CHAPTER V.

“* By eight to-morrow Thou shalt be made immortal.” Measure fow Measure,
ha eee
E _ white and well-ringed hands by the fire. He conversed with
him for half an hour on all the topics on which the secretary _ could give him information, and then dismissed him once more |
4 to the roof of Lady Jane. _ As he slowly undressed himself, he saw on his writing-table
the note which Lady Doltimore had referred to, and which he 2 had not yet opened. He lazily broke the seal, ran his eye care-
lessly over its few blotted words of remorse and alarm, and
~ world and the woman of society!
As his servant placed before him his wine and water, Vargrave e told him to see early to the preparations for departure, and to - call him at nine o’clock.
“ Shall I shut that door, my lord?” said the valet, pointing to one that communicated with one of those large closets, or
and in which wood and sundry other matters are kept.
No,” said Lord Vargrave, petulantly ; “you servants are so fond of excluding every breath of air. I should never have a _ window open, if I did not open it myself. Leave the door as it is, and do not be later than nine to-morrow.”
_ The servant, who slept ina kind of kennel, that communicated with the ante-room, did as he was bid ; and Vargrave put out his ndle, betook himself to bed, and, after drowsily gazing some
LorD VARGRAVE returned to his apartment to find Mr. ~ Howard, who had but just that instant arrived, warming his —
threw it down again with a contemptuous “pshaw!” Thus © - unequally are the sorrows of a guilty tie felt by the man of the —
_ armotres that are common appendages to French bedrooms,
%
minutes on the dying embers of the fire, which threw a dim
ghastly light over the chamber, fell fast asleep. . The clock struck the first hour of morning, and in that house all seemed — =
still. : ' The next morning, Maltravers was disturbed from his slumber by De Montaigne, who, arriving, as was often his wont, at an
early hour from his villa, had found Ernest’s note of the previous _
- evening,
Maltravers rose, and dressed himself ; and, while De Mon- taigne was yet listening to the account which his friend gave of his adventure with Cesarini, and the unhappy man’s accusa-
tion of his accomplice, Ernest’s servant entered the room ~
very abruptly.
“Sir,” said he, “I thought you might like to know,—what is to be done ?—the whole hotel is in confusion—Mr. Howard has been sent for,—and Lord Doltimore—so very strange, so
sudden !” “What is the matter? Speak plain.” ° “Lord Vargrave, sir—poor Lord Vargrave ” “Lord Vargrave!”
“Yes, sir; the master of the hotel, hearing you knew his lord- | : ship, would be so glad if you would come down. Lord Vargrave, _
sir, is dead—found dead in his bed!”
Maltravers was rooted to the spot with amaze and horror, _ Dead! and but last night so full of life, and schemes, and
hope, and ambition.
As soon as he recovered himself, he hurried to the spot, and =
De Montaigne followed. The latter, as they descended the stairs, laid his hand on Ernest’s arm and detained him. “Did you say that Castruccio left the apartment while
ais Pe set Dead ts sobiyn &
Vargrave was with you, and almost immediately after his
narrative of Vargrave’s instigation to his crime ?” eV es",
both.
“ No—it is impossible!” exclaimed Maltravers. “ How could S he obtain entrance—how pass Lord Vargrave’s servants ? No, ©
no—think of it not.”
The eyes of the friends met—a terrible suspicion possessed x
urried ee hey: reached the other door « of. V: grave’s apartment—the notice to Howard, with the name of - argrave underscored, was still on the panels—De Montaigne saw and shuddered. _ They were in the room by the bedside—a group were collected round—they gave way as the Englishman and his — _ friend approached ; and the eyes of Maltravers suddenly rested on the face of Lord Vargrave, which was locked, rigid, and onvulsed, : _ There was a buzz of voices which had ceased at the entrance — of Maltravers—it was now renewed—a surgeon had been sum- a -moned—the nearest surgeon—a young Englishman of no great repute orname. He was making inquiries as he bent over the COrpse. _ “Yes, sir,” said Lord Vargrave’s servant, “his lordship told me _ 0 call him at nine o’clock. I came in at that hour, but his lord- hip did not move nor answer me. I then looked to see if he were very sound asleep, and I saw that the pillows had got _ somehow over his face, and his head seemed to lie very low; so ot moved the pillows, and I saw that his lordship was dead.” _ Sir)’ said the surgeon, turning to Maltravers “you were a friend of his lordship’s, I hear. I have already sent for Mr. -Howard and Lord Doltimore. Shall I speak with you a minute?” _ Maltravers nodded assent. The surgeon cleared the room of. ll but himself; De Montaigne, and Maltravers. “Has that servant lived long with Lord Vargrave?” asked the surgeon. “T believe so—yes—I recollect his face—why ?” And you think him safe and honest ?” -*T don’t know—I know nothing of him.” ~ “Took here, sir,’—and the surgeon pointed to a slight discolo- tion on one side the throat of the dead man. “This may be accidental—purely natural—his lordship may have died in a fit —there are no certain aS of outward violence—but murder y suffocation might still “But who besides the servant could gain admission? Was the outer door closed ?”
ALICE; OR, TH.
to bed, and that no one was with his lordship, or in the rooms, when Lord Vargrave retired to rest, Entrance from the win- dows is impossible. Mind, sir, I do not think I have any right to suspect any one. His lordship had been in very ill healtha
short time before; had had, I hear, a rush of blood to the g head. Certainly, if the servant be innocent, we can suspect — no one else. You had better send for more experienced —
practitioners.”
De Montaigne, who had hitherto said nothing, now looked —
with a hurried glance around the room: he perceived the closet- door, which was ajar, and rushed to it, as by an involuntary
impulse. The closet was large, but a considerable pile of wood, :
and some lumber of odd chairs and tables, took up a great part of the space. De Montaigne searched behind and amidst this
litter with trembling haste—no trace of secreted murther was _
visible. He returned to the bedroom with a satisfied and relieved expression of countenance. He then compelled himself to approach the body, from which he had hitherto recoiled.
“ Sir,” said he, almost harshly, as he turned to the surgeon, — “what idle doubts are these? Cannot men die in their beds—of E sudden death,—no blood to stain their pillows,—no loop-hole for —
crime to pass through, but we must have science itself startling us
with silly terrors? As for the servant, I will answer for his
innocence—his manner—his voice attest it.” The surgeon drew
back, abashed and humbled, and began to apologise—to qualify, :
when Lord Doltimore abruptly entered. “Good heavens!” said he, “ what is this? What do I hear?
Is it possible? Dead! So suddenly!” He cast a hurried — glance at the body—shivered—and sickened—and threw himself
into a chair, as if to recover the shock. Whenagain he removed
his hand from his face, he saw lying before him on the table an — open note. The character was familiar,—his own name struck — his eye,—it was the note which Caroline had sent the day before. — As no one heeded him, Lord Doltimore read. on, and possessed —
himself of the proof of his wife’s guilt unseen,
The surgeon, now turning from De Montaigne, who had been — rating him soundly for the last few moments, addressed himself —
‘
“The servant can take oath that he shut the door before going :
i Your lordship,” said he, “was, hear,Lord rgrave’s most intimate friend at Paris.” ; ae «J fis intimate friend !” said Doltimore, colouring highly, and — in a disdainful accent. “Sir, you are misinformed.” “ Have you no orders to give, then, my lord ?” ee “None, sir. My presence here is quite useless. Good-day to you, gentlemen.” © With whom, then, do the last duties rest ?” said the surgeon, © turning to Maltravers and De Montaigne. “With the late lord’s ecretary ?—I expect him every moment ;—and here he is, I _ suppose,”—as Mr Howard, pale, and evidently overcome by his
gitation, entered the apartment. Perhaps, of all the human beings whom the ambitious spirit of that senseless clay had drawn
around it by the webs of interest, affection, or intrigue, that young man, whom it had never been a temptation to Vargrave to deceive or injure, and who missed only the gracious and miliar patron, mourned most his memory, and defended most is character. The grief of the poor secretary was now indeed vermastering. He sobbed and wept like a child. ~ When Maltravers retired from the chamber of death, De Mon- igne accompanied him ; but, soon quitting him again, as Ernest ent his way to Evelyn, he quietly rejoined Mr. Howard, who ye readily grasped at his offers of aid in the last melancholy duties
CHABTERA VI.
6 1f we do meet again, why, we shall smile.” —Fulius Casar.
‘THE interview with Evelyn was long and painful. It was eserved for Maltravers to break to her the news of the sudden death of Lord Vargrave, which shocked her unspeakably; and his, which made their first topic, removed much constraint and deadened much excitement in those which followed.
- Vargrave’s death served also to relieve Maltravers from a most anxious embarrassment, He need no longer fear that
a e
aE UES RIT REO TNE RES BERET IR ER are enn Se SSS Alice would be degraded in the eyes of Evelyn. Henceforth the secret that identified the erring Alice Darvil with the spotless Lady Vargrave was safe, known only to Mrs. Leslie and to Aubrey. In the course of nature, all chance of its disclosure must soon die with them; and should Alice at last become his wife, and should Cleveland suspect (which was — not probable) that Maltravers had returned to his first love, - he knew that he might depend on the inviolable secrecy of — his earliest friend. am
The tale that Vargrave had told to Evelyn of his early— but, according to that tale, guiltless—passion for Alice, he tacitly confirmed; and he allowed that the recollection of her | virtues, and the intélligence of her sorrows and unextinguish- able affection, had made him recoil from a marriage with her supposed daughter. He then proceeded to amaze his young listener with the account of the mode in which he had dis- covered her real parentage; of which the banker had left it to Alice’s discretion to inform her, after she had attained — the age of eighteen. And then, simply, but with manly and — ill-controlled emotion, he touched upon the joy of Alice at — beholding him again—upon the endurance and fervour of her love—upon her revulsion of feeling at learning that, in her unforgotten lover, she beheld the recent suitor of her adopted — child. :
“And now,” said Maltravers, in conclusion, “the path to. both of us remains the same. To Alice is our first duty. The discovery I have made of your real parentage does not diminish the claims which Alice has on me,—does not lessen — the grateful affection that is due to her from yourself. Yes, — Evelyn, we are not the less separated for ever. But when Ls learned the wilful falsehood which the unhappy man, now | hurried to his last account—to whom v
had imposed upon me,
. =)
‘New villanies on the. part of. this most
is memory. For you—oh! still let me deer myself your
°
not shrink from the cold word of friendship. Z
oBvelyn, as soon as she could recover the power of words, “my most poignant sorrow is, that I have no rightful claim
easured and lukewarm. And have I—I destroyed her joy at seeing you again? But you—you will hasten to console— o reassure her! She loves you still,—she will be happy at last ; and that—that thought—oh! that thought compensates tf all! i
‘There was so much warmth and simplicity in Evelyn’s artless manner,—it was so evident that her love for him had not been of that ardent nature, which would at first have superseded every other thought in the anguish of losing him for ever, that the scale fell from the eyes of Maltravers, and he saw at once that his own love had blinded him to the true _ character of hers. He was human; and a sharp pang shot across his breast. He remained silent for some moments; and en resumed, compelling himself as he spoke, to fix his eyes steadfastly on hers.
“And now, Evelyn—still may I so call you ?—I have a duty to discharge to another. You are loved ”—and he smiled, but he smile was sad —“ by a younger and more suitable lover than
love—he left you to a rival: the rival removed, dare he venture to explain to you his own conduct, and plead his own motives xeorge Legard ” Maltravers paused. The cheek on which he gazed was tinged with a soft blush—Evelyn’s eyes _ were downcast—there was a slight heaving beneath the robe, Maltravers suppressed a sigh and continued. He narrated his interview with Legard at Dover; and, passing lightly over what had Ghauced at vole dwelt with generous eloquence on the
> verted man. came to my ear: but he is dead; let us spare
iend—your more than brother; let me hope now, that I have ~ lanted no thorn in that breast, and that your atic ctioe does —
“Of all the wonders that you have told me,” answered me
© give a daughter’s love to her whom I shall ever idolise
as my mother. Oh! nowI see why I thought her affection _
I am. From noble and generous motives he suppressed that —
~ return to London, and assist in the effort to save your fortune —
‘magnanimity with which his rival’s gratitude had been displayed. | -Evelyn’s eyes sparkled, and the smile just visited the rosy lips -
and vanished again—the worst because it was the least selfish, fear of Maltravers was gone, and no vain doubt of Evelyn’s too keen regret remained to chill his conscience in obeying its earliest and strongest duties.
“Farewell!” he said, as he rose to depart; “I will at once
from this general wreck: LIFE calls us back to its cares and _ business—farewell, Evelyn! Aubrey will, I trust, remain with you still.” | “Remain! Can I not return then to my—to her—yes, let me call her mother still?” “Evelyn,” said Maltravers, in a very low voice, “spare me—
spare her that pain! Are we yet fit to——” He paused;
Evelyn comprehended him, and hiding her face with her hands, _ burst into tears. a
When Maltravers left the room, he was met by Aubrey, who, drawing him aside, told him that Lord Doltimore had just — informed him that it was not his intention to remain at Paris, and had more than delicately hinted at a wish for the departure _ of Miss Cameron. In this emergency, Maltravers bethought himself of Madame de Ventadour.
No house in Paris was a more eligible refuge—no friend more zealous—no protector would be more kind—no adviser more sincere. To her then he hastened. He briefly informed _ her of Vargrave’s sudden death; and suggested, that for Evelyn — to return at once to a sequestered village in England might be : a severe trial to spirits already broken ; and declared truly, that _ though his marriage with Evelyn was broken off, her welfare was no less dear to him than heretofore. At his first hint, — Valerie, who took a cordial interest in Evelyn for her own sake, — ordered her carriage, and drove at once to Lady Doltimore’s. | His lordship was out—her ladyship was ill—in her own room— could see no one—not even her guest. Evelyn in vain sent up to request an interview ; and at last, contenting herself with an — affectionate note of farewell, accompanied Aubrey to the home — of her new hostess. ;
d at feast to know her with one oho would be sure to win her affection, and soothe her spirits, Maltravers set out on his solitary return to England.
; ‘Whatever Suspicious. circumstances might or might not have attended the death of Lord Vargrave, certain it is that no evidence confirmed, and no popular rumour circulated, them, — His late illness, added to the supposed shock of the loss of the fortune he had anticipated with Miss Cameron, aided by the _ simultaneous intelligence of the defeat of the party with whom it was believed he had indissolubly entwined his ambition, sufficed - to account, satisfactorily enough, for the melancholy event. De | _ Montaigne, who had been long, though not intimately, acquainted _ with the deceased, took upon himself all the necessary arrange- ments, and superintended the funeral; after which ceremony, Howard returned to London; and in Paris, as in the grave, all — ings are forgotten! But still in De Montaigne’s breast there welt a horrible fear. As soon as he had learned from altravers the charge the maniac brought against Vargrave, there came upon him the recollection of that day when Cesarini had attempted De Montaigne’s life, evidently mistaking him in s delirium for another—and the sullen, cunning, and ferocious — character which the insanity had ever afterwards assumed. He had learned from Howard that the outer door had been left ajar when Lord Vargrave was with Maltravers; the writing on the — panel—_the name of Vargrave—would have struck Castruccio’s eye as he descended the stairs; the servant was from home—the apart- ments deserted ; he sige have won his way into the bedchamber oncealed himself i in the armoire, and in ‘the dead of the night, and in the deep. and helpless sleep of his victim, have done the deed. What need of weapons ?—the suffocating pillows would top speech and life. What so easy as escape ?—to pass into the te-room ; to unbolt the door: to descend into the court-yard ; o give the signal to the porter in his lodge, who, without seeing m, would pull the cordon, and give him egress OSes
All this was so possible—so probable.
De Montaigne now withdrew all inquiry for the unfortunate 3 trembled at the thought of discovering him—of verifying his wwful suspicions—of beholding a murderer in the brother of his
ALICE; OR, THE YSTERL
wife! But he was not doomed long to éntertain fear for — Cesarini; he was not fated ever to change suspicion into — certainty. A few days after Lord Vargrave’s burial, a corpse Z was drawn from the Seine. Some tablets in the pockets, — scrawled over with wild, incoherent verses, gave a clue to the — discovery of the dead man’s friends: and, exposed at the : Morgue, in that bleached and altered clay, De Montaigne : recognised the remains of Castruccio Cesarini. “He died and © made no sign!”