well assured

of her guilt to acquit her, and yet

not

so

208

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

certain of

it

was right
this

as to feel quite satisfied that

to

take her

had recourse

life,

it

to

mezzotermine.

In

cases, however,

where the evidence has

appeared, at the time of the

clusive

that

has

clause

should any subsequent

omitted,
raise a

saving

this

so

trial,

con-

been

disclosures

doubt in favour of the prisoner, the

Court of Cassation comes to his

aid.

They

take upon themselves to review the proceedings,

and

in

most instances succeed

covering that there

is

some

in dis-

flaw in the indict-

ment, or that some form of law has been

overlooked, which involves a necessity for a

new
be

If neither of these imperfections

trial.

found, however, the

executed,

sentence

must be

even though the judge and jury

were morally convinced of the innocence of

the sufferer.

French jury cannot

err,

nor

can their verdicts be revised.

It

was

in the latter end of the

April, of the year

month

of

1796, that a gentleman of

209

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

the

name

his

family

of Joseph Lesurques arrived with

in

His

Paris.

thirty, his fortune easy,

He had

peached.
credit

served his country with

since his retirement from

filled

character unim-

his

regiment of Auvergne,

the

in

was about

age

respectably

military hfe,

and,

had

emolument

and without

the situation of chef de bureau in his native

He

district.

family,

his

was a man deeply attached

undisturbed

sufficed for all his w^ants,

coming

his object in

un-

His income of seven

seduced by pleasure.

hundred a year

by ambition,

to

and

to reside at Paris for a

few years, was not to plunge into

its gaieties,

but to afford his children those advantages

that the provinces could not supply.

amval of

this family in the

established

themselves

as

On

the

metropolis, they

lodgers

in

the

house of a notary called Monnet, in the Rue

Montmartre
the

arrangements were made for

instruction

Monsieur and
VOL.

II.

of the

Madame

young

people,

and

Lesurques anticipated
p

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

210

much
It

watching their progress.

satisfaction in

will

be

reasonable

views

them

entitled

to

the

worthy persons
happiness

the

all

that

think,

these

of

promised themselves

human

we

admitted,

they

yet so precarious are

hopes and expectations, that Joseph

Lesurques and his family had not been

many

without any fault of

days in Paris before,

own, they were plunged into an ocean

their

of troubles from which no exertions of themor their friends

elves

them

this

day

could ever extricate

an ocean whose waters of sorrow to

embitter

the

bread of their des-

cendants.

There resided

at

that

time

in

gentleman of the name of Guesno

well as Lesurques,

gratified at the arrival of his

when Guesno
friends

he,

as

came from Douai, where

the property of both was situated

new comer was

Paris

and being

townsman, the

scarcely settled in his lodgings

invited

of his, in the

him

Rue

to

meet a few

des Boucheries,

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

211

where he proposed to give a breakfast

in

The immediate

celebration of this reunion.

origin

of this compliment appears to have

been,

that

had

Lesurques

Guesno two thousand

formerly

francs,

latter had repaid the debt he

by the

obligation.

lent

and though the

bound

still felt

The company,

for

some

reason or other, seems to have fallen short of

the

guest

Lesurques

besides

the

since

entertainer's intentions,

was

After they

were assembled, how^ever, a young

the

name

of Couriol

Sieur

the

Richard, the owner of the house.

only

happening to

man

of

call

to

speak to Richard, he was invited to join the

party, which,

it

will

be observed, thus con-

sisted of four persons, all

in

the height

young men, dressed

of the fashion of that time,

which was a fashion more remarkable

extravagance

than

example, ponderous

taste.

They

pig-tails,

w^ore,

for

for

top-boots with

silver spurs, very large eye-glasses, a quantity

of jewellery, and, amongst the

rest,

p 2

two long

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

212

watch-chains dangling from their waistcoat-

As

pockets.

this

costume was de rigueur,

they were necessarily

all

dressed alike.

During the breakfast nothing particular

seems to have occurred except the
Couriol,

who was known

The appearance
to

have been

of this visitor does not seem

altogether prepossessing,

and had a

twenty-five,

only to Richard.

was a weU

he

although

would be commonly

was something in
spired distrust

arrival of

grown

man

of

of features that

set

called

for

handsome, there

countenance that in-

his

and suspicion.

bushy eyebrows, and a

He

had black

pair of dark unsettled

eyes that could not look anybody straight in

In the course of the conversation,

the face.

Lesurques explained the motives of his

moval

to Paris,

might have an
taining

the

re-

and expressed a hope that he

early

present

opportunity of enter-

company

at

his

own

seem

well

table.

"

Your

plans

for

the future

213

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

arranged," observed Couriol, lifting his eyes

from

his plate,

wandered

scarcely

the future
to

him

cerely

ing

from which they had hitherto

Who

" but

who can

foresee

knows what may happen

before to-morrow

morning

wish that your anticipations for enjoy-

peace and happiness in the

your family

may be

realized

you may consider yourself

by fortune,

for,

but

bosom
if

ever secure

his

peculiarly favoured

during the

position

of

they are,

or six

five

last

years, there is not a citizen in France,

who

sin-

how-

may have seemed,

could reckon on the fee simple of

it

for

a week."

This

evil

augury of Couriol's seemed the

more strange and sudden,

moment he had

that

until

that

never opened his Hps, but

had appeared buried

in thought

whilst the

richness of his attire, and his excellent appetite,

had not prepared the company

announcement of

such

for the

desponding views.

After the dJeune\ which lasted about two

214

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

hours,

the

adjourned

party

the

to

Palais

Royal, where having taken a cup of coffee in

the Caveau they separated.

Four days had elapsed since the breakfast

Rue

in the

hour

month which

the

(a

French

consisted in the then

calendar, of half April

at

an early

at

morning of the 8 th Flore al

in the

guard

when

des Boucheries,

and half May), the

Charenton ob-

Barriere de

served four horsemen pass through the gate,

and take the road to Melun.

to

difficult

dition,

the

was not

the animals they

though handsome and in good con-

rode,

jests

that

perceive

It

were on hire

whilst,

from the

that seemed to be circulating

cavaliers,

they

were

lively

amongst

supposed

to

be

leaving the city for a day's diversion in the

country.

closer

observer might perhaps

have discovered some traces of anxiety beneath their smiles and laughter
metallic clang that

and a

slight

was heard now and then,

when their impatient

horses reared or plunged.

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

'2 i

would have suggested the su-p:

carried

This

arms beneath

...cv

L:r._" r:'_:::;g c

:;ts.

humour, however, only extended

giiv

party

three of the

He

of the

rode somewh:ir in the

taking no part in their

others,

His eyes were lixed

conversation.

t:'

fourth seemed of a

the

different temper.

rear

their

.^

This

countenance gloomy.

aiid his

man was Cou-

riol.

The

nllage on the road

and one o'clock

loped

one

be prepared

to

Paste.

They

between twelve

them having

gal-

at

the

Hl:

excellent

appetite.

two of them

called for

with

ate

after their repast

pipes

ot

forward for the purpose of ordering a

luncheon

and

to Mt-lun.

Mongeron.

reached

party

little

and smoked very dehberately

wards three
coffee at a

o'clock,

when having taken

to-

their

neighbouring casino, they mounted

their hoi-ses again

The road

till

and pursued

their journey.

they selected was that which leads

through the

forest

of Senart,

and

as

it

was

216

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

protected from the sun on each side by rows

of elm trees in luxuriant foliage, they allowed
the

drop

reins to

and advanced

on

their

horses'

necks,

at a foot's pace, as if to enjoy

the pleasant shade.

In this manner they reached Lieursaint, a

beautiful village, surrounded at that period

a forest, and

of

Henry

famous

IV.'s

in history as

by

the scene

adventure with the miller;

and here they made a somewhat unusual stay

one of their horses had

lost a shoe,

and the

chain which attached the spur of one of the

riders to his boot

was broken.

This

last,

on

entering the village, stopped at the house of a

woman

whom

called

Chatelain,

a limonadiere, of

he requested a cup of

also for

some strong thread

and asked

to repair his chain

withal,

which she gave him

that he

was not very expert

summoned

coffee,

but observing

at

the job, she

her maid to his assistance, during

which operations they had both of course

ample

leisure to notice his person

and

features.

In

the

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

217

had

ridden

meantime,

the

others

through the village as far as an inn kept by a

man

name

of the

Champeaux, where they

of

alighted and called for wine

that had lost

smith's.

its

whilst the horse

shoe was sent to the black-

They then

all

repaired to the

widow

where they played several games

Chatelain's,
at billiards

after

which, having once more

refreshed themselves with a draught of wine

at

the inn; they

mounted

started in the direction of

horses,

and

Melun, about

half-

their

past eight in the evening.

When Champeaux

returned into the

room

they had just quitted, he found a sabre in

its

sheath, that one of the party

had forgotten.

This he immediately sent

them, but they

were already too

far

on

after

their

taken by the messenger.

afterwards, however,

way

to be over-

In about an horn-

the owner returned in

great haste to reclaim

it

it

was he whose

spur had been repaired at the limonadiere's,

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

218

having hastily tossed

and,

of

a glass

off

brandy, and buckled on his sword, he put his

horse to

its

and rode

speed,

off as rapidly as

he had come.
Precisely at the

same moment, the

courier

bearing the mail from Paris to Lyons drove

into the village of Lieursaint, for the purpose

of changing horses.

It

was

exactly half-past

He was

nine o'clock, and already quite dark.

presently

away

postilion,

galloping

forest

of

those

days

again, with fresh 'horses

The

Senart.

conveyed

and

speed towards the

at full

carriage

the

which in

French

mails

is

described as an elegant, light vehicle, with a

strong box behind for the

within for

two

persons,

letters,

one

and room

place

being

occupied by the courier in charge of the bags,

and the other being

was

willing

to

let

to

pay for

it.

occasion, this place

any traveller who

On

the present

was occupied by a

man, apparently about

thirty years

gentle-

of age.

219

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

who had booked

name

himself under the

of

At about

" Laborde, silk-mercer at Lyons."

two hours' journey from Lieursaint, the road

rises

on

the other side by a very steep ascent, and

up

sinks into a hollow, out of which

the

this

horses,

was slowly walking

postilion

when

there

it

was a

his

rustle in the thicket,

followed by the sudden appearance of four

men, two of

whom

seized the horses' heads,

whilst the other two attacked

and

in a

body

moment

at the

the postilion,

separated his head from his

same

instant the

courier

was

stabbed to the heart by his fellow-traveller

both murders being performed so dexterously

that not a cry escaped from the victims.
coffer

was then forced open, and the

possessed themselves

of

courier carried with him,

of 75,000 francs, in
silver.

all

the

assassins

money the

amounting

bills,

The

to a

sum

bank-notes, and

They then returned immediately

Paris, the fifth conspirator being

to

mounted on

one of the carriage-horses, and betwixt the

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

220

hours of four and

five in

the morning they

re-entered the city by the Barriere de

Ram-

houillet.

A
this

reckless enterprise than

has seldom been undertaken, and even at

that period,

were too
terror

The

more

bolder and

when deeds

common

of blood

France,

in

and violence
it

awakened

and amazement throughout the country.

assassins were scarcely in

intelligence of

Paris before

what had occurred had reached

most rigorous mea-

the authorities, and the

sures been instituted for their discovery.

The
horse,

first

indication

which the

rider

met with was the

post-

had turned loose on the

Boulevards, and which was found wandering

about the Place Royale.

It

was

also ascer-

tained that four other horses, bathed in sweat,

evidently
into

the

Muiron,

much

over-ridden,

yard
at

five

Muiron admitted
hired on

of

stable-keeper

o'clock
at

had been brought

in

the

named

morning.

once that they had been

the previous day by two persons

221

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

known

to

him

one was a Monsieur Bernard,

The former was

was Couriol.

the other

stantly arrested,

but the

latter,

with the rest

of the band, had effected his escape

theless, as the

in-

never-

whole country was on the

alert,

and the descriptions given by the innkeepers,

where the four horsemen had

baited,

extremely precise, there seemed

little

were

chance

of their ultimate evasion.

With

respect to the

the people at the

where he had taken his

post-office,

described

fifth,

his

person

with

equal

place,

accuracy.

In the mean time, Couriol had taken refuge

Bruer,

who

resided at Chateau Thierry, whither he

was

house of a

in the

friend,

named

In the same house was

traced and arrested.

found Guesno, who appears to

there on

ever

him and Bruer

\vith their papers

clearly

gone

They how-

business of his own.

seized

have

also,

together

but the two latter having

proved their

alibi,

were

dismissed

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

222
whereupon

demanded

Guesno

back

his

papers.

"

Come to-morrow

morning,"

magistrate, " and they shall be

said

the

delivered to

you."

Now, Guesno was extremely anxious about

his papers, the

want of which was retarding

some business he had

in hand,

so on the

ensuing morning he started betimes for the

police-ofRce, and, as the Fates

who should he meet on

Lesurques

friend
fell

way but

Naturally

discussing this

to

his

would have

strange

it,

his old

enough, they
affair,

which

was then the theme of every tongue, and,

engaged
in-arm
partly

in conversation, they proceeded

till

from

they

reached

curiosity

the

and partly

office,

arm-

where

for the sake

of his friend's company, Lesurques consented

to wait for

cluded.

Guesno

They

till

his business

was con-

were, however, so early that

Daubenton the magistrate had not

yet ar-

223

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

two friends seated themselves in

rived, so the

the ante-room, through which they expected

him

to pass,

where several other persons were

also waiting,

and amongst them the witnesses

who had been brought

and

Mongeron

to

give

from Lieursaint

in

evidence

against

Couriol and the others.

Daubenton, in the meanwhile, having entered his office by another door, was busily

engaged in looking over the informations

relative

to

this

business,

when one

assistants hastily entered to inform

some women

of his

him

that

in the ante-room declared that

two of the murderers were calmly

amongst them.

The

and he sent

believe

it,

rately,

to question

magistrate
for the

them;

sitting

could not

women,

but, in

sepa-

answer to

his inquiries, they both positively reiterated their

One was the maid

assertions.

Santon,

who had

served the travellers whilst dining at the inn at

Mongeron
to

the other was Grossetete, servant

Madame

Chatelain, the limonadiere, w-ho

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

224

had mended the spur, given them

them playing

seen

at

billiards

coffee,

and

they were

confident that they were not mistaken.

Still

the magistrate,

who

been most worthy of his

appears to have
could not

office,

bring himself to believe that the guilty parties

would so recklessly run into the

and he urged the women

lion's

to consider well the

consequences of what they were saying

lives

of two

upon

their breath

but

down, whilst he

their conviction

He

was

then bade them

called in the

the

hung

of their fellow-creatures

not to be shaken.

rately,

jaws

sit

gentlemen sepa-

and conversed with them both on

indifferent

matters,

assassination.

and

When

also

he

on

the

dismissed

late

them,

promising Guesno to send him his papers,

he

again

turned to the women,

whom

he

hoped

to

tions

on the contrary, they were more than

find ready to

retract

their asser-

ever confident of their correctness.

Nothing

therefore remained for the magistrate but to

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

225

the immediate arrest of Guesno

oixier

and

Lesurques, although himself, especially after

the late conversation, was intimately persuaded

What

of their entire innocence.

situation for

The two

him

prisoners were immediately con-

fronted with the witnesses,

swore

their

to

a dreadful

who one and

without

agreeing,

persons,

all

man whose

exception, that Lesurques was the

spur-chain had been broken, and

who had

afterwards forgotten his sword at Lieursaint.

On

the day of his arrest, Lesurques wrote

the following letter to a friend

"

Dear S

" Since

my

arrival in

Paris,

with nothing but vexations

me

have met

but a misfortune

has

now

am

accused of a crime, the very thoughts of

overtaken

which make

me

that exceeds belief.

shudder with horror

women and two men, none

beheld

VOL.

in
II.

my

life

before,

of

whom

have

Three
I ever

positively

LIGHT AND DARKNESS,

226

sworn that

was one of the band w^ho

murdered the Lyons' courier

who know me

mode

my

render

the

your

where, and with

most

memory.

whom,

these people assert that they

The

astounding

lie

cannot be
pro-

energetic

For God's sake

ceedings necessary.

with

this

ensue, if this accursed

disproved,

me

But the dreadful consequences

accusation.

may

which

in

time since I came here, to

judge of the probability of

that

you,

leave

so well, and are also pretty

well acquainted with the

have passed

Try and
was

assist

recall

at the

time

saw me."

writer then enumerates

all

the persons

he can recollect to have conversed with on

the

he

day

absent

from

Texier,

Eugenie,

was

Paris,

General
Citizen

dresser, the

supposed

to

including

Cambrai,
Ledru,

the
his

workmen employed

have been
the

Demoiselle
wife's

letter

hair-

in his house,

and the porter that kept his gate

concludes his

Citizen

and he

by a request that

his

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

would frequently

friend

227

and endeavour

visit,

to support the spirits of his wife.

Guesno,

Lesurques,

Richard, and Bruer, were

the three

all

first as principals,

abettors or receivers,

Bernard,

Couriol,

brought to

and the

trial,

latter as

on which occasion the

witnesses swore as positively as before to the

persons of Lesurques and Guesno.

however, proved a most satisfactory

Bruer succeeded in

although

alibi

his

was

was
also

fifteen respectable witnesses,

last,

alibi,

and

establishing his

entirely

Lesurques

innocence.

The

less

fortunate,

sworn

some of

to

by

whom

had lunched with him, others dined with

him, at such hours as rendered

it

impossible he could have been at

physically

Monger on

or Lieursaint on the day in question.

porter,
also
It

and workmen employed

The

in his house,

gave testimony in his favour.

was just

to the weight

meant

zeal

as the jury were about to yield

of this evidence that the well-

of

townsman of Lesurques
Q 2

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

228
proved

to

fatal

Legrand,

jeweller called

man was

who had sworn

to

This

him.

having transacted some business of importance with the accused on the day mentioned
in

the indictment, which fact was corrobo-

rated

by another jeweller named Aldenoff.

Elated at the weight of testimony brought in

favour of his friend,

Legrand most unfor-

tunately proffered his books, where, he said,

a certain entry would be found establishing

the fact of Lesurques' presence in Paris on
the

8th Floreal.

ingly sent for

The books were

and examined

accord-

but an evident

erasure and alteration of a 9 into an 8 over-

threw, not only the evidence of the jewellers,

who were

very respectable men, but seems to

have cast a doubt on that of

witnesses.
for

The

all

the other

president of the court pressed

an explanation, which Legrand not being

able to
arrest,

give,

an order was issued

whereupon the poor

losing his presence of mind,

man,

for his
entirely

confessed that

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

know

he did not

to a certainty

229

on what day

he had seen Lesurques, but that, being entirely

assured of his innocence, he had

that alteration in his

establishing

From

that

changed

book with the hope of

what he was

moment

the

evidence

conspiracy,

was

satisfied

the

was looked upon

nesses

made

tide

of

true.

opinion

other

of

the

as

the result of a

certain degree of anger

and a

wit-

and

resentment took possession of the minds both

of judge,

was

alone
against

and audience.

jury,

calm

him,

the

the

Lesurques

more things went

more unmoved he ap-

peared.

At
had
in

this critical juncture,

retired to consider the verdict, a

state

sanity,
to

whilst

be

of excitement bordering

the jury

woman,
on

in-

rushed into the court, and demanded

heard.

president,

she

Being brought
declared,

with

vehemence, that Lesurques was

before

the

the

utmost

entirely in-

nocent of the crime imputed to him.

230
"

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

The

witnesses are deceived,"

" by

the

exists

between him and the

whom

extraordinary

they mistake him.

he

has

fled

and

said

resemblance

she,

which

real criminal,

his

for

know him

well

name

Du-

is

bosque."

woman,

This
CourioFs

Madelaine

Brebon,

was

and

making

this

mistress

in

avowal, to which her conscience urged her,

she admitted the guilt of her lover.

was she not

investigated

was

fession

nor was her evidence

believed,
;

the

ill

yet

effects of

too

Legrand's conCouriol,

recent.

surques, Bernard, and Richard,

guilty

the three

Yet

first

Le-

were found

being condemned to

death, the last to the galleys.

Guesno and

Bruer were acquitted.

As soon

as

the sentence was pronounced,

Lesurques rose from

entire

composure,

his

declared

seat,

his

and,

with

innocence,

adding, that "if a murder on the highway

were a fearful crime,

it

would be well

for his

231

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

judges to remember that a judicial murder

was no

less so."

Then
he

"I

confess

it

guilty," said

but Lesurques

and Bernard had

cent,

am

" I

Couriol arose.

no

inno-

is

part

in

the

murder."

Four times he
and from

his

reiterated

this

prison he wrote a

assertion,
letter,

full

of sorrow and repentance, to the same pur-

"Lesurques knew nothing of the

pose.
affair

cerned

the

were Vidal,

Dubosque
is

names of the other

it is

Rossi,

the last for

parties con-

and

Durochat,

whom

Lesurques

mistaken."

Madelaine Brebon also made another

ef-

fort to

convince the authorities of their mis-

take;

but,

surances,

strange to

say,

neither her as-

nor those of Couriol,

who

could

have no interest but a conscientious one, in

denying for Lesurques what he avowed for
himself, were

sufficient

to

save the

life

of

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

232

this unfortunate victim.

tion

was sent

into the

Directory referred

a peti-

true,

It is

Directory,

and the

the matter to the corps

All they asked for was a post-

legislatif.

ponement of the execution.

"Must Lesurques

said

die,"

they,

"be-

cause he has the misfortune to resemble a

criminal ?"

The answer
" that

of the legislative body was,

the process

had been

strictly

legal

that a single case could not justify the violation

to

of a well-considered statute; and that

aside

set

reasons

the verdict of a jury for the

advanced,

arraigning the

wisdom and

as established."

no longer

to

justice of the law

Since the right of pardon

existed, there thus

hope nor help

On

would be equivalent

remained neither

for Lesurques.

the day of his execution, he wrote the

following letter to his wife, which, from the

stoicism

it

exhibited,

was very much admired

233

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

by the Republic

at that period, in the

midst

of their disorders, affecting a great admira-

heroism

tion of classical

"

My

No man

"

mine

send

children

can

on a

to die

error.

dearest love,

destiny

his

it

is

the victim of an

scaffold,

my fate as becomes me.

when my
some of my hair

I shall

you

elude

meet

you

are old enough,

amongst them.

It is the

will divide

it

only inheritance I

have now to leave them."

Unhappily,

it

was

so,

being confiscated to the

After

whole property

state.

sentence was pronounced on him,

Lesurques
to

his

also

caused the

following letter

be inserted in the public journals, ad-

dressed to the real criminal

"

Be

thou, in

whose place

content with the sacrifice of

my

am

to

life.

die,

The

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

234
day

come

will probably yet

yourself in the hands

member me

of justice

Think of

that you will find

my

then,

children,

re-

and

of their broken-hearted mother, covered with

disgrace.

repair

them

Restore

wholly originated

good name;

misfortune, which has

dreadful

their

their

in

the

resemblance

fatal

betwixt you and me."

The

executions took place on the 10th of

May, 1797.

was Maundy-Thursday, and

who conducted

himself to

the

with the most heroic calmness and

self-

Lesurques,
last

It

possession,

went

suit of white,

to the scaffold in a complete

which he wore as the symbol

He

of his innocence.

was not a day

later

said,

he regretted

it

Good Friday being more

As

they went

suitable for

such a

sacrifice.

through the

streets,

Couriol stood up in the

cart,

and cried aloud

guilty,

but

Lesurques

latter died forgiving all

to the people,
is

am

!"

The

calling

God

innocent

men, and

" I

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

235

to witness the injustice of his sentence.

the climax of

all

was committed

injustice

through the very fanaticism of

justice.

thing was stable in the Republic,

determined

that

one thing to hold

Thus

so

Nothey

least

they would have

fast by,

and that was the

at

law, right or wrong.

Amongst

those

who were

perfectly satisfied

of Lesurques' innocence was Daubenton, the

Justice of the

Peace

and

he had unfor-

as

a principal agent in the catas-

tunately been

trophe, he felt that nothing could appease his

remorse but the reintegration of the victim's

fame

but,

a tardy,

as regarded his family,

most important reparation

and

as this could

of the other

only be effected by the arrest

three criminals

named by

Couriol, he resolved

never to relax his exertions,

hands upon them.

recount
object

the

It

would

fill

means he used

we can only here

his self-imposed

he laid his

till

a volume to

to

effect

his

detail the result of

and meritorious labours.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

236

Two

years had

elapsed since the death of

Lesurques, before Daubenton

of what he sought

slightest indications
at

the end of that time,

police

which

reports,

brought to

him,

but

he found in the

and night were

day

name

the

man

This was the

discovered the

of

Durochat.

who, under the name of

Laborde, had travelled with the courier, and

he was now in the prison of St. Pelagic for a

robbery.
identifying

him

Daubenton,

four

stable,

was

There

no

and,

in

difficulty

accompanied

gensdarmes,

and

by
con-

he was conveyed to Versailles to be

On

examined.

the

road,

he

expressed

wish to breakfast, alleging that he had had

nothing to eat since his arrest on the previous

small

They accordingly

day.

public-house,

and

there

stopt

at

Durochat

requested a private interview with the magistrate.

The

constable pointed out the danger

of trusting himself alone with such

firmed

villain

a con-

but Daubenton, bent on ob-

26

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

taining the justification of Lesurques, ordered

breakfast to be

prisoner in

themselves

serv^ed

private

for himself

and the

They

room.

seated

Dau-

each other, and

opposite

benton took up a knife to open an egg

it

was the only one on the

who

having cautioned the maid

stable

not to put
"

table, the

You

down

"

ing

con-

waited

a second.

are afraid of me,"

said

Durochat

the magistrate, looking hard at

arm

to

him; "you

yourself already."

Take the
it

bread,
affair

knife,"

to

him.

and

tell

"

said

Daubenton, hand-

Cut yourself a

slice

me what you know

of

of the

of the Lyons' courier."

He had

Durochat

taken the right way.

savagely clutched the knife

ment more he stood

but in a mo-

up, and laid

it

on the

table.

"
"

You

and

all."

are a brave

man,

am

one.

lost

citizen 1"

You

said he,

shall

know

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

238

Whereopon

he

made

confirming in every particular

He

given by Couriol.
the

first

alarm,

at

had himself

till

fled

on

after his execution.

was Dubosque that had repaired

Mongeron

account

the

and the name of Lesurques

he had never heard

It

confession,

full

Dubosque

his spur

that had forgotten

his sv^ord at Lieursaint.

Some
were

time elapsed before the other three

but

taken,

Daubenton

finally

exertions

with

of

success

Dubosque, and Rossi, were arrested,

Vidal,

and paid the penalty of

confessions
entirely

their crimes.

The

of Durochat and Rossi coincided

with

that

Dubosque denied

Couriol;

of

to the last,

remained of their
as he

the

crowned

were

guilt.

had worn on the

Vidal

and

though no doubt

light wig, such

fatal day,

being placed

on the head of Dubosque, the resemblance

betwixt

him

and

Lesurques

became

so

remarkable, as perfectly to account for the

unfortunate error of the witnesses,

who had

239

THE STORY OF LESURQUES.

also

been led by a certain similarity of feature

Guesno

to mistake

for Vidal.

of Joseph Lesurques was

The innocence
thus

made

manifest to

could doubt

it

rally entitled to

and

his

the world

full

nobody

family seemed natu-

the restoration

and such a

perty,

all

of their pro-

and perfect vindication

of his fame as a revision of his sentence alone

And

could afford.
favours,

for these,

we

will not say

but sacred rights, they have never

ceased to supplicate, backed by the support

and assistance of several eminent

good magistrate, Daubenton, de-

whilst the

voted not only the latter years of his

a

considerable part of his fortune,

promotion of their
success

the

be revised
In

jurists

suit.

But, alas

but

to

the

without

verdict of a French jury cannot

*

1842

life,

died the

widow of Lesurques,

leaving a son and daughter, from

her death-bed,

whom, on

she required a promise that

they would never relax

in

those duties to

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

240
their

father's

devoted her

some years
country.

memory

life.

Her

before,

which she had

to

eldest

in

the

son had
service

fallen,

of his

During the reigns of Louis XVIII.

and Charles X., a part of the property of

this unfortunate family v^as restored to

them

not as a restitution, however, but as a

favour

Never was there a more lamentable

fication of the

injuria,

than

maxim,
is

summum

by the

afforded

Joseph Lesurques.

jus

Man

is

veri-

summa
story

too fallible

being to venture on irrevocable statutes.

are the subjects of the law

institutions

must

We

but justice and

mercy are the laws of God, and

human

of

to these

yield precedence.

all

III.

THE PRIEST OF
It

is

ST.

QUENTIN.

in the annals of the doings

ferings of the

earth that

good and brave

we should

and

suf-

spirits

of the

learn our lessons.

It is

by these that our hearts are mellowed, our

minds

exalted,

and do

likewise.

and our souls nerved

But there are

to

go

occasionally

circumstances connected with the history of

great crimes that render
pressive of homiUes
aloft as

VOL.

them the most im-

fitting

them

beacons to warn away the

II.

to

be set

frail

mortal,

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

242

tossed on the tempest

of his passions, from

the destruction that awaits

his course

him

if

he pursues

and such instruction we hold

may

be best derived from those cases in which the

subsequent feelings of a criminal are disclosed

to

us

those cases, in

in

short,

which the

chastisement proceeds from within instead of

from without;
cunning

that

no

concealment, no legal subtlety, no

eloquent counsel,
avert

chastisement that

no indulgent judge,

but which, do what we

we may,

"

nous."

It is

Monte en croupe

w^ill,

et

fly

can

where

gallope avec

because we think the history of

Antoine Mingrat affords such a lesson, that

we propose presenting

it

to the reader.

In the year 1822, a young priest bearing

the above appellation, was inducted into the
cure of a small village
situated

called

St.

Quentin,

on the borders of Piedmont.

He

was about eight-and- twenty years of age

tall,

stout,

strength.

and

gifted with

But

his

uncommon

countenance

bodily

was not

THE PRIEST OF
pleasing

malicious, his smile treacherous

it

was

detail

to

said after the events

we

at least

so

are about to

had occurred, when people were

their

vindicate

earliness

of their

reproving

penances, and
great sins.

the

adverse impressions.

He

harshly,

zealous over-

inflicting

magnifying small

He

willing

own discernment by

was, moreover, a rigid pastor

much;

243

QUENTIN.

complexion was sallow, his eye

his

ST.

severe

faults

mto

forbade his parishioners

all

sorts of innocent pleasures as strictly as mis-

chievous ones, and dancing and singing were

as

much

proscribed at St. Quentin as drinking

and gambling.

The

fact

was, he was ex-

tremely ambitious, and, not possessing those

qualities that

were

likely to

recommend him

to the notice of his superiors, he

win

their

favour

by his burning

sought to
zeal

and

exemplary rigour.
It

may

be easily conceived that Antoine

Mingrat was not

much

beloved by his flock

but at that period the Church was all-power-

R 2

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

244
fu],

and out of Paris no one dared

to raise his

voice against her members, so that whatever

may have been

whispers, no

thought, except in confidential

murmurs were heard

against the

pastor of St. Quentin.

About

of an hour's walk from

a quarter

the church

there

named Stephen

a retired soldier,

resided

Charnelot, with his beautiful

He was

wife Marie Guerin.

a small bit of land, and

the possessor of

passed his days in

peace and contentment with Marie,

and prudent

as pious

Her only

concerned,

she

did

she was beautiful.

as

fault was, that

where religion was

not

allow

herself

was a

saint.

fessor,

not

to

beauty

and every

her eyes,

priest, in

Antoine Mingrat was her con-

and the pastor of her parish

be

the

amounted

exercise of her judgment; her piety

to fanaticism,

who was

doubted

that

and

it is

her extraordinary

had inspired him with a criminal

passion, although

we have

nor proofs to establish the

neither witnesses
fact,

the evidence

THE PRIEST OF
in

being

case

this

though of a very

245

QUENTIN.

ST.

purely

circumstantial,

decisive, as well as singular

character.

On

the 8th of

May, 1822,

several

young

persons in the adjoining parish of Veuray

were to receive their

Marie,

who was

communion, and

first

a constant attendant at

all

the religious festivals in the neighbourhood,

announced her intention of

Mingrat, hearing of
of

to

visit

this,

made

He

her.

being present.
it

the pretext

had a

letter

for

the minister there, which he requested her to

take

charge

brought
it

it

He

of.

had

with him, but promised to have

ready by the evening

confession.

seen

to

having

On

when

she came to

the same afternoon she was

leave the

village for

requested

her

husband came home,

was gone.

however,

not,

this

friends,

to tell

purpose,

when

him whither she

Poor Marie never returned

happy home, and,

after

her

to her

one other momentary

glimpse of her, we see her

alive

no more.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

246

We

learn from

Madame

St. Michel, a lady

of great respectability,

who happened

at her devotions in the

Church of

St.

to

be

Quen-

on that afternoon, that

tin,

about

she

saw Marie Charnelot enter and throw

five o'clock

herself on her knees before the confessional,

whilst at the

same moment she perceived

strange figure in black, apparently

either

arms or

legs,

the phantom,

attention to

it

without

and with some singular

headgear, glide behind the

at

altar.

Alarmed

she tried to draw Marie's

but the

latter

was too deeply

absorbed in her devotions to heed her

when Madame
spectre

St.

and

Michel looked again the

had disappeared.

The circumstance

seems, however, to have so far terrified the

that she

old lady,

church.

immediately quitted the

There can be no doubt that the

phantom was Mingrat, though the motive of

his

assuming the disguise does not appear

neither do

we know what

further occurred in

the church, except that she

must have been

THE PRIEST OF

ST.

induced to

accompany him

which was

close at

No

The

priest

to

letter for the minister

one, however,

but

kept

house,

his

hand, probably for the

purpose of receiving the

of Veuray.

24?

QUENTIN.

honest,

young

devout,

and standing

one

saw her

maid,

who was

creature,

great

in

enter.

simple,

very

also

awe of her

master.

The

first

had been committed,

crime

evidence of this

girl,

great

that

from the

are

extracted from her, for

which vnW be

reasons

with

we gather

indications

hereafter

explained,

Somewhere betwixt

difficulty.

the hour of five and the closing in of the

evening,

she thought

she heard suppressed

sighs proceeding from a back

parsonage,

but

these

sounds

investigate further. Later,

to

ask

if

room
she

came the

of the

did

not

sacristan,

he should ring in the mass for the

dead, and then the girl knocked at the door

of the parlour where she supposed her master

to be, in order to

make

the inquiry.

There

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

248

being no answer, she ascended the

chamber, where

his

at first she

was not more

although she heard heavy sighs

successful,

from within, as of one very

She

agonies of death.

but the door

was

in a loud voice

the latch,

lift

and,

Then

or in the

sick

tried to

fast,

knocked vehemently.
and

stairs to

alarmed,

she

the priest spoke,

bade her go below and he

would follow her immediately.

She went,

but she had scarcely reached the bottom of

the

when he appeared

stairs

who wanted him.

inquiring

what

the

sacristan

decidedly no

sought,

the

at

On

top,

learning

answered

he

and then retreating into

his

chamber, closed the door behind him.

There was something

have awakened the
her

fears, so

bed

then

seems to

curiosity as well as

she crept softly up the

listened at the door

and groans

girl's

in this that

she heard

still

stairs

and

the sighs

there was a shaking of the

then the groans ceased, and there was

silence.

Pale and trembling she went below.

THE PRIEST OF
By-and-by the

much

She

disturbed.

frightened
in the

came down,

priest

she thought he had been d\'ing

He

her tongue, called her a

with

bade her hold

and ordered her

newspaper to Monsieur Huddard,

than

stronger

fool,

But

compliments.

his

evidently

him she had been

told

chamber above.

to take the

249

QUENTIN.

ST.

She

obedience.

was

curiosity

took

the

paper, but instead of going to the neighbour's

with

it,

she w^ent round the chui'ch and came

She could now hear

again to the portal.

nothing

but she saw^ a light in the upper

room, and tried to climb to the window

she could not do this without
noise

and

instantly the light

heard

she

stairs.

the

Presently

stepping out cried

had

called

but

making some

was extinguished,

priest

descending

the

he opened the door, and

:

several

"

Who's

times

there ?"

He

she

had

before

courage to speak; at length she answered,

trembling

*'

It is I."

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

250
"

What

you doing there ?" he asked,

are

in an angry tone.
*'

was going

to shut the

door of the hen-

coop," she rephed.

" That's false !"

said he.

"

You

were here

some other purpose."

for

She then returned

When

prepare the supper.

seated

After

morsel.

from the

table,

he

but

himself,

into

the
it

kitchen to

was ready he
touched a

scarcely

few minutes,

he started

and bade her now convey the

Huddard.

This time she

paper

to

When

she returned, he conversed with her

for

some minutes,

inquietude.

went.

betraying, however, great

Then he ascended

the

stairs

again, and shut himself into the mysterious

The

chamber.
pressed

below,

op-

with fear and anxiety; what could

be going on above

and tried

devotion

reading

remained

girl

it

She took a book of

to

but in vain

calm

she

her

mind by

could not collect

THE PRIEST OF

Suddenly she was

her thoughts.
a violent

knocking

she could reach

it,

the priest

came down, and

opened

himself.

to inquire for

but had not returned.

confession,
his

it

It

his wife

home, saying she was going

left

by

door, but before

was Charnelot, come

had

startled

at the

thrusting her aside,

she had

251

QUENTIN.

ST.

He

answer ready.

to

Mingrat

said that he

had

seen her in the church, but that displeased

with the unsuitableness of her

sent

her

speech

home

spoke thick

he had

Nevertheless,

again.

was not calm

attire,

he

his

stammered and

but no suspicion of the truth

seems to have entered the husband's mind.

He

retired

and Mingrat, saying he would

remove the supper things

the maid,

who

himself, sent

away

did not sleep in the house,

and then commenced the labours of that most

awful night.

Not

far

from the church was an

ascent,

on the summit of w^hich rose a wall of huge

strangely-formed rock;

at the

foot

of

this

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

252
cliff

Mingrat's object

flowed the river Isere.

appears to have been to convey the body of

victim

his

With

stream.

and

thither,

this view,

foot with cords,

window

it,

and

he

then

he bound

let it

hand

it

down from

extinguished the

was

he

stairs,

and, partly by carrying and partly

it

to

but here he found a

top of the hill;

difficulty

the

light,

by dragging, he succeeded in conveying

the

the

into

it

himself by the

and, descending
lifted

and throw

he had not reckoned on; great as

his strength,

he could not

raise the

body

over the rock.

This w^as an alarming discovery, for the

much

night was short where there was so

to be done.
if

he

It

could separate

trunk, he might

and

then occurred to him, that

he

more

attempted

will

not detail

And now

but

easily

this

pocket-knife, and by

limbs

the

dispose of

by means

some

all

from the
it

of his

others which

we

were inadequate.

imagine his situation

Let us

THE PRIEST OF

253

QUENTIN.

ST.

picture to ourselves the murderer as he stood

on that lonely

with

scantily sprinkled

hill,

thorn-bushes and withered hazel-trees; battered by the storm, for the rain

wind raged

furiously

before him, the

not surmount

steep ascent that he could

beside him, the body that he

Conceive his horror,

his anguish, his despair

on hearing

vouring to

sleep,

ready to

do we

our heads
scenes

that

acting in different

For myself,

could

this fearful story, help endea-

recall the fearful

trasting situations

that I

little

lay

the

drama

my memory that May

back to

calm

of

moment may be

parts of the world

not,

How

when each night we

calmly on our pillows,

at that

and the

on that awful night

could not get rid of!

think,

fell

my

of

bringing

1822

con-

peaceful chamber,

my

my cheerful waking. I felt

upon my knees, and bless God

and

fall

had been exempted from such

trials.

the melting of the heart that

Indeed,

it

this tale

produced on myself that has induced

is

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

254

me

to relate

it

very wholesome.
joice,

we

for such contemplations are

Trembling whilst we

learn the inestimable value of inno-

and whilst humbly thankful

cence

past,

we

re-

for the

prepare to encounter the future,

at

once softened and strengthened, encouraged

and reproved.

But

to

return to that lonely

What was

conflict there.

must

either carry the

to be

body round

by the public path, or return

a

more

efficient

either operation

think
latter

At

of

done

passengers

He

to the river

fetch

The time

that

would absorb was

length, he

and the

home and

instrument.

expedient, probably

hension that

hill

terrific

decided

on the

from the appre-

would be

abroad

upon the road before he could accomplish

task.

So with rapid

way back

to the

strides

object,

his

he made his

manse, possessed himself of

the kitchen hatchet, and returned to the

With

to

the aid of this

weapon he

hill.

attained his

and then succeeded in conveying the

THE PRIEST OF
mangled remains

she

to the river

leaving, as

he

no traces of his own whereabout, or

believed,

of his

255

QUENTIN.

ST.

except a handkerchief

victim's fate,

had worn about her neck.

hung on

order

encourage the

to

This he

thorn-bush near the water,

idea that

in

she had

destroyed herself.

The morning now began

work was

night's

scarcely half finished.

much must be done

turned

to dawn, but his

before

How

maid

the

re-

There were the murdered woman's

clothes to be disposed

of; his

ow^n blood-

besprinkled habiliments

to

be cleaned; the

hatchet to be polished.

It

was a sore labour,

for stiU,

stain

toil

as he would,

remained

cutting

again to

it

up

into shreds,

make them

combustion

Her

some

dress

spot,

he

some

burned,

and then cutting

small enough for hasty

but the very ashes were trea-

cherous, and cried aloud against him.

They

were so red that he was obliged to mingle

sand and earth amongst them to disguise

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

256

As

the colour.

for the hatchet,

guish he rubbed

It is

so bright that

it

lustre stood out as

in his anits

very

a testimony against him.

surely one of the

providences of God,

that the stains of blood should be so difficult

to efface

But suddenly he pauses

is

relaxed

ture of his

his

whole frame

inflamed by the tor-

his visage,

mind and

vehement labours,

his

is

overspread with a ghastly pallor

it

that affrights

him

so ?

Is

without, or has he discerned

what

there a noise

some human eye

watching him through an unguarded chink

Why

does he fling

down

is

the hatchet,

and

thrust his hands wildly into his pockets, and

then rush frantically from the house

has missed his pocket

have

left it

knife

behind him on the

agony of that moment

He

He must

Oh, the

hill.

Away

he strides

again, this time in the broad light of day

but

everything

must be

such a damning evidence.

risked to

He

recover

reaches the

THE PRIEST OF
summit

seeks

it

looks here, looks there

runs

hither,

in vain; the knife has

disap-

under every bush, in every

but

thither

He

peared.

he must

reached

maid's

arrival,

faith

fanatical

cleft

dare linger no longer

return without

He

meanoiu* must

it.

the

parsonage

and had
in

it

holy

his

now have

with fury

"

had she seen

poor

girl,

What

his

office,

the

de-

He

betrayed him.

Where had
?

before

not been for her

met her now with confusion

257

QUENTIN.

ST.

addressed her

What

she been ?

did she think?"

The

trembling, answered that she had

She had

seen nothing, understood nothing.

only heard a sighing and groaning, and she

fancied that her master

was

He

ill.

looked

hard at her, uttered fearful threats that she

could not comprehend, and
to be

he

silent

her

left

on the

commanded

peril of

her

life.

and shut

himself up

seems

this

in

her

So
his

chamber.

The

girl

VOL.

II.

at

crisis

to

have

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

258

certainty,

hand

betwixt her

a severe conflict

suffered

terror,

un-

and amazement on the one

and her sense of duty and allegiance

to her master,

together with her respect for

his priesthood,

and humble reverence

That

on the other.

office,

for his

the ordained

he,

minister of God, the director of her soul, the

he

who had

sins,

and lend her

keeper of her conscience

thority

wings for heaven

seemed so

her

absolve

to

au-

that he should do wrong,

strange, so impossible

Nevertheless, she could not close her eyes

to

why was

what she saw;

heaped with

hearth

last

been there
appeared

there
flowers

in the

kitchen

must

There

ashes ?

surely have been a large

the

since she

fire

She swept them

aside,

half-burned

wreath

had
and
of

back yard, upon some straw,

she perceived blood spots, and picked up a

withered leaf of hazel

and the

there were no hazel-

leaf

was

trees

there,

there

was something adhering

to

stained,
it

that

and

made

THE PRIEST OF
her

own

the

She found a

blood freeze.

minister's

cloak,

What

stained.

259

QUENTIN.

ST.

and

too,

should she do

bit of

was

that

What

ought

she to do ?

She resolved she would leave

him, and

him of her determination im-

tell

mediately

what

it

be

then,

this

fearful

she was free of

might,

mystery

So she

it.

turned to seek him, expecting to find him

in his

chamber or reading

parlour, but she

his breviary in the

no sooner opened the kitchen

door than he stood before her, more wild,

more gloomy than

him she

to retreat

bade her go up

stairs.

dered her desperate,

in

she saw

durst not open her lips to speak,

and was about

as

When

before.

when he

sternly

This harshness ren-

and folding her hands,

besought him to

earnest prayer, she

" let her go away, for

she could bear

it

no

longer."

What

a thunderclap

request told
secret, his

all.

life,

to

He was

his honour,

Mingrat

betrayed

The

his fatal

were in the power

s

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

260
of this

He

girl.

could not

kill

burthen of the blood he had

heavy upon him.

already

of

unpleasing,

it

anguish of

his features

of him.

was now

had

If the

frightful

the

soul was imprinted on

His

countenance.

was too

had been before

had now become

his

spilt

the

fearful night

made another man

expression

sallow,

That

her too

complexion,

purple,

his

formerly

and that not on

this

day alone, but for the remaining eight days of

agony

his

continued

it

wdldly, his step

his

in

himself to

stammered

could never sufficiently

perform any

office

of

Church with decent composure.

a leaf, the

girl

stood before

whilst he, barring her

way

to the door,

Shaking

him

His eyes stared

uncertain, he

speech, and

command
the

was

so.

like

and holding her arm with a grasp of

iron, his

eyes fixed on the earth, deliberated what

Suddenly a resource presents

to be done.
itself.

He

was

is

acquainted with her simplicity

and scrupulous conscience, and hope awakes

THE PRIEST OF
once

more.

dragged her

Still

to the

grasping

church

261

QUENTIN.

ST.

it

he

her

arm,

was

yet early

morning, and no one was there to witness

the scene

flung her on the

and gave her the choice

steps of the altar,

at

once to die or

there swear to observe an inviolable secrecy on

She consented

the events of that night.

to

take the oath, and he held the crucifix upon

her lips whilst she pronounced

The poor young

it.

creature seems

to

have

thought that in making this vow she not only

bound

herself

to

silence,

but

abstaining from every act which

also

to

could possi-

bly tend to the betrayal of her m.aster.

On

be her duty

to

She therefore returned

to

this account she believed

remain with him.

the

it

to

the manse, and resumed her service, endea-

vouring to the best of her power to conceal

her terror and agitation.

In the meanwhile, the disappearance of the

beautiful Marie Charnelot
excite general attention,

was beginning

to

and her husband natu-

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

262
rally

Her having

became extremely uneasy.

been seen to enter the village of

St.

Quentin,

conjoined to her avowed intention of going to

confession, inevitably connected Antoine

grat with the mystery

Min-

but the people of the

neighbourhood were extremely pious

how-

ever unloveable a being their pastor was, he

was a holy one

in

their eyes

vague suspicions arose

in

sought to suppress them.

their

and

if

minds they

But of the awful

crime committed no suspicion did arise

only idea that seems to have occurred
this only to a
sibility

priest

few young

any

men

was

the

and

the pos-

of an improper intimacy betwixt the

and Marie.

or three

Incited by curiosity, two

had agreed

night she was

first

to

watch

missed.

his

house on the

They seemed

to

have arrived during the few minutes he was

at

home

seeking the kitchen hatchet.

Little

thought he, when he issued from his door

with the

fatal

weapon under

eyes that were

peering

his cloak, of the

upon him from the

THE PRIEST OF

263

QUENTIN.

ST.

They, how-

angle of a neighbouring wall.

no one come out but himself,

ever, seeing

grew^ weary of the frolic,

and the increasing

storm drove them away.

It

happened that very

ing, a gentleman,

to

named Michon, had occasion

his property

a part of

visit

situated at a

His way

little

although the

lay across the hill, and,

was

it

light

enough

for

ground was stained

to perceive that the

with newly-shed

was

w^hich

distance from the village.

day was but dawning,

him

on that morn-

early

He

blood.

stopt;

some

animal might have fallen a prey to the eagles

But no

tion.

Near

farther,

here were traces of

hand

at

stuck

in the

human
a

lay

earth,

interven-

bloody cord
a pocket-knife

with a black handle bearing the same

marks.

He

picked

with horror, flung

and

it

it

would be

but,

overcome

Presently, however,

how important

to the

fatal

from him into a bush,

hastily left the place.

recollecting

up

this

instrument

conviction of the assassin,

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

264

whoever he might
it

Thus, when Mingrat went

in the earth.

back to

he returned, and buried

be,

seek

was no longer

it

it,

be

to

found.

was an hour or more

It

early

son,

on

their

sion

to

pass

father,"

said

what

way

the

that

is

to

St.

under the

The butcher
ceived

boy,

man

too,

some alarm,

saw him

all

from

place

place

bush

to

directions

then,

be peering

fled

with

doing upon the

eye wandered in

into

with a

down

hill

?"

upon
the

the

frantic

priest.

them-

for

distinctly

he ran

now

and glared wildly

length,

" See there,

amazed them,

selves unseen, they

erect

cliff.

looked, and with surprise per-

His gestures,

to

Quentin, had occa-

was Antoine Mingrat the

it

into a

though

this,

morning, that a butcher and his

still

"

after

his

his

hastily

stooped staring
knees, seemed

then
about him and

stood

earth

gesture

of

at

despair,

hill.

The unsuspected

witnesses of so strange a

THE PRIEST OF
scene

what

were

desirous

naturally

meant

it

when

so,

gone, they ascended the

enough

to

priest

convince them that some fearful

but whether the

Mingrat arose from

party to

or merely

discovery of

from

time

it,

his

innocent, he would

alone

could disclose.

know what

if guilty,

it

own
had

counsel, and

if

to

he were

do better

might be dangerous
their

nothing of what they

said

seen.

But the excitement of the

wife

public continued

The anxious husband,

to increase.
his

So they kept

meddle with him.

to

being a

his horror at the

Meanwhile, he was their pastor

was

and there found

agitation of

than they

knowing

of

the

hill,

crime had been committed

it,

265

QUENTIN.

ST.

in

all

neighbouring

and

directions,

\illages,

visiting

the

spread the intelligence.

Their inhabitants, eager to

mystery, flocked into

seeking

St.

investigate

Quentin

the

the
hill

was covered with people.

By

this

time Marie's handkerchief being

LIGHT AND DARKNESS,

266

found upon the thorn-bush, and blood stains

traced as far as the river, a

warm

arose as to whether she had

discussion

drowned

herself,

attempting some

after

unsuccessfully

mode

of death, or whether she had fallen by

hand of another.

the

other

who, for

Mingrat,

appearance sake, had been obliged to accom-

pany some of her friends to the scene of the

murder, and was the unwilling auditor of the
evinced the most violent anguish;

dispute,

wringing his hands and convulsively casting

up

eyes

his

to

But man's eye

heaven.

well as

God's eye was upon him

in

whole

his

appearance

was

demeanour

and

somethnjg so unnatural, that

there

as

in spite of their

superstitious reverence for the Church, they

began

suspect

to

him

came forward with the

in the

it

knife,

now Michon
and placed

it

had not belonged

the priest's ?

Still

to

fettered

veneration, they durst not ask

it

Charnelot

hands of the magistrate.

declared

Was

and

him

his

wife.

by

their

the ques-

THE PRIEST OF
tion

so

267

QUENTIN.

ST.

under pretence of an ordinary

on him, and

the adjunct or substitute called

adroitly led the

visit,

conversation to the subject

which then formed the theme of inquiry.

Mingrat

as adroitly

brought

it

changed

it

back again to Marie

said

he was suffering

state

of his blood, which was

dered

his

the adjunct

extremely

and, indeed, at the

describes

visitor

almost black
of the knife

his

from the

much

moment
face to

gradually, the

he wondered

Mingrat

he spoke,

have been

adjunct spoke

that Marie should

have had recourse to such a weapon

grat, sitting

table

before

certain

with his

eyes

him, requested the

the latter

promised

his leave, confirmed in

in his

fixed

Min-

upon the
loan of a

work on geometry which the adjunct

possessed;

knew

disor-

that the priest

own

it

and took

his suspicions.

He

had a copy of the book

library.

Meanwhile an aunt of Mingrat's, who had

been

absent

on a journey,

arrived

at

St.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

268

Quentin, and learned the

ed, she
visit to

fatal

rumour. Alarm-

took the opportunity of the adjunct's

her nephew to

call

on

and

his wife,

turning the conversation on the murder, she

requested to see the knife

For some

it.

remained

moments

motionless,

the lady produced

poor

the

staring at

woman
with

it

fixed gaze of horror, then clasping her hands,

she murmured, with quivering lips

then

is

Unable

"

That

the instrument of this dreadful crime

to utter another syllable, she rose

!"

and

quitted the house.

Scarcely

had the adjunct reached home

when Mingrat

himself arrived, under the pre-

text of fetching the

book he wanted

his real

motive was supposed to be a faint hope of

possessing himself of the

was

versation
whilst his

room.

confused

and unconnected,

eye wandered anxiously over the

This

visit

produced

favourable impression against

always

His con-

knife.

considering

his

very

him

office,

but

there

unstill,

was

THE PRIEST OF
nothing

that

him

authorized
It

was not

till

priest.

the remains of the poor victim

were found in the

were fishing on
authorities

hands on the

lay

to

opinion

magistrate's

the

in

269

QUENTIN.

ST.

by some boys who

river,

banks, that the

its

higher

and despatched some

interfered,

gensd'armes to his house to keep him under

surveillance.
to

Mingrat now exerted himself

the utmost to appear composed, and to

perform the various

of

offices

the Church,

from which, under the pretext

of

indis-

position,

he had since the murder excused

himself;

but his frightful

features

distorted

by

blundering manner in

through

was

what

confirmed

only

the

complexion,

anguish,

which
so

he

the

stumbled
to

him,

universal

per-

familiar

now

and

his

suasion.
It

was on the eighth day

Marie
were

Charnelot,
at

table,

whilst

that a

priest, entered the

after the death of

the

stranger,

gensd'armes
evidently

room, and placing a

letter

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

270

in Mingrat's

read

hands,

desired

him

instantly to

The

and then disappeared.

it,

contained the following words

"

letter

You

are

covered with infamy by the rumours which

connect you with that murdered woman.

you are

guilty,

followed this advice

intentionally or other-

wise, the gensd'armes allowed

and he

fled across the

mont.

The aunt

much

was brought
her
it

to

to escape,

disappeared.
that

the

It

heavily

was

maid

poor

knew

what she

confess

vow weighed

him

mountains into Pied-

also

difficulty

priest

Antoine Mingrat

was the Vicar of Toulon.

with

The

instantly !"

fly

If

upon her

and

was only under the influence of another

confessor

that

she

at

length

gave

her

evidence.

The

guilt of

Mingrat was now

established,

but he was beyond the reach of the law.

The bereaved husband and

brother

of

Marie's went to Paris, and throwing themselves

at the

King's

feet,

demanded

that the

THE PRIEST OF

ST.

QUENTIN.

271

criminal should be required of the Sardinian

But

Government.
the

way of

there were difficulties in

their satisfaction

Mingrat was,

however, seized and thrown into

But the family and

Chambery.

thirsted for vengeance,

continued

till,

prison at
friends

still

and the process was

at length, in

1828, the assassin

was formally demanded of the Piedmontese.

But

only

requisition

this

resulted

in

his

removal to the strong fortress of Fenestrelle,

from

whence,

transferred

to

it

is

supposed,

penitentiary.

he

May

was
he

repent

To
tin

this hour, the inhabitants of St.

and

its

Quen-

neighbourhood look with terror

on the scene of
passing over the

this dreadful tragedy, never

hill

as they can by day.

by night, and as rarely

IV.

ANTOINE DE CHAULIEU'S
WEDDING-DAY.
Antoine de Chaulieu was

the son of a

poor gentleman of Normandy, with a long

genealogy,

short

rent-roll,

Jacques RoUet

family.

who

brewer,
father

was

did not

and a large

was the son of a

know who

his grand-

but he had a long purse, and

only two children.

As

these youths tiourished

in the early days of liberty, equality,

ternity,

VOL.

and

fra-

and were near neighbours, they natuII.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

274
rally

menced
refined

at

De

where the

school,

and

the scholars, was the favou-

(who was a

of the master

aristocrat

delicate

Chaulieu being the only gentil-

homme amongst
rite

Their enmity com-

hated each other.

in

he

although

heart),

his

of an

bit

was

about the worst dressed boy in the estab-

had a sou

lishment, and never

whilst

Jacques

spend

and rough,

sturdy

Rollet,

to

with smart clothes and plenty of money, got

flogged six days in the week, ostensibly for

being stupid, and not learning his lessons

which, indeed, he did not
for constantly

De

Chaulieu,

with him.

but,

quarrelling with

who had not

When

they

feud continued in

all

left
its

fostered by a thousand

in

reality,

and insulting

strength to cope
the academy, the
vigour,

little

and was

circumstances,

arising out of the state of the times,

till

separation ensued, in consequence of an aunt

of Antoine
-expense

de

Chaulieu's undertaking

of sending

him

to Paris

to

the

study

THE WEDDING-DAY.
the law, and of maintaining

275

him

there during

the progress of events,

came some

the necessary period.

With
degree

of reaction in

favour of birth and

and then Antoine, who had passed

nobility,

began

for the Bar,

to hold

up

his head,

endeavoured to push his fortunes

He

seemed against him.

he possessed any

gift in

felt

and

but fate

certain that if

the world,

it

was

that of eloquence, but he could get no cause

to plead

and

his aunt dying inopportunely,

first

his resources failed,

He

had no

and then his health.

sooner returned

to his

home,

than, to complicate his difficulties completely,

he

fell

in

love with Mademoiselle Natalie de

Bellefonds,

who had

just returned

from

Paris,

where she had been completing her education.

To

expatiate

on the perfections of

Mademoiselle Natalie, would be a waste of

ink and paper;

she

really

it

is

sufficient to

was a very charming

H fortune which,

though not

say,
girl,

large,

T 2

that

with

would

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

276

have been a most desirable

De

Chaulieu,

who had

acquisition

to

Neither

nothing.

was the fair Natalie indisposed to listen to

his addresses; but her father could not be

expected to countenance the suit of a gentleman, however well-born,

who had

not a

ten-sous piece in the world, and whose prospects were a blank.

Whilst the ambitious and

was thus

barrister

obscurity,

his

old

pining

young

love- sick

unwelcome

in

Jacques

acquaintance,

had been acquiring an undesirable

Rollet,

bad

in

Jacques' disposition, but having been bred

up

There was nothing

notoriety.

really

a democrat, with a hatred of the nobility, he

could

not

humour

easily

to treat

was no longer
liberties

accommodate

them with
safe

to

civility

insult

when

them.

it

The

he allowed himself whenever circum-

stances brought

him

scrapes,

out

with the

into contact

higher classes of society, had led

many

rough

his

of

which

him

his

into

father's

THE WEDDING-DAY.
money had one way

277

him

or another released

but that source of safety had

now

failed.

Old

Rollet having been too busy with the affairs

of the nation to attend to his business, had

died insolvent, leaving his son with nothing

but his

own

difficulties,

exercise
sister,

wits to help

and

was

attracted the

future

was not long before

it

was a very pretty

attention

their

Claudine RoUet, his

called for.

who

him out of

gii'l,

had

of Mademoiselle de

Bellefonds' brother, Alphonso;

and

as

he paid

her more attention than from such a quarter

was agreeable

to Jacques, the

young men had

had more than one quarrel on the

which occasions they had each,
cally,

subject,

on

characteristi-

given vent to their enmity, the one in

contemptuous monosyllables, and the other in

a volley of insulting words.

But Claudine

had another lover more nearly of her own

condition

of

life

deputy-governor

of

this

the

was

Claperon,

Rouen

jail,

the

with

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

278

whom

she had

made

acquaintance during one

or two compulsory visits paid by her brother

to that functionary

of

bit

but Claudine, w^ho was a

though

coquette,

altogether

reject

his

suit,

she

not

did

gave him

little

encouragement, so that betwixt hopes, and

and

fears,

doubts,

and

Claperon led a very uneasy kind of

Affairs
position,

had been

for

when, one

fine

poor

jealousies,
life.

some time

in

this

morning, Alphonse

de Bellefonds was not to be found in his

chamber when
neither had

his servant

his

bed been

went

slept in.

been observed to go out rather

preceding

to call

He

not appeared at supper,

elapsed,

search

when

inquiries

had

on the

late

tell.

He had

but that was too

ordinary an event to awaken suspicion

alarm was excited

whether or not he

evening, but

had returned, nobody could

ittle

him

till

and

several hours

had

were instituted and a

commenced, which terminated

in the

THE WEDDING-DAY.

279

discovery of his body, a good deal mangled,

lying at the bottom of a pond which

had

belonged to the old brewery.

Before any investigations had been made,
every person had

jumped

to the conclusion

young man had been murdered, and

that the

that Jacques Rollet

was the

assassin.

There

was a strong presumption in favour of that

opinion,

which further perquisitions tended

Only the day

confirm.

before, Jacques

to

had

been heard to threaten Monsieur de Bellefonds

with speedy vengeance.

On

the fatal evening,

Alphonse and Claudine had been seen together

in the neighbourhood of the

brewery

now dismantled

and as Jacques, betwixt poverty and

was

democracy,

bad

in

odour

with

the

prudent and

respectable part of society,

was not easy

for

him

character, or prove

As
the

no

aristocracy

doubt

of

to bring witnesses to

an unexceptionable

for the Bellefonds

alibi.

and De Chaulieus, and

in general,
his

it

guilt;

they entertained

and

finally,

the

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

280

coming

magistrates

the

to

same

Jacques Rollet was committed for

opinion,

trial at

the

and as a testimony of good-

next

assizes,

will,

Antoine de Chaulieu was selected by

the

family

injured

conduct

to

prose-

the

cution.

Here, at
sighed

last,

for

was the opportunity he had

So

interesting

too,

case,

furnishing such ample occasion for passion,

pathos,

indignation

the

that

fortunate

And how

speech

himself with ardour to

eminently

which

prepare,

he

set

would be
and

delivered in the presence of the father

brother of his mistress, and perhaps of the

lady herself
it is

true,

The

evidence against Jacques,

was altogether presumptive

there

was no proof whatever that he had committed the crime

stoutly denied

it.

and

for his

own

part he

But Antoine de Chaulieu

entertained no doubt of his guilt, and the

speech

he

composed

was

certainly

calculated to carry that conviction into

well

the

THE WEDDING-DAY.
bosom of

others.

was of the highest

It

own

importance to his

281

reputation that

he

should procure a verdict, and he confidently

assured the afflicted and enraged family of
the victim that their vengeance should be

Under

satisfied.

these circumstances, could

anything be more unwelcome than a piece of

intelligence

him

privately

conveyed to

on the evening before the

late

com

to

was

that

on,

which

tended

trial

strongly

was
to

exculpate the prisoner, without indicating any

other person as the criminal

opportunity
ladder on

lost

first

which he was

and a

fortune,

The

wife,

was

to

Here was an
of

step
to

rise

slipping

the

fame,

from under

his feet

Of

course,

anticipated
public,

so

with

interesting

great

trial

eagerness

by

was
the

the court was crowded with aU the

beauty and fashion of Rouen, and amongst

the

rest,

sat

the

doubly interesting in her mourning,

fair

Natalie,

accompanied by

her

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

282
family.

The young

high

felt

he

himself inspired

and although

Jacques

beat

heart

advocate's

by the occasion

Rollet

persisted

in

asserting his innocence, founding his defence

chiefly

on circumstances which were strongly

by the information that had

corroborated

reached

De

Chaulieu the preceding evening,

he was nevertheless convicted.

In

spite

very strong

of the

doubts he

privately entertained respecting the justice of

the verdict, even

first

De

Chaulieu himself, in the

flush of success, amidst a

crowd of con-

gratulating friends, and the approving smiles

of his mistress,

felt gratified

and happy

his

speech had, for the time being, not only convinced others, but himself:

own

warmed with

eloquence, he believed what he said.

when

But

the glow w^as over, and he found him-

self alone,

latent

his

he did not

doubt

of

feel so comfortable.

Rollet's

guilt

strongly on his mind, and he

now

felt

prest

that the

blood of the innocent would be on his head.

283

THE WEDDING-DAY.
It is true there

was yet time

to save the

life

of the prisoner, but to admit Jacques innocent,

was

to

take the glory out of his

speech, and turn the sting

of his argument

Besides, if he produced the

against himself.

witness

own

who had

secretly given

him

the in-

formation, he should be self-condemned, for

he could not conceal that he had been aware

of the circumstance before the

Matters having gone so

trial.

far,

therefore,

was necessary that Jacques RoUet should

so the aifair took

morning the
court-yard

course

its

guillotine

the

of

and

early

was erected

gaol,

three

die

one

in the

criminals

ascended the scaffold, and three heads

into the basket,

it

which were presently

fell

after-

wards, with the trunks that had been attached

to them, buried in a corner of the cemetery.

Antoine de Chaulieu was now faii'ly started

in his career,

the

first

and

his success

step towards

it

was as rapid as

had been

tardy.

He

took a pretty apartment in the Hotel Mar-

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

284
Rue

boeuf,

Grange-Bateliere, and in a short

time was looked upon as one of the nnost

rising

young advocates

in one line brought

His success

in Paris.

him

success in another

he was soon a favourite

in society,

and an

object of interest to speculating mothers

his affections,

still

tively

but

adhered to his old love,

Natalie de Bellefonds, whose family

their assent to the

match

now gave

at least prospec-

a circumstance which furnished

such

an additional incentive to his exertions, that

in about

two years from the date of his

brilliant

speech,

he was

first

sufficiently

flourishing condition to offer the

young lady

a suitable home.

in

In anticipation of the happy

event, he engaged

and furnished a

apartments in the Rue du Helder

suite

of

and, as

it

was necessary that the bride should come

to

Paris to provide her trousseau,

it

was agreed

that the wedding should take place there, in-

stead

of at

Bellefonds',

as

projected, an arrangement the

had been

more

first

desirable,

285

THE WEDDING-DAY.

that a press of business rendered Monsieur de

Chaulieu's absence from Paris inconvenient.

Brides and bridegrooms in France, except

of the very high classes, are not
habit

so universal in this country.

visiting Versailles,

life.

is

down

precedes the settling

was

in the

day spent in

or St. Cloud, or even the

public places of the city,

daily

much

of making those honeymoon excursions

generally

all

that

into the habits of

In the present instance, St. Denis

selected, from the

having a younger

circumstance of Natahe's

sister at school there,

and also

because she had a particular desire to see the

Abbey.

The wedding was

day

on a Thurs-

and on the Wednesday evening, having

some hours most agreeably with Na-

spent
talie,

to take place

Antoine de Chaulieu returned to spend

his last night

in

his

bachelor

apartments.

His wardrobe and other small possessions

had already been packed up, and sent

future

home

and there was nothing

to his
left

in

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

286

room now, but

his

his

new wedding

which he inspected with considerable

faction before he
to sleep.

undressed

Sleep, however,

When

it

he opened

was broad daylight

and

his

thought was, had he overslept himself?

first

He

down

lay

was somewhat slow

before he closed his eyes.

again,

satis-

and the clock had struck one

to visit him,

them

and

suit,

sat

was

up

in bed to look at the clock, which

exactly opposite

and as he did

so, in

the

large mirror over the fireplace, he perceived

As

a figure standing behind him.

eyes 'met his own, he

saw

it

was the

Overcome with

Jacques Rollet.

sank back on his pillow, and

he ventured

minutes before
in that direction

when he

the dilated

it

to

face of

horror, he

was some
look again

did so, the figure

had disappeared.

The sudden
vision
elate

was

revulsion

calculated

with joy,

may be

to

of feeling such a

occasion in a

conceived

time after the death of his former

man

For some
foe,

he had

THE WEDDING-DAY.

287

been visited by not unfrequent twinges of

conscience

borne along by suc-

late,

and the hurry of Parisian

cess,

unpleasant
till

but of

life,

these

remembrances had grown

rarer,

at length they

had faded away

Nothing had been further from

altogether.

his thoughts

than Jacques RoUet, when he closed his eyes

on the preceding

them

to

night, nor

sun which was to shine

that

what he expected
of his

life

nerves

now

to

on

be the happiest day

Where were

when he opened

high-strung

the

the elastic frame

the bound-

ing heart

Heavily and slowly he arose from his bed,

for

it

was time

bling

to

do so

and with a trem-

hand and quivering knees, he went

through the processes of the

his

cheek with

toilet,

the razor, and

gashing

spilling

water over his well-polished boots.

the

When

he was dressed, scarcely venturing to cast a

glance

in

the

mirror as he

passed

quitted the room, and descended

the

it,

he

stairs,

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

288

taking the key of the door with him, for the

purpose of leaving

with the porter

it

man, however, being

absent, he laid

languid step he proceeded to

w^hich quickly conveyed

him

to

the carriage,
the church,

where he was met by Natalie and her

was now

difficult it

on the

it

and with a relaxed and

table in his lodge,

How

the

friends.

to look happy, with

that pallid face and extinguished eye

"

How

pened

pale

you are

You

are surely

clamations that

He

Has anything hap-

assailed

ill

?" were the ex-

him on

sides.

all

tried to carry the thing off as well as

could,

but he

that the

felt

would have wished to appear

convulsive,

he

movements he
alert

were only

and that the smiles with which

he attempted to relax his features were but

distorted

However, the church

grimaces.

was not the place

for further inquiries

whilst

Natalie gently

token

of sympathy,

altar,

and the

pressed

his

hand

they advanced

ceremony

was

to

and
in

the

performed;

THE WEDDING-DAY.
after

289

which, they stepped into the carriages

waiting at the door, and drove to the apart-

Madame

ments of

de Bellefonds, where an

elegant dejeuner was prepared.

"What
inquired

you,

ails

Natalie,

my

dear

soon

as

as

husband?"
were

they

alone.

" Nothing, love," he replied

*'

nothing, I

assure you, but a restless night and a

overwork, in order that

free to enjoy

"

my

Are you

happiness

little

might have to-day

!"

quite sure ?

Is

there nothing

else?"
" Nothing,

take

notice

worse

indeed
of

it

and

it

only

pray

don't

makes

me

!"

Natalie was not deceived, but she saw that

what he
worse
ing

him

said

was true

notice

made him

so she contented herself with observquietly,

and saying nothing

but, as

he felt she was observing him, she might

VOL.

II.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

290

almost better have spoken

than

embarrassing things

less

words are often

curious

too

eyes.

When

they reached

Madame

de Bellefonds'

he had the same sort of questioning and

scrutiny to undergo,
patient under

till

he grew quite im-

and betrayed a degree of

it,

Then

temper altogether unusual with him.

everybody looked astonished
their remarks,
their

some whispered

and others expressed them by

wondering

eyes,

till

his

brow

knit,

and

cheeks became flushed with anger.

his pallid

Neither could he divert attention by eating

his

parched mouth would not allow him to

swallow anything but liquids, of which, however,

he indulged in copious libations

was an exceeding
carriage
St.

which

Denis,

relief to

his

it

him when the

to

announced, furnished

an

to

convey

excuse for hastily leaving the table.

at

and

them

was

being

watch he declared

it

was

Looking
late

and

THE WEDDING-DAY.

who saw how

Natalie,

291

eager he was to be

threw her shawl over her shoulders,

gone,

and bidding her friends good morning, they

hurried away.

was

It

a fine

sunny day in June

and as

they drove along the crowded boulevards, and

through the Porte

St. Denis, the

young bride

and bridegroom, to avoid each

other's eyes,

affected to

but

be gazing out of the windows;

when they reached

that

part

of the

road where there was nothing but trees on

each side, they
their

felt

heads, and

necessary to draw in

it

make an attempt

at conver-

sation.

De

Chaulieu

put

and

tried

wife's waist,

his depression

acted

upon

but

it

his

arm

round

to rouse himself

had by

his

from

time so

this

re-

her, that she could not respond to

and thus the conversation lan-

his efforts

guished,

till

reached their

both

felt

destination,

glad

when

they

which would,

u 2

at

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

292

them something

events, furnish

all

to talk

about.

Having

quitted the carriage,

and ordered a

dinner at the Hotel de I'Abbaye, the young

couple proceeded to visit Mademoiselle Hor-

who was

tense de Bellefonds,

her
so

overjoyed to see

and new brother-in-law, and doubly

sister

when

she found that they had obtained

permission to take her out to spend the after-

noon with them. As there

at St.

to

be seen

Denis but the Abbey, on quitting that

part of

it

ceeded to
objects

is little

devoted to education,
visit

the church, with

of interest

thoughts

were

now^

forced

direction, his cheerfulness

return.

De

and as

they proits

various

Chaulieu's

into

another

began insensibly to

Natalie looked so beautiful, too, and

the affection betwixt the two young sisters

was so pleasant

to behold

And

they spent

couple

of hours

wandering about with

Hortense,

who was

almost as weU informed

THE WEDDING-DAY.
as the Suisse,

till

which admitted

293

the brazen doors were open

them

Satisfied, at length,

the

to

Royal

vault.

with what they had seen,

they began to think of returning to the inn,

the

more

especially as

De

who had

Chaulieu,

not eaten a morsel of food since the previous

evening, confessed to being hungry

so they

directed their steps to the door, lingering here

and there as they went, to inspect a monu-

ment
his

or a painting, when, happening to turn

head aside to see

if his

wife,

stopt to take a last look at the

Dagobert,

was

who had

tomb of King

he beheld

following,

with

horror the face of Jacques Rollet appearing

from behind a column

stant, his wife joined

At

him, and took his arm,

inquiring if he was not very

with what he had seen.

say

yes,

the same in-

but the word

much

He
died

delighted

attempted to

on

his

lips

and staggering out of the door, he alleged

that a sudden faintness

had overcome him.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

294

They conducted him

talie

now became

to the Hotel,

seriously

alarmed

His complexion looked

she might.

his limbs shook,

and

but Na-

and well
ghastly,

his features bore an ex-

pression of indescribable horror and anguish.

What

could be the meaning of so extraordi-

nary a change in the gay, witty, prosperous

De

Chaulieu, who,

not

have a

to

plead

illness

as

till

that morning,

care

he might, she

from the expression of

for

and unable

such

felt

For,

certain,

his features, that his

sufferings were not of the

mind

world

in the

seemed

body but of the

imagine any reason

to

extraordinary

manifestations,

of

which she had never before seen a symptom,

but a sudden aversion to
for the step

herself,

and regret

he had taken, her pride took the

alarm, and, concealing the distress she really

felt,

she began to assume

reserved
naturally

haughty and

manner towards him,

interpreted

into

an

which

he

evidence

of

THE WEDDING-DAY.

The

anger and contempt.

upon the

tahle,

of which

he had

but

De

295

dinner was placed

Chaulieu's appetite

lately boasted,

gone, nor was his

was quite

wife better able to eat.

The young

sister

repast; but

although the bridegroom could

not

did

alone

the

justice to

he could swallow champagne in such

eat,

copious draughts,

ere long

that

the terror

and remorse that the apparition of Jacques

Rollet

awakened

had

drowned

in

in

intoxication.

his

breast

were

Amazed and

in-

dignant, poor Natalie sat silently observing

this elect of her heart,

appointment and
with her

sister,

grief,

and

till

overcome with

dis-

she quitted the room,

retired to another apart-

ment, where she gave free vent to her

feel-

ings in tears.

After passing a couple of hours in confi-

dences and lamentations, they recollected that

the hours of liberty,

favour to

granted as an especial

Mademoiselle Hortense, had ex-

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

296
pired
in

but ashamed to exhibit her husband

present

his

condition

the

to

eyes

of

strangers, Natalie prepared to re-conduct her

Maison Roy ale

to the

the

dining-room

De

Chaulieu lying

which

state

At

turned.

as

sofa fast asleep, in

he continued when his wife relength,

carriage

begged

and

Madame

were

and

into

they passed, they saw

on a

their

Paris,

Looking

herself.

however, the driver of

know

to

ready

return

to

became necessary

it

Monsieur

if

to

arouse

to

him.

The

transitory

effects

of the

champagne

had now subsided; but when De Chaulieu

recollected

what had happened, nothing could

exceed his shame and mortification.

grossing

they quite
and, in

his

overpowered
present

moment, forgot
wife's

So en-

indeed were these sensations that

feet,

his

previous

vexation,

his fears.

He

he,

for

ones,

the

knelt at his

begged her pardon a thousand

THE WEDDING-DAY.
times, swore

he

that

adored

and the

clared that the illness

and de-

her,

of the

effect

had been purely the consequences of

wine

fasting

and over-work.

thing in

whose
so

297

the

pride,

or to

believe,

world to
affection,

wounded

severely

was not the

It

reassure

and

woman

had been

taste,

but Natalie tried

appear to do

reconciliation ensued,

easiest

not

so,

and a

quite

to

sort of

sincere

on

the part of the wife, and very humbling on

cumstances

it

strained

was
;

these cir-

was impossible that he should

recover his spirits

gaiety

Under

of the husband.

the part

or

forced,

his heart

facihty of
his

manner

his

con-

tenderness

was heavy within him

and ever and anon the source whence

this

disappointment

would recur

to

his

and woe had

all

sprung

perplexed and tortured

mind.

Thus mutually pained and

distrustful,

they

returned to Paris, which they reached about

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

298

nine o'clock.
Natalie,

ments,

De

In

of

her

depression,

who had not seen

her

new

felt

some

spite

curiosity about

apart-

them, whilst

Chaulieu anticipated a triumph in ex-

home he had prepared

hibiting the elegant

With some

for her.

alacrity,

therefore, they

stepped out of the carriage, the gates of the

Hotel were thrown open, the concierge rang

the bell which announced
that their master

to

the

servants

and mistress had

arrived,

and whilst these domestics appeared above,

holding lights

over

the

Natalie,

balusters,

followed by her husband, ascended the stairs.

But when they reached the landing-place of

the

man

flight,

they

standing

in

first

make way
fell

upon

for

them

his

face,

saw
a

the

corner

figure

of

as

to

the flash froni

and

again

if

above

Antoine de

Chaulieu recognised the features of Jacques

RoUet

From

the circumstance of his

wife's

pre-

THE WEDDING-DAY.

299

ceding him, the figure was not observed by

De

Chaulieu

place

till

he was

on the top

it

stair

his

lifting

foot

to

the sudden shock

caused him to miss the step, and, without

sound, he

uttering a

stopped

bottom.
the

till

back, and never

fell

he reached the

The screams

concierge from

stones

the

at

of Natalie brought

below and the maids

from above, and an attempt was made to

raise the unfortunate

man from

the ground

but with cries of anguish he besought them

to desist.

" Let

God

what a

Natalie,
wife,

win

me,"

he

fearful

Natalie

!"

" die

said,

vengeance

he

and

beside

fortune,

committed a dreadful

and

crime!

thine

is

exclaimed

who was kneeling

fame,

here

his

to

him,

" to

j^ourself,

With

lying

argued

away the

life

creature,

whom,

whilst

uttered them, I

words

half believed to be innocent

I

have attained

all

of a fellow-

and now, when

desired,

and reached

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

300

summit of

the
sent

my

him back upon

times this day

Again

me

the earth to blast

Three times

with the sight.

and

hopes, the Almighty has

this

again

day

three

again

!"

he spoke, his wild and dilated eyes

as

on

fixed themselves

one of the individuals

that surrounded him.

"

He is delirious," said they.

" No !" said the stranger.
" What he
is

true

enough

at least in part ;" and,

ing over the expiring man, he added

Heaven

am

my

May

forgive you, Antoine de Chaulieu

no apparition, but the

RoUet,

bend"

says

who was

innocence.

veritable

saved by one
I

who

Jacques

well

may name him,

for

knew
he

is

beyond the reach of the law now:

it

Claperon, the gaoler, who, in a

of jea-

lousy,

had himself

killed

fit

was

Alphonse de Belle-

fond."

but

" But-

there

were

three

"
!

gasped

Antoine.
"

Yes

a miserable

idiot,

who had been

so

THE WEDDING-DAY.

301

long in confinement for a murder that he was

forgotten by the authorities, was substituted
for

Immediately

me.

after

the

execution,

Claperon resigned his situation, and

fled to

America, and I have been a vagabond on the

face of the earth ever since that

At

time.

length I obtained, through the assistance of

my

the situation of concierge in the

sister,

Hotel Marboeuf,
on

I entered

in the

my new

Rue

Grange-Bateliere.

place yesterday evening,

and was desired

to aw^aken the

the

at

floor

thii'd

room

but before

had time

and

I recognised

Knowing
cence

if

When

seven o'clock.

entered the
I

gentleman on

do

to

to

so,

you were

asleep,

speak you awoke,

your features in the glass.

that T could not vindicate

you chose

to

seize

me,

my

inno-

fled,

and

seeing an omnibus starting for St. Denis, I

got on

it

with a vague idea of getting on to

Calais,

and crossing the Channel to England.

But having only

a franc or

two in

my

pocket,

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

302

know how

indeed, in the world, I did not

or,

means of going forward

to procure the

whilst I

ing

was lounging about the

first

and

form-

place,

one plan, and then another,

saw

you in the church, and, concluding you were

in pursuit of

me,

thought the best way of

eluding your vigilance was to

back to Paris as
instantly,

no money

fast as I could

and walked
to

make my way

pay

all

my

the

so I set off

way

but having

night's lodging, I

here to borrow a couple of livres of

Claudine,

who

brodeuse,

is.

came

my sister

and resides

au cinquieme."
"

Thank Heaven

!"

man,

" that

sin

dear

wife,

farewell

is

exclaimed

off

my

soul

Forgive,

dying

the

Natalie,

forgive

all!"

These were the

priest,

held

last

words he uttered

who had been summoned

up

in

the

haste,

the cross before his failing sight

a few strong

convulsions

shook the

poor

THE WEDDING-DAY.
bruised and

was

mangled frame,

303

and then

all

still.

And

thus ended

Wedding Day.

the

Young

Advocate's

V.

THE MONK'S STORY.

CHAPTER
One

I.

evening on which a merry Christmas

party was assembled in an hospitable country

mansion in the north of England, one of the

company,

young man named Charles

called the host aside, as they

Lisle,

were standing in

the drawing-room before dinner, and whispered,

me

" I say,

into a

room

Graham,

wish you'd put

that has either a bolt or a

key."

VOL.

II.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

306
"

They have

all

keys, or should have," re-

turned Mr. Graham.

"

The key

the other.

always the

"
in

is

How

my

first

is

lost,"

thing I look to

bed-chamber.

a strange

the door

my room

of

returned

" I asked the housemaid.

when

It

is

I enter

can't sleep unless

locked."

very odd

life,"

never locked

my

door

Graham.

"I

say,

Mr.

said

continued he, addressing his wife,

Letitia,"

"here's Charlie Lisle can't sleep unless his

door's locked,

no key."

into has

At

and the room you've put him

this

announcement

all

with surprise at Charlie

gentlemen laughed
"

what

Lisle,

and "

a strange fancy !"

the ladies looked

and

the

all

how odd

and

!"

was echoed among

them.

"I daresay you think

indeed

it

very odd,

must appear rather a

ticularity,"

active

it

responded

Lisle,

and

lady-like par-

who was

young man, and did not look

a fine

as if

he

THE monk's story.

much

were

troubled with superfluous fears

" but

a circumstance

when

me

my

perhaps owing to

and

summer

last

and

door,

been able to overcome

never

me

to

a nervous horror of sleeping in

room with an unlocked

time,

occurred

that

was on the continent

has given

307

can scarcely say

have

This

it.

having been

is

at the

ill

have recovered

from the effects of that illness yet."

Naturally, everybody wanted to hear

adventure was

this

certainly exciting

offered to

them

tell

his story

which

the

fire

then,

that last year,

was wandering over the continent

partly in search of the picturesque,

to

Lisle,

he began in the following

You must know,

when

so one of the visitors

when assembled round

the evening,

"

programme being

exchange rooms with Charlie

accordingly,

words

the

and

provided he would

in

what

remedy the

effects

of too

much
X 2

and partly
study, or

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

308

rather too hasty study

may

study as

only take

much

he pleases,

as

man

for I believe a

as the

easy,

it

if

Irish say

he

will

was

surprised one evening by a violent storm of

hail,

and

it

became so suddenly dark, that

could scarcely see

my

horse's head.

had

twelve miles to go to the town at which I

intended to pass the night, and

knew

that

there was no desirable shelter nearer, unless I

chose to throw myself on the hospitality of

the monastery

embosomed amongst
east of the road

something

not

now

the

hills

and

to the

little

I w^as travelling.

romantic

residence at

Chatel, which lay

of Pierre

There

interesting

a convent, but of that

in

is

need

After a short mental

say anything.

debate, I resolved to present myself at the

convent gate, and ask them to give

night's shelter.

So

and rang the heavy

bell,

me

turned off the road,

which was answered

by a burly, rosy-cheeked lay brother, and he

THE monk's story.

forthwith conducted
called the

kindly,

on

P^re

and the

He

affairs

received

for

me

very

some time

of the world

summoned

the brothers were

refectory,

who was

to the Prior,

Jolivet.

and we chatted away

politics

when

me

309

and
the

to

begged leave to join them, and

share their simple repast, instead of eating

the solitary supper prepared for me.
" There were two tables
I

was seated next the

gave

that

me

whole company

a pretty
;

and as

in the hall,

Prior, in

and

a situation

good view of the

I cast

my

eyes round

to take a survey of the various countenances,

they

were

struck
I

me

suddenly
as

about the

had ever beheld.

owner
tall

arrested

as he sat, I

From

by one that

most remarkable
the height of

its

judged he must be a very

man, and the high round shoulders gave

an idea of great physical strength

at the

though

same time the whole mass seemed

composed of bone,

for there

was very

little

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

310

muscle to cover

the

colour of his great

was of an unnatural whiteness,

coarse face

and

The

it.

immobility

rigid

favoured the idea that the

dead than

of

his features

man was more

There was altogether some-

alive.

thing so remarkable in his looks, that I could

with

turn

difficulty

fixed gaze,

he

a determined

with

moment, round
were

upon me

chanically

and temfic

scrutiny
If I

glare.

my

head for a

mid come again, and

stiff

moving from

It

my

two great mysterious eyes

his

his supper, like

dulum.

it

and that

My

from him.

returned

turn away

forced myself to

there

eyes

imagine, roused some emotions

him, for

within

my

jaw, slowly and

side to side, as

he ate

something acted on by a pen-

was

really

dreadful

we seemed

both bewitched to stare at each other

I longed for the signal to rise,

be

released

me-

from

the

This came at length;

strange

that I

and

might

fascination.

and' though I

had

311
promised myself

make some

to

inquiries of

the Prior concerning the owner of the eyes,

him during

yet not finding myself alone with

the

evening,

retired to

my

the

and

was obliged

day,

but

month

to leave

to

many

found myself

hospitable

the

mended me not
I

time

But when

the following day.

morning came,

unwell,

due

in

chamber, intending to proceed

my journey

on

and

forbore,

my

Prior

bed

and

very

recomfinally,

remain there not only that

days

in short,

it

was nearly

before I was well enough to quit

the convent.
" In the meantime, however, I

had learnt

the story of Brother Lazarus, for so I found

the object of

my

curiosity

was

called;

and

had thereby acquired some idea of the kind

The

of influence he had exercised over me.

window of the

little

room

I occupied looked

into the burying-place of the monastery

on the day

I first left

my

bed,

and

I perceived a

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

312

monk below

He was

digging a grave.

stoop-

ing forward, with his spade in his hand, and

me

with his back towards

was

You have

to the Prior

"

'

my room

I could not

habited alike,

all

distinguish which of
'

as

good way from the ground, and the

brothers were

"

and

them

was.

amongst you ?'

a death

when he

it

visited

No,' returned he

said I

me.

we have even no

serious sickness at present.'

" 'I see one of the brothers below, digging

a grave,' I replied.
"

'

Oh

said

he,

Brother Lazarus he

looking out,
is

digging

that

his

is

own

grave.'

"
'

What

an extraordinary fancy

But perhaps
"

'

Not

is

a penance

said

I.

?'

a penance imposed by me,' replied

the Prior,

zarus

it's

!'

'

but by

himself.

very strange

Brother

person.

you may have observed him

La-

Perhaps

at the refectory

THE monk's story.

he

nearly opposite you

sat

313
the other

at

table?'

"

observed
serving

him

He

is

Oh,

yes,

could help ob-

has the most extraordinary

Lazarus

returned the Prior

and

Who

I ever beheld.'

Brother

he

that

is

indeed.

him ?

countenance
"

me

Bless

'

'

a somnambulist,'

is

a natural

somnambulist

altogether, as I said before, a very ex-

traordinary character.'
"

'What!'

said

my

I,

good deal awakened,

sleep?

'

curiosity

being a

does he walk in his

never saw a somnambulist before,

and should
about him,

like
if

to

hear

some

particulars

you have no objection

to

tell

them me.'
"

They

'

are not desirable inmates, I assure

tell

you

some very odd adventures connected with

this

answered the Prior.

you,'

'

could

disease of Brother Lazarus.'

"

I should

be very

much

obliged to you.

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

314

you would/

if

said

with no

I,

eager-

little

ness.

"

Somnambulists are sometimes subject

'

strange hallucinations/ he replied

to

them

dream

is

life

to us,

is

to

and they not unfrequently

determination.

drama with a

will

monastery

of

this

man

we had

the

last

became Prior

monk who was

be a somnambulist.

to

one

accrue from

At

nature.

I inhabited, before I

of Pierre Chatel,

known

may

act

terrible

you

give

just

instance of the danger that

delusion

their

as real as our actual daily

out the scenes of the

'

He was

of a sombre character and gloomy tem-

perament

but

it

was rather supposed that

his melancholy proceeded

from physical causes,

than from any particular source of mental uneasiness.

irregular:

His nightLy wanderings were very

sometimes they were frequent, some-

times there were long intermissions. Occasionally

he would leave his

cell,

and

after

being ah-

THE monk's story.

sent from

it

own accord,
his

bed

several hours,
still

would return of

fast asleep,

at other times

315

and

his

lay himself in

he would wander so

far

away, that we had to send in search of him

and

would be met by the

he

sometimes

messengers on his way back, either awake or

asleep, as

"

'

it

might happen.

This strange malady had caused us some

anxiety,

and we had not neglected

the best advice

to its treatment

applied

seemed

we
;

could obtain with respect

and
to

so far subsided, that

have

it

taken

rare,

effect

the

and the disease

Several

months

had heard anything of

the nocturnal excursions of Brother

nique,

ceased to be a subject

of observation amongst us.

since I

remedies

at length the

paroxysms became more

had elapsed

seek

to

when one night

that

Domi-

had some

business of importance in hand, instead of

going to bed w^hen the

hood

rest of the brother-

retired to their cells,

I seated

myself at

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

316

my

desk,

for

the purpose of reading and

answering certain
in

question.

concerning the

letters

had been some time thus

my

occupied, and had just finished

my

had already locked

going to bed, when
door,

distant

heard the closing of a

and immediately afterwards a

gallery that

room from the

cells

be

in,

and

could be the matter

and was coming

was confirmed

door, the key of

it

to

Somebody must
seek assistance

when

was approaching

my

had not turned.

In

opened, and Fra

nique entered, asleep.

my

brotherhood.

in this persuasion

which

moment more

separated

the

of

I perceived that the foot

work, and

desk preparatory to

foot in the long

What

affair

Domi-

His eyes were wide

open, but there was evidently no speculation

in

them

they were fixed and glassy, like the

eyes of a corpse.

the

tunic

wearing

He had

which he was

at night,

and

nothing on but
in

in his

the

habit

of

hand he held a

THE MONKS STORY.

At

knife.

large

in

strange apparition I

this

From

stood transfixed.

317

the cautious

manner

which he had opened the door, and the

which he advanced into

stealthy pace with

the room, I could not doubt that he was bent

upon mischief; but aware of the dangerous

frequently result

that

effects

sudden

awakening

thought

it

better

of

sleep-walker,

watch

to

from the too

in

silence

the

acting out of this fearful drama, than venture

With

to disturb him.

would have used not

the precautions he

all

me had

arouse

to

he

been awake, he moved towards the bed, and

doing he had occasion to pass quite

in so

close to

where

the lamps

fell

brows were
into

an

When
felt

and as the light of

I stood,

upon

knit,

his face,

and

expression

saw that

his

his features contracted

of

resolute

malignity.

he reached the bed, he bent over

with

should
satisfied,

his

have

he

hand

in

been,
lifted

up

the place

and
his

then,

where

it,

apparently

arm, and struck

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

318

that,

heavy

three

successively

blows

heavy,

so

having pierced the bed-clothes, the blade

of the knife entered far into the mattress, or

rather into the

mat

that served

me

for one.

Suddenly, however, whilst his arm was raised

and turning

another blow, he started,

for

round, hastened towards the window, which

he opened, and had

it

been large enough,

But

think would have thrown himself out.

finding the aperture

and

I felt

touched

on his eyes

my

table

made no impression

he opened and closed the door

and

heard him proceed rapidly

along the gallery, and retire to his

It

would be vain

terrible scene.

of

own

cell.

to attempt to describe the

amazement with which

spectator

me,

The two lamps

with his tunic.

that stood on

close to

myself shrink back as he almost

me

as before

too small, he changed

Again he passed

his direction.

had witnessed

had been,

my own

as

murder,

overcome by the horrors of

it

were, the

and

this

this

was

visionary

THE monk's story.

Grateful to Providence for the

assassination.

danger

my

319

had escaped,

nerves to look at

it

yet could not brace

with calmness, and

passed the remainder of the night in a state

of

painful

On

agitation.

the

following

morning, as soon as breakfast was over,

summoned Fra Dominique

he entered,

to

my

As

room.

saw his eye glance

at the bed,

which was now, however, covered by other

linen, so that there

his
sad,

nocturnal

were no traces

visit.

His countenance was

but expressed no confusion,

quired

what had been the

dreams the preceding night.

and changed

me

till

in-

subject

of his

Then he

started,

colour.

" Reverend father," said he, "

ask

visible of

why do you

this ?"

" Never

mind,"

said

"I have my

reasons."
''

do not

turned he

like to

repeat

my

"it w-as too frightful

dream,"
;

and

re-

I fear

LIGHT AND DARKNESS.

320
that

it

must have been Satan himself

that

inspired it."

" Nevertheless

me

let

hear

" Well, reverend father,

what

so,

may

the

dreamt was

better

it."

you

if

this

will

it

but that you

my

comprehend

have

dream, I

must give you a short sketch of the circumstances in which

"

Do

so,"

originated."

it

said I

be interrupted,

I'll

"and

that

we may

lock the door."

turned the key, and bade

him

not

So having

seat himself

on

a stool opposite me, I prepared to listen to

the story of his

life.

END OF VOL.

LONDON

IL

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