CHAPTER VIL

¢¢ Singula quzeque locum teneant sortita.”"\—Hor. Art. Poet.
MALTRAVERS and the lawyers were enabled to save from the ~ insolvent bank but a very scanty portion of that wealth in which — ie Richard Templeton had rested so much of pride. The title extinct, the fortune gone ; so does Fate laugh at our posthumous ambition! _ Meanwhile Mr. Douce, with considerable plunder, had made — his way to America: the bank owed nearly half a million; the — purchase money for Lisle Court, which Mr. Douce had been so — anxious to get into his clutches, had not sufficed to stave off the ruin—but a great part of it sufficed to procure competence for himself. How inferior in wit, in acuteness, in stratagem, was — Douce to Vargrave; and yet Douce had gulled him like a child! — Well said the shrewd small philosopher of France—“ Oz peut ttre plus fin gwun autre, mais pas plus fin que tous les autres.” + . To Legard, whom Maltravers had again encountered at Dover, the latter related the downfall of Evelyn’s fortunes; and Mal-~ travers loved him when. he saw that, far from changing his affection, the loss of wealth seemed rather to raise his hopes. : They parted ; and Legard set out for Paris. . But was Maltravers all.the while forgetful of Alice? He nade not been twelve hours in London before he committed toa long”
1 To each lot its appropriate place.
3 ,One may be more sharp than one’s neighbour, but one can’t be sharper than al : one’s neighbours, — ROCHEFOUCAULD.
truthful letter all his thoughts, eis enon his admin and
z which his first belief in Vargrave’s falsehood had occasioned—his passionate determination to subdue all trace of a love then asso-
of Alice’s enduring faith and affection—had removed the image
velyn would soon be consoled for his loss by another, with
¥. ee a : no more, his suit to Evelyn never could be renewed, and Alice’s
memory would usurp the place of all living love! Her answer came: it pierced him to the heart. It was so
et coloured every word ; but it was love pained, galled, crushed,
irity. His offer-was refused.
Months passed away—Maltravers yet trusted to time. The curate had returned to Brook-Green, and his letters fed Ernest’s hopes and assured his doubts. The more leisure there was left him for reflection, the fainter became those dazzling and rainbow hues in which Evelyn had been robed and surrounded, and the
he pondered on Alice’s past history, and the singular beauty of her faithful attachment, the more he was impressed with wonder and admiration—the more anxious to secure to his side one te whom Nature had been so bountiful in all the gifts that make oman the angel and star of life.
_ Months passed—from Paris the news that Maltravers received confirmed all his expectations—the suit of Legard had replaced _ his own. It was then that Maltravers began to consider how far the fortune of Evelyn and her destined husband was such as to preclude all anxiety for their future lot. Fortune is so indeter- minate in its gauge and measurement. Money, the most elastic materials, falls ees or exceeds, according to the extent of our
profound gratitude. Again, and with solemn earnestness, he Fs implored her to accept his hand, and to confirm at the altar the _ tale which had been told to Evelyn. Truly he said, that the shock —
ciated with crime and horror—followed so close by his discovery.
f Evelyn from the throne it had hitherto held in his desires iG nd thoughts ;—truly he said, that he was now convinced that
whom she would be happier than with him—truly and solemnly | . ne declared that if Alice rejected him still, if even Alice were
numble, so grateful, so tender still. Unknown to herself, love
nd trampled on; it was love, proud from its very depth and .
brighter the halo that surrounded his earliest love. The more
432
wants and desires. With all Legard’s ee qualities h constitutionally careless and extravagant ; and Evelyn was to C inexperienced, and too gentle, perhaps, to correct his tendenci 3 Maltravers learned that Legard’s income was one that requir ‘an economy which he feared that, in spite of all his reformation Legard might not have the self-denial to enforce. After so consideration, he resolved to add secretly to the remains
| Evelyn’s fortune such a sum as might, being properly secured _ to herself and children, lessen whatever danger could arise fro the possible improvidence of her husband, and guard against the chance of those embarrassments which are among the wo disturbers of domestic peace. He was enabled to effect t eS
generosity, unknown to both of them, as if the sum bestowed were collected from the wrecks of Evelyn’s own wealth, and the profits of the sale of the houses in C , which of course h “not been involved in Douce’s bankruptcy. And then if Ali were ever his, her jointure, which had been secured on the pro- perty appertaining to the villa at Fulham, would devolve upor Evelyn. Maltravers could never accept what Alice owed to another. Poor Alice !—No! not that modest wealth which you had looked upon complacently as one day or other to be his, Lord Doltimore is travelling in the East,—Lady Doltimore less adventurous, has fixed her residence in Rome. She ha: grown thin, and taken to antiquities and rouge. Her spirits remarkably high—not an uncommon effect of laudanum,
CHAPTER THE LAST.
*¢ Arrived at last Unto the wished haven.” ——-SHAKSPEARE,
In the August of that eventful year a bridal party assembled at the cottage of Lady Vargrave. The cerem had just been performed, and Ernest Maltravers had besto upon George Legard the hand of Evelyn Templeton.
her aoe he had once io Weoed as a bride, an Speecint eye 1ight have noted the trace of mental struggles, it was the trace - struggles past; and the calm had once more settled over the lent deeps. He saw from the casement the carriage that was bear away the bride to the home of another; the gay faces of e village group, whose intrusion was not forbidden, and to om that solemn ceremonial was but a joyous pageant; and en he turned once more to those within the chamber, he felt and clasped in Legard’s. | ne ‘You have been the preserver of my life—you have been the lispenser of my earthly happiness ; all now left to me to wish or is, that you may receive from Heaven the blessings you have ‘iven to others!”
“Legard, never let her know a sorrow that you can guard r from; and believe that the husband of Evelyn will be dear —
‘o me as a brother!” . | _ And as a brother blesses some younger and orphan sister queathed and intrusted to a care that should replace a ather’s, so Maltravers laid his hand lightly on Evelyn’s golden sses, and his lips moved in prayer. He ceased—he pressed last kiss upon her forehead, and placed her hand in that of | er young husband. There was silence—and when to the ear of [altravers it was broken, it was by the wheels of the carriage hat bore away the wife of George Legard!
The spell was dissolved for ever. And there stood before the ely man the idol of his early youth, Alice, still, perhaps, as r,and once young and passionate, as Evelyn—pale, changed, ‘put lovelier than of old, if heavenly patience and holy thought, nd the trials that purify and exalt, can shed over human eatures something more beautiful than bloom.
~The good curate alone was present, besides these two urvivors of the error and the love that make the rapture and > misery of so many of our kind. And the old man, after ontemplating them a moment, stole unperceived away.
Alice,” said Maltravers, and his voice trembled; “hitherto, 1 motives too pure and too noble for the practical affections EE
_and ties of life, you have rejected the hand of the lover of your.
youth.» Here again I implore you to be mine! Give to my conscience the balm of believing that I can repair to you the
__evils and the sorrows I have brought upon you. Nay, weep
not; turn not away. Each of us stands alone; each of us needs
the other. In your heart is locked up all my fondest associations, — my brightest memories. In you I see the mirror of what I was when the world was new, ere I had found how Pleasure palls —
upon us, and Ambition deceives! And me, Alice—ah, you love me still! Time and absence have but strengthened the chain
that binds us. By the memory of our early love—by the grave of our lost child that, had it lived, would have united its parents, —
I implore you to be mine!”
“Too generous!” said Alice, almost sinking beneath the emo- |
tions that shook that gentle spirit and fragile form. “How can
I suffer your compassion—for it is but compassion—to deceive yourself? You are of another station than I believed you. How
can you raise the child of destitution and guilt to your own rank? And shall I—I—who, Heaven knows! would save you from all regret—bring to you now, when years have so changed and
broken the little charm I could ever have possessed, this blighted — _heart and weary spirit ?—oh! no, no!” and Alice paused abruptly, _and the tears rolled down her cheeks, “Be it as you will,” said. Maltravers, mournfully; “but, at—
least, ground your refusal upon better motives. Say that now, independent in fortune, and attached to the habits you have
formed, you would not hazard your happiness in my keeping | —perhaps you are right. To my happiness you would indeed
contribute ; your sweet voice might charm away many a memory
vata Peckhh ee 44
TE OEM ON RITTER EDT EEL RIE ee tn Ne iar Aa ae eR ee PP ORR a ee ea ean
and many a theught of the baffled years that have intervened 4
since we parted; your image might dissipate the solitude which
is closing round the Future of a disappointed and anxious life. With you, and with you alone, I might yet find a home,a com- — forter, a charitable and soothing friend. This you could give to
me ; and with a heart and a form alike faithful to a love that
deserved not so enduring a devotion. But I—what can I bestow
your simple wants. *Tis true the exchange is not equal, Alice.
dieu!”
~ I could—I, so untutored, so unworthy—if I could conn you ina single care!” She said no more, but she had said enough; and Maltravers, : ~ clasping her to his bosom, felt once more that heart which never, even in thought, had swerved from its early worship, beating q against | his own! _ He drew her gently into the open air. The ripe and mellow
= ~ noonday of the last month of summer glowed upon the odorous _
- flowers ;—and the broad sea, that stretched beyond and afar wore upon its solemn waves a golden and happy smile.
- “ And ah,” murmured Alice, softly, as she looked up from his breast; “I ask not if you have loved others since we parted— _ man’s faith is so different from ours—I only ask if you love me - now?”
_ “More! oh, immeasurably more, than in our youngest days,” cried Maltravers, with fervent passion. “More fondly—more
_ even her, in whose youth and innocence I adored the memory of thee! Here have I found that which shames and bankrupts the Ideal! Here have I found a virtue, that, coming at once from God and Nature, has been wiser than all my false philosophy, and firmer than all my pride! You, cradled by misfortune, your childhood reared amidst scenes of fear and vice, which, while they scared back the intellect, had no pollution for the soul,—your very parent your tempter and your foe,—you, only
error,—you, alike through the equal trials of poverty and wealth, have been: destined to rise above all triumphant; the example of the sublime moral that teaches us with what mysterious beauty and immortal holiness the Creator has endowed our human nature when hallowed by our human affections! You alone suffice to shatter into dust the haughty creeds of the Misanthrope and Pharisee! And your fidelity to my erring self has taught me ever to love, to serve, to compassionate, to respect KE2
“Cruel!” said Alice, approaching him with timid steps, “a If
not a miracle and an angel by the stain of one soft and unconscious —
i
the community of God’s creatures to which—noble and elevate though you are—you yet belong!” Bis = He ceased, overpowered with the rush of his own thoughts, And Alice was too blessed for words. But in the murmur of the sunlit leaves—in the breath of the summer air—in the song — of the exulting birds—and the deep and distant music of the — heaven-surrounded seas, there went a melodious voice that seemed — as if Nature echoed to his words, and blest the reunion of her children, 2 Maltravers once more entered upon the career so long suspended. He entered with an energy more practical and steadfast than the fitful enthusiasm of former years. And it was noticeable amongst those who knew him well, that while — the firmness of his mind was not impaired, the haughtiness of his temper was subdued. No longer despising Man as he is, and - no longer exacting from all things the ideal of a visionary — standard, he was more fitted to mix in the living World, and to minister usefully to the great objects that refine and elevate our race. His sentiments were, perhaps, less lofty, but his actions were infinitely more excellent, and his theories infinitely more wise. = Stage after stage we have proceeded with him through the MYSTERIES OF LIFE. The Eleusinia are closed, and the _ crowning libation poured. . : And Alice !—Will the world blame us if you are left happy — ss at the last? We are daily banishing from our law-books the statutes that disproportion punishment to crime. Daily we preach the doctrine that we demoralise, wherever we strain justice into cruelty. It is time that we should apply to the Social Code the Wisdom we recognise in Legislation! It is” time that we should do away with the punishment of death for — inadequate offences, even in books; it is time that we should — allow the morality of atonement, and permit to Error the right - to hope, as the reward of submission to its suffering. Nor let it be thought that the close to Alice’s career can offer temptation - to the offence of its commencement. Eighteen years of sadness" --a youth consumed in silent sorrow over the grave of Joy-——
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ALICE; OR, THE MYSTERIES. 437
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have images that throw over these pages a dark and warning shadow that will haunt the young long after they turn from the tale that is about to close! If Alice had died of a broken heart —if her punishment had been more than she could bear—¢hen, as in real life, you would have justly condemned my moral ; and the human heart, in its pity for the victim, would have lost all recollection of the error—-My tale is done.
THE END
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