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MORLEY ERNSTEIN 
 
 OR 
 
 THE TENANTS OF THE HEART. 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ. 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE ROBBER," " THE GENTLEMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL, 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. 11. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET. 
 
 1842. 
 
?'ll 3 
 
 I/. iL. 
 
 MORLEY ERNSTEIN 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE TENANTS OF THE HEART. 
 
 CHAPTER 1, 
 
 The under-workings of the passions in the 
 human heart, the movements and the progress 
 of that central fire in the world of each man's 
 breast — that fire which is never guessed at by 
 the surface, except from some slight and often 
 unobserved indications, or from some violent 
 outburst, like the eruption of a volcano — the 
 undervvorkings of the passions, I say, are ge- 
 nerally far more worthy of the investigation 
 of philosophy, if we would take the trouble, are 
 far more replete with the tragic and the sub- 
 lime, than all the external demonstrations to 
 w^hich we give so much attention. When sitting 
 TQU II. B 
 
2 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 in the midst of a social circle, and often when 
 gay looks and hght jests abound, who is there 
 shall say, what are the feelings really within 
 the very bosoms that are next to us — what 
 the passions that are gnawing the core of the 
 hearts that seem all merriment? — the canker- 
 worm of envy — the sharp tooth of hatred — the 
 bitter grinding jaws of disappointment — the lo- 
 custs of ill-requited love eating up all the green 
 things of hope ? Alas ! alas ! too often in the 
 world in which we live, if we could draw back 
 the veil from the hearts of the most cheerful 
 scene, there would be much weeping amongst 
 us for the sorrows of others, or our own ! 
 
 The drawing-room of Lady Malcolm was a 
 pleasant and a cheerful room ; and — though in 
 the midst of London — she had contrived, by 
 manifold flowers and shrubs, frequently re- 
 newed, to give it a certain degree of freshness, 
 an air and a scent of the country, which were 
 wonderfully refreshing to the London-tired 
 senses at the end of a long season. In that 
 drawing-room, with the windows open and the 
 warm air of a summer's night stealing through 
 the half-closed blinds, sat the good lady herself, 
 together with Juliet Carr and Helen Barham, 
 waiting for the arrival of Morley Ernstein, He 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 3 
 
 was the only person invited, for Lady Malcolm 
 not only wished Helen Barham to remain as 
 quietly as might be in her house, but she also 
 wished Morley and Juliet Carr to have as much 
 of each other's society, uninterrupted, as possible. 
 As far as all the external circumstances of 
 life could go, nothing could be happier for 
 Helen Barham than the change which had oc- 
 curred, and the situation in which she was 
 now placed. Good Lady Malcolm was feeling 
 and acting towards her as a mother. That 
 worthy lady, after embracing Morley 's pro- 
 posal, as eagerly as we have seen her do, had 
 for a little time been puzzled by the question 
 of how she was to treat the person whom she 
 had promised to protect, but she had wisely put 
 off the consideration of it till she had seen Miss 
 Barham with her own eyes. When she did see 
 her, however, all doubt upon the matter va- 
 nished; the engaging charm which pervaded 
 Helen's whole demeanour, whether in sorrow or 
 joy, gloom or gaiety, affected instantly so very 
 impressible a person as Lady Malcolm ; and she 
 had come away, declaring to Juliet as soon 
 as she got into the street, that Helen was the 
 sweetest creature she had ever seen in her life, 
 and that she should not wonder, if properly 
 b2 
 
4 MORLEY ERNSTBIN. 
 
 brought out, and introduced into good society, 
 were she to end by marrying a Duke. She 
 consequently at once set Helen on a par with 
 herself and Juliet, and treated her as her own 
 child from the moment she entered her house, 
 doing everything that motherly tenderness could 
 do to remove any little sensation of shyness and 
 dependence, and to make her perfectly at home 
 and at ease in her new abode. 
 
 Juliet, though perhaps not quite so easily 
 charmed as Lady Malcolm, had not only felt the 
 fascination of Helen Barham's demeanour very 
 sti'ongly, but had been more deeply interested 
 in her than Lady Malcolm herself, entering into 
 all her sensations — perhaps almost divining her 
 thoughts. On their very first interview she had 
 watched her beauty with a curious and attentive 
 eye, even while occupied in recalling her to her- 
 self after she had fainted ; and when Helen re- 
 covered, Juliet remained meditative, if not sad, 
 for some time. There is nothing like woman's 
 heart for finding out woman's secrets, and Juliet 
 — perhaps by questioning herself as to what 
 would have been her own feelings had she been 
 so situated with Morley Ernstein — in a great 
 desree discovered those of Helen Barham. 
 When the conviction of what the poor girl's sen-i^ 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 5 
 
 timents towards her deliverer must be^ flashed 
 upon Juliet's mind, her sensations were strange, 
 and for a moment beyond all control. The first 
 question she asked herself was, " Does Morley 
 love her after all ? — Can he help loving her — so 
 beautiful, so interesting, so much to be pitied ?" 
 But the next moment she recollected all she 
 knew of his character, every trait that she had 
 remarked of his demeanour in regard to the very 
 matter with which her thoughts were busied; 
 and, though she had at first clasped her hand 
 upon her heart to stop its insufferable beating, 
 she now took it away relieved, saying in her 
 own mind — " 'Tis I whom he loves. Alas, 
 poor Helen Barham !" 
 
 For an instant, for a single instant, Juliet 
 Carr had felt the pangs of jealousy, but the 
 moment after, when her feeling of security in 
 Morley's love returned, she reproached herself 
 bitterly for the joy she felt at that which must 
 needs produce another's sorrow. The few hours' 
 calm reflection which intervened between their 
 visit to the fair object of their care, and her 
 arrival at Lady Malcolm's house, calmed down 
 and quieted Juliet's feelings, and enabled her 
 to play her part towards Helen, when she did 
 arrive, in the manner which might be expected 
 
6 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 from her character. As a sort of atonement for 
 loving Morley Ernstein, and being beloved by 
 him, as well as from tenderness and interest, 
 and kindness towards Helen, no sister could 
 have shewn her more affectionate care and 
 attention than were displayed by Juliet Carr. 
 She sat with her in the room which had been 
 assigned to her near her own ; she aided her 
 to arrange it with taste ; she saw if anything 
 was wanting, and had it instantly supplied; 
 she talked with her of future prospects and 
 bright hopes, and lavished on her all those little 
 acts of gentle attention, which removed every 
 feeling of strangeness, and made Helen feel 
 that she had a friend upon whose bosom she 
 could cast herself in danger, or sorrow, or temp- 
 tation if it should come, and tell her all with- 
 out fear or hesitation. 
 
 That conviction was in itself a relief, a mighty 
 relief to the poor girl's heart ; and though her 
 mind still wandered to Morley Ernstein, and 
 thought dwelt, in spite of all her efforts, upon 
 the connexion between him and Juliet Carr, 
 when she looked upon her lovely companion, 
 marked her transcendent beauty, listened to 
 her melodious voice, and experienced such ten- 
 derness and generous kindness, she could not 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 7 
 
 refrain, even in Juliet's presence/ from looking 
 down with a sigh, and murmuring indistinctly 
 with a melancholy movement of the head, " no 
 wonder that he loves her." 
 
 The day passed over in this manner, but 
 before night, Helen Barbara was quite familiar 
 with the house and its inhabitants. Every- 
 thing that Lady Malcolm saw of her, led that 
 lady to approve her conduct more and more. 
 Her manners were so graceful, her whole de- 
 meanour so distinguished, that the good lady 
 began to feel proud of her protegee, and look- 
 ing from Helen to Juliet, as she sat at dinner, 
 she could not help thinking, that seldom on the 
 face of this earth, had two such beautiful beings 
 sat side by side. 
 
 Helen was sad and thoughtful during the 
 early part of the evening, but in consideration 
 of those with whom she dwelt, she struggled 
 against the gloom that oppressed her; sought 
 her usual occupations, and followed her ordinary 
 pursuits. Thus while Lady Malcolm herself fell 
 quietly asleep over a purse that she was netting, 
 and Juliet busied her fingers with embroidery, 
 Helen went on sketching with a masterly hand, 
 though with the carelessness of absent thoughts, 
 a scene from Milton's Paradise Lost, represent- 
 ing the contention of the archangel and the fiend. 
 
8 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 Juliet talked to her from time to time, and 
 then came round to view her work. " Why, 
 Helen ! " she exclaimed, with the first impulse 
 of surprise, as she looked over her shoulder; 
 " you have drawn a friend of ours for the angel !" 
 
 Helen looked up in her face with her large 
 lustrous eyes, but made no reply, and Juliet 
 returned thoughtfully to her seat again. Helen 
 added several more strokes to the other figure, 
 and then pushed it gently across the table to 
 her fair companion, saying, with a sad smile — 
 
 " You shall have it, for you are an angel too, 
 I think. It is like him, I believe — though I did 
 not intend it." 
 
 Juliet gazed for several minutes intently at the 
 drawing, which was beautifully, though slightly 
 executed, and while she was still thus employed. 
 Sir Morley Ernstein was announced and entered 
 the room. 
 
 Lady Malcolm started up out of her sleep ; and 
 not a little emotion was felt both by Helen Bar- 
 ham and Juliet Carr. Strange to say, however, 
 Juliet shewed it most. She, who had usually 
 so much command over herself, was now flut- 
 tered and agitated. It is true there were sensa- 
 tions in her bosom towards Morley Ernstein, 
 which produced a thrill whenever she saw him ; 
 but in the most profound lakes the gushing of 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 9 
 
 the fountains is hidden by the depth of the 
 waters ; and those feeUngs confined themselves 
 to her heartj and did not at all appear on the sur- 
 face. In the present instance it was the presence 
 of Helen Barham that agitated her more than the 
 coming of Morley Ernstein. She sympathized 
 with the poor girl deeply, and by a power, which 
 true benevolence really has, she placed herself in 
 the situation of her fair companion so completely, 
 as to feel all that she felt without losing the emo- 
 tions natural to her own situation also. There 
 was always a great abnegation of self in the cha- 
 racter of Juliet Carr, and though she could not 
 have sacrificed Morley's love for any considera- 
 tion^ yet she did wish that he would now speak 
 to Helen first. 
 
 But Morley did not do so, and would not have 
 done so for the world, even on Helen's own ac- 
 count. There had been something in her man- 
 ner that morning which he would not suffer his 
 mind to rest upon, the remembrance of which^he 
 had cast from him as an idle vanity, but which, 
 nevertheless, influenced his conduct, making him 
 feel that it would be better to mark at once his 
 attachment to Juliet Carr as strongly as pos- 
 sible. After speaking for a moment, then, with 
 Lady Malcolm^ he turned to Juliet, and took 
 b3 
 
10 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 her hand in his, with his face beaming with all 
 the affection that was in his heart. He called 
 her by her Christian name, too, as she had per- 
 mitted him, and every look and every tone was 
 calculated to leave no doubt on the mind of 
 any one, as to what were his feelings towards her. 
 Juliet was only the more agitated ; but 
 Helen was less so than might have been ex- 
 pected. The marked conduct of Morley to- 
 wards Juliet Carr did her good. She had pre- 
 viously made up her mind, and read her fate, 
 and the only thing that could have shaken her 
 greatly at that moment, would have been the 
 renewal of doubt and hope. Thus, when Mor- 
 ley turned towards her, and spoke to her, as he 
 had been accustomed to do, kindly, gently, ten- 
 derly — ay, tenderly! — for a slight inclination, 
 which he detected in his own breast, to make his 
 manner towards Helen a little less warm than it 
 had been when they were alone together, caused 
 him resolutely to resist such a feeling as disho- 
 nourable to her, to Juliet, and to himself — when 
 he spoke to her, then, kindly, gently, and tenderly 
 — as if, in short, he were a brother — she received 
 him, not without emotion, indeed, but with a 
 much greater appearance of calmness than she 
 had previously hoped to obtain. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 11 
 
 Morley congratulated her upon her change of 
 abode, and upon the friendship of Lady Mal- 
 colm ; for it was a part of his plan, and, indeed, 
 was only consistent with his impetuous character, 
 to go straightforward to every difficult or un- 
 pleasant point, and never to be satisfied till all 
 was said that it might be necessary to say. 
 Many people do great things by avoiding diffi- 
 culties, but bolder minds love the task of over- 
 coming them. He spoke at once, therefore, of 
 the change which had taken place in Helen's 
 situation, though he knew it might awaken un- 
 pleasant thoughts, feeling that as much must be 
 referred to, and even discussed at different 
 periods, concerning her past and her future 
 fate, it would be better to touch upon the sub- 
 ject immediately, lest every hour of reserve 
 should render it more difficult. He then added, 
 in a rather lower voice — 
 
 " I have seen your brother, my dear Miss 
 Barham, and we are to meet again to-morrow ; 
 when I hope all things will be settled to your 
 satisfaction. In the meantime, I need not ask 
 if you are comfortable and happy with these 
 friends, for I know Lady Malcolm is all kind- 
 ness, especially where she meets with undeserved 
 sorrow. I think, too," he added, turning his 
 
12 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 eyes to Juliet, " that we might very well trust 
 the happiness of any one to Miss Carr's ten. 
 derness." 
 
 " We have clone what we could to soothe her, 
 Morley," replied Juliet Carr, " but it is not to 
 be expected that Miss Barham should yet be 
 quite as cheerful as we will hope to see her. 
 She can amuse herself, however, even now, and 
 at the same time gratify her friends — Look 
 here !" 
 
 *' Oh, no, no !" exclaimed Helen, trying to 
 prevent Juliet from shewing the drawing ; but 
 ere she could stop her, it was in Morley's hand — 
 " Good Heavens !" he exclaimed, as soon as 
 he had cast his eyes upon it, " Why this is 
 Lieberg !" 
 
 " Oh, no, no !" exclaimed Helen again, " I 
 did not mean it for anybody. Indeed, I never 
 thought of what I was drawing !" 
 
 " But this cannot have been by accident, 
 surely," said Morley ; " the likeness is so striking. 
 Did you ever see Count Lieberg, Miss Barham ?" 
 " I saw him this morning," replied Helen, at 
 once. " He called upon me — not long before 
 Lady Malcolm came — to tell me, what you had 
 told mc before regarding my brother." 
 
 ** And did he do anything to offend you ?" 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEiN. l3 
 
 asked Morley, looking at the drawing with a 
 smile, as he marked the character in which she 
 had depicted Lieberg. 
 
 " Oh, no I" repUed Helen, *• nothing ; on the 
 contrary, he was as kind as he could be ; but I 
 can assure you I meant nothing by that drawing, 
 and had not an idea that I was sketching any 
 one, till Miss Carr remarked one likeness ; and 
 nowyou have remarked another. If there be any, 
 it is purely accidental, though, perhaps, without 
 thinking of it, one naturally takes the features 
 which one has lately seen, as I have remarked 
 after reading a book, the thoughts come back to 
 us as if they were our own. Will you give it to 
 me," and taking it out of Morley's hand, she 
 added, speaking to Juliet — " You must let me 
 tear it, and I will draw you another. — You shall 
 have the angel as before," she said, with a sad 
 smile, and an earnest look into Juliet's eyes, 
 " but I must change the face of the fiend ; as it 
 seems that I most unintentionally took that of 
 one who has shewn himself anything but unkind 
 to me and mine." 
 
 " Tear it— tear it, Helen !" said Juliet ; " I am 
 sure you did not mean to give the portrait of 
 any one in such a character." 
 
 " On my word I did not,'* replied Helen, and 
 
14 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 then, after putting her hand to her brow for an 
 instant, she added — " Come, dear Miss Carr, to 
 make up for destroying the drawing I gave you, 
 if Sir Morley Ernstein will sit down on the sofa 
 and talk to you, I will take his portrait. I am 
 sure you will be glad to have it, for you said 
 you had known him long. I can sketch very 
 quickly, and I once thought of trying to make 
 my bread by portrait-painting. But I took 
 fright at the thought of all the people that might 
 come to me, and gave up the idea." 
 
 Juliet Carr blushed at the proposal, partly 
 with feelings of pleasure, but partly abashed ; 
 for the remembrance that Morley had not yet 
 said one word which could justify her, or any 
 one, in looking upon his attachment to her as 
 certain, was still present to her mind. She an- 
 swered not, then, but Lady Malcolm rephed for 
 her, eagerly — 
 
 " Do — pray do, my dear child— and then you 
 shall copy it for me." 
 
 At the same time Morley took his seat upon 
 the sofa by the side of Juliet Carr ; Lady Mal- 
 colm rang for tea ; and Helen, while she pursued 
 her work, joined in the conversation, not only 
 frequently, but gaily, as if the object on which 
 she was employed had given her back her cheer- 
 
iVIORLEY ERNSTEIN. 15 
 
 fulness. Once, when Juliet was about to rise, 
 she exclaimed, quickly — 
 
 " Sit still — pray sit still — he will not remain 
 in the same attitude if you move !" and, about ten 
 minutes after, she beckoned to Lady Malcolm, 
 asking her, "Will that do ?" 
 
 " Oh, beautiful, beautiful !" exclaimed Lady 
 Malcolm — " that is quite perfect !" 
 
 " Not yet," said Helen, and she added some 
 touches more. 
 
 Juliet became impatient to see the sketch 
 likewise, and, starting up playfully, she said — 
 " I will be excluded no longer, Helen." 
 
 When she came round, however, her cheek 
 took the xjolour of a rose. It was not alone Mor- 
 ley's portrait, but her own likewise, that Helen 
 Barham had drawn; and, with a skill that nothing 
 but intense feeling could have taught her, she had 
 cast into the looks of both, as they seemed gazing 
 upon each other, that expression of deep affection 
 which she was but too sure was in their hearts. 
 
 Morley followed Juliet to Helen's side, almost 
 at once, and gazing upon the picture, he first 
 smiled with pleasure ; but, the next instant, 
 a thoughtful expression came over his coun- 
 tenance, and he looked down upon the beautiful 
 head of Helen Barham — as she bent over it, rest- 
 
16 MORLEY ERN STEIN. 
 
 ing her cheek upon her hand — with sensations 
 that it would be difficult to describe. He asked 
 himself hurriedly, what had been really her feel- 
 ings ? and then he w^ould not suffer his heart to 
 answer the question. He voluntarily suffered his 
 ideas to remain confused ; but in their vagueness 
 was mingled not only much apprehension, lest 
 there should be those things in the bosom of 
 Helen which might affect her after-peace, but 
 pity for her in every way, and a certain portion, 
 if not of unmerited self-reproach, at least of re- 
 gret, that it had. not been possible for him to 
 protect and support her from the beginning, 
 through the medium of others. 
 
 Helen, however, seemed pleased with her 
 work, she forced herself to be cheerful, and 
 the evening passed over apparently brightly for 
 all. The conversation, which had been diverted, 
 for the time, from the subject of Count Lieberg's 
 visit, returned to it ere long, and Helen recapi- 
 tulated, in her own artless manner, all that had 
 passed. At length she came to speak of his 
 question in regard to calling upon her the fol- 
 lowing day, and she added — 
 
 " I was quite sure that I might tell him I was 
 coming hither — " 
 
 Morley started, with a feeling of appre- 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 17 
 
 hension, but Helen instantly added — " How- 
 ever, as you had told me I was not to mention 
 the fact to any one, I refrained, and merely 
 said that I was seldom out, knowing that you 
 could inform him of what you thought fit, 
 afterwards." 
 
 " You did quite right, dear Miss Barham," 
 replied Morley — " you did perfectly right. I 
 entreated you to tell no one, and if I had wished 
 any exception made, I would have said so." 
 
 Both Helen and Juliet gazed at Morley with 
 some surprise ; but Lady Malcolm instantly 
 read a comment upon her young friend's reply, 
 saying — " He is too gay a personage, Helen — 
 this Count Lieberg — to be a very safe intimate 
 for you. Not that I mean, my dear child, 
 he would or could do you any harm ; nor do I 
 know, indeed, of any harm that he ever did do ; 
 but some men establish for themselves, by tole- 
 rating all vices, and associating intimately with 
 persons of dissolute habits, the reputation of 
 licentiousness, even when they do not deserve 
 it. Now, I never in all my life heard the least 
 harm of this Count Lieberg. I never saw 
 his name in the papers, or anything of that 
 kind ; but, at the same time, he is a great deal 
 with people who are notorious for dissijTated 
 
18 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 habits, and consequently he is looked upon as 
 one of the same class, though, perhaps, the best 
 of the class. Nevertheless, Morley was quite 
 right, Helen ; there is no need at all of his 
 knowing where you are, and, to say the truth, I 
 think it better he should not." 
 
 Morley said nothing, but he was not a little 
 obliged [to Lady Malcolm for saving him the 
 pain of an explanation ; and, shortly after, he 
 took his leave, promising to return the following 
 day, and let Helen know what was the result of 
 his second conference with her brother. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, Helen rose to retire 
 to her room. A slight degree of paleness had 
 come over her face, a look of exhaustion, which 
 Juliet remarked, and very well understood. She 
 came round, then, to where Helen stood, and 
 putting her arm gently round her, she kissed 
 her cheek, saying, in a low voice — " I think, 
 Helen, you are more of an angel than any 
 of us." 
 
 Helen pressed her hand gently in hers ; and 
 though not a word more was spoken on either 
 part, each felt that they understood the other ; 
 and Helen Barham, with swimming eyes, re- 
 tired to her chamber, and wept with very 
 mingled feelings. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 19 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 The interview between Morley Ernstein and 
 William Barham was to take place at the hotel 
 in Berkeley -square ; and Morley had written to 
 Lieberg, giving him notice that the young man 
 would be there, and begging him, if possible, to 
 meet him, as the draft was to be presented on 
 the ensuing day, so that no time ought to be lost. 
 Lieberg breakfasted an hour earlier than usual, 
 but it was not with the object of being in time 
 for the proposed meeting, as mid-day was the 
 hour appointed; and as soon as he had done 
 breakfast, he got into his cabriolet to drive to 
 the house of Helen Barham. 
 
 When he reached the house, he got out and 
 knocked himself, and his keen and marking eye 
 at once perceived that it was not Helen's neat- 
 
20 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 looking maid who opened the door, but, on the 
 contrary, a person bearing the look, which is 
 very peculiar, of people that are put in to keep 
 houses, which would otherwise be vacant. 
 
 In reply to his demand for Miss Barham, the 
 woman said, in a short, quick tone — " She's not 
 here, sir — she's gone." 
 
 " Pray, where is she gone to ?" demanded 
 Lieberg, in a quiet tone, as if the tidings did 
 not surprise him in the least. 
 
 " I can't tell, sir," answered the woman. 
 " Two ladies called for her, and took her away 
 with them, but I don't know where, nor who 
 they were." 
 
 " Ladies !" said Lieberg, with some emphasis ; 
 but the other replied immediately, with a toss of 
 her head — " Yes, ladies, every inch of them ; 
 that I'll answer for; and so is she, too, poor 
 thing, though she is not so rich as some ; but as 
 for their being ladies, the servant called his 
 mistress ' My Lady' twice — that's all I know." 
 
 "And pray who put you in here, to take care 
 of the house ?" said Lieberg. 
 
 " Why, the landlord, to be sure," replied the 
 woman ; " and he bade me, too, take great care 
 of all Miss Barham's things, and to dust all that's 
 in the drawing-room every daj.'^ 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 21 
 
 " So, then," said Lieberg, " Miss Barham 
 has left some things behind her ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, a great many," repUed the woman, 
 who seemed not to be in the most respondent 
 humour in the world ; " but really, sir, I cannot 
 stay answering questions all day. I have told 
 you everything I know about the young lady, 
 and that is little enough." 
 
 " It is so," replied Lieberg ; and getting into 
 his vehicle, without farther comment, he drove 
 away. 
 
 As he was still a full hour and a half before 
 his time, he sought for occupation, and to all 
 appearance gave not a second thought to Helen 
 Barham's place of residence. It was not so, 
 however, in reality ; and as he drove away, he 
 repeated twice — " This is Ernstein's doing !" 
 But he had now regained all that self-possession 
 which Helen's beauty had for a time disturbed; 
 and when — after attending a sale of pictures 
 and bronzes, at Phillipps's Rooms, for about an 
 hour — he proceeded to visit Morley Ernstein, 
 his look was as calm and cheerful, his manner as 
 unembarrassed and graceful, as ever. Not one 
 word passed his lips in regard to his visit of that 
 morning to the house of Helen Barham, though 
 there was some meaning in the smile with which 
 
22 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 he shook hands with Morley on their meeting. 
 To the call he had made on the preceding day, 
 however, he referred at once, saying — "Well, 
 Morley, I have seen this fair object of your be- 
 nevolence, and must confess that her beauty, 
 her grace, and her talent too, far exceed what I 
 had expected. I cannot help thinking you a 
 great fool, begging your pardon for so saying ; 
 but I suppose we shall never think alike upon 
 these matters, and I shall give up attempting to 
 convert you to my doctrines, for every man must 
 seek happiness in his own way ; and I do not 
 see why a man's prejudices should not be con- 
 sidered as a part of his property which it is felony 
 to rob him of, as well as anything else." 
 
 "Why, Lieberg," replied Morley, "prejudices, 
 I should think, would be a sort of property of 
 which, like paving-stones in a man's pocket, it 
 would be kind to free him as soon as possible. 
 But I rather think the dispute between you and 
 me would be, as to which of my views are pre- 
 judices — which are principles. I do not mean 
 to claim any outrageous morality, but in what I 
 am doing now, I am quite sure I am right." 
 
 " I hope you are equally sure that you will be 
 successful," replied Lieberg; "for my part, I 
 think I shall soon leave the matter in your hands 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 23 
 
 altogether, for I have some intention, ere the 
 earth, and all it bears about with if, be a month 
 older, of setting out for the Continent, and 
 taking, what the people who travel and write 
 books, call * an autumn tour,' somewhere." 
 
 " Why, I thought," said Morley, " that you 
 were going down to the house of Lord Medway 
 for the season ?" 
 
 " He invited me," answered Lieberg ; " but I 
 am not in a humour this year, either for stalking 
 after partridges through a turnip-field, or for the 
 beastly butchery of a battue. The last time I 
 was at one, I felt myself like the dog that the 
 man shewed about London some time ago — 
 * Billy,' you know, that killed a hundred rats in 
 a minute — and I determined never to go to such 
 barn-door slaughter again. But here comes this 
 good youth, I suppose," he added, seeing the 
 door open ; " do not tell him at first. We may 
 see some of the workings of the passions, which 
 is better sport than a battue." 
 
 Morley thought that it was as cruel sport, too; 
 but the waiter announcing that a gentleman de- 
 sired to speak with him, he directed him to be 
 shewn in, and the moment after William Bar- 
 ham, with his pale, dissolute countenance, and 
 his long light hair straggling as usual over his 
 
24 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 face, entered the room, but stopped suddenly 
 short, on beholding Lieberg. 
 
 ^^ Good morning, Mr. Barham," said Morley ; 
 ^* this gentleman is a friend of mine, who has 
 promised me to do what he can to assist you. 
 Take a seat, and let us talk over this affair." 
 
 " William Barham glanced first at Morley, and 
 then at Lieberg, and then at the door, as if he 
 would fain have made his escape ; but finding 
 that impossible, he sat down, and looked dog- 
 gedly at the table. Morley turned to Lieberg, 
 as if to ask him to begin the discussion ; but 
 certainly Lieberg did it in a way that Morley 
 the least expected and approved. 
 
 '^ I find, Mr. Barham," he said, fixing his 
 dark, piercing, intelligent eyes upon him, with a 
 gaze that seemed to look into his very heart-^ 
 " I find that you have committed a forgery, and 
 are likely to be hanged." 
 
 William Barham started up from his seat, and 
 stared at Lieberg and Morley with eyes full 
 of the wild, wandering expression of terror. 
 
 " I have it from the ,best authorit}'-," said 
 Lieberg, still bending upon him the same eagle 
 glance. " Cousins, the Bow-street officer, who 
 is watching for you, told me the whole story." 
 
 The lad sank down in the chair again, clasped 
 
MORLEY ERXSTEIN. 25 
 
 his hands over his eyes, and sobbed aloud. Still 
 Lieberg held him under his dark, firm gaze, and 
 Morley, puzzled and surprised, did not know 
 well whether to interfere, and endeavour to 
 assuage the unnecessary suffering which his 
 companion was inflicting upon the unhappy 
 young man, or not. A pause of more than a 
 minute ensued, and even a small pause, under 
 such circumstances, is long. Perhaps Lieberg 
 himself was in doubt hovv^ he should proceed. 
 
 " Is it not so ?" he said, at length ; and then, 
 as the boy sat silent, he turned his eyes towards 
 Morley Ernstein with a strange expression, 
 which Morley did not well understand. There 
 was a degree of unsated fierceness in it, and yet 
 it seemed to ask — " Shall I rack him farther ? — 
 Will you abhor me, and interpose, if I do ?" 
 
 Morley made a gesture, as if supplicating him 
 to forbear, and in an instant the whole ex- 
 pression of Lieberg's countenance changed. 
 
 ** Hark, young man !" he continued, speaking 
 to young Barham, in a milder tone — "Do you 
 know who I am ? " 
 
 " No, sir," replied the unhappy youth ; " I 
 never saw you before, that I know of." 
 
 " And yet you have used my name for five 
 hundred pounds I" said Lieberg. 
 
 VOL. II, c 
 
26 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 The lad instantly sprang off his seat, and 
 cast himself upon his knees at Lieberg's feet, 
 exclaiming — " Forgive me— oh, forgive me !" 
 
 " I will forgive you," replied Lieberg, " upon 
 one condition, which is, that you at once quit 
 this countr}^, and go to one of the Colonies — 
 whichever I and my friend, Sk Morley Ernstein, 
 may determine. You shall be furnished with 
 money for your passage." 
 
 " But how shall I live when I am there ?" 
 exclaimed the ^^outh. *^ I can but do as I have 
 done here, and get into trouble again." 
 
 " There is no fear of that," interposed Mor- 
 ley ; " some place or some occupation shall be 
 found for you, which will put you above want, 
 and if you behave well, means will be taken to 
 procure your advancement." 
 
 " Besides," said Lieberg, " your sister will in 
 all probability be able to do something for you. 
 At all events, I and my friend. Sir Morley 
 Ernstein, pledge ourselves that you shall be taken 
 care of, if you conduct yourself properly. I must 
 have no hesitation — this is your only chance of 
 escaping the gallows, so choose quickly." 
 
 " Oh, I have chosen — I have chosen !" cried 
 the young man, at once. " It would, of course, be 
 far better for me to go and take my chance there, 
 than stay here, and be hanged to a certainty." 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 27 
 
 "That is according to taste," answered Lie- 
 berg, who could not refrain from one of his bitter 
 jests, even at that terrible moment ; " however, 
 if such be your opinion, come to me to-morrow 
 at this same hour, and I will shew you the note 
 you drew, paid by my banker." 
 
 " But," said the boy, gazing earnestly in his 
 face, as if to discover what was passing in 
 Lieberg's inmost thoughts, yet with a look of 
 cunning fear also, both lest he should offend 
 and lest he should be deceived : " but — but — 
 suppose you should change your mind !" 
 
 " And hang you after all !" rejoined Lieberg, 
 with a contemptuous sneer : " it would be a very 
 pleasant trick, young gentleman, for any of your 
 present friends — such as Neville and others. But 
 be so good as to recollect, that I have nothing 
 to gain by hanging you: were I a surgeon, 
 there might be some object, for I dare say you 
 would make a very good subject for the anato- 
 mist's knife; but I am not a surgeon. Moreover, 
 remember that if I wanted to send you to the 
 gallows, I should have nothing to do this moment 
 but to put my hand on your collar, call in the 
 waiter, and send for an officer." 
 
 He took a step forward as he spoke, and the 
 boy, in an agony of terror, started back, and 
 c 2 
 
28 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 looked behind him, as if he expected to see 
 the whole array of Bow-street at the other side 
 of the room. 
 
 " Now mark me, my good youth," said 
 Lieberg, and answer me straightforwardly; 
 "will 3^ou, or will you not come, as I have di- 
 rected you ?" 
 
 "I will, upon my honour, sir," rephed the 
 boy. 
 
 " Your honour !" exclaimed Lieberg ; " but 
 I have got a better hold upon you than your 
 honour. Mark me, my good sir, if you do not 
 come precisely to the minute, you will find 
 yourself at the new drop before a month be over. 
 The sessions are coming on, and we will make 
 short work with you, for I wall not be trifled 
 with. Do not suppose, either, that you can 
 escape, for you ought to know well enough, that 
 every movement you make is known, and I 
 could have taken you out of your bed last night, 
 if I had thought right, for I knew quite well 
 where you were." 
 
 " Where ?" exclaimed the youth, with a 
 shrewd look ; " where ?" 
 
 ** Where you should not have been," rephed 
 
 Lieberg, sternly; " not many yards from 
 
 street, in the Strand." 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIX. 29 
 
 The colour that comes up from agitation, not 
 from shame — for alas, he was past that point — 
 rose in the boy's countenance, and he only re- 
 pHed, " I will come — indeed I will." 
 
 Morley Ernstein had perceived from the first 
 that Lieberg wished to conduct the whole 
 business with WiUiam Barham himself, and 
 although he might feel a suspicion, of which he 
 was at the same time ashamed, regarding his 
 companion's motives ; yet he felt not only that 
 he had no right, but also that it would be 
 imprudent to interfere in a matter which 
 entirely depended upon Lieberg himself He 
 had therefore abstained, as far as possible, from 
 saying anything, but he now added a caution, 
 which was totally independent of his friend's 
 proceedings. 
 
 " If you will take my advice," he said, speak* 
 ing to William Barham, "you will, in the mean- 
 time, that is to say, before you go to Colonel 
 Lieberg's, avoid all your recent companions ; 
 and going home at once, remain quietly, with- 
 out setting your foot beyond the doors till to- 
 
 Remarking that the boy hesitated, and an- 
 swered nothing, and knowing what a hold evil 
 habits have upon the mind, Morley resolved to 
 
30 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 try what fear would do, and for that purpose to 
 make use of the information he had gained 
 from Higgins. " I advise you alone for your 
 own good," he said, " and to prevent you from 
 missing the only chance of safety. You know 
 quite well, that there are a number of other 
 people engaged in this affair. Now those 
 scoundrels w^ill be glad enough to keep you 
 here, in order to get your neck into the noose, 
 instead of their own." 
 
 " I w ill peach against them all, if they do !" 
 replied the youth, vehemently. 
 
 " That will not save you," replied Morley ; 
 "you are a principal, they are only accessories." 
 
 " I will not go near any of them," exclaimed 
 the boy suddenly — " I will not go near any of 
 them." 
 
 " Well, then, keep your resolution," rejoined 
 Morley, " and you will do well. I pledge my- 
 self for your safety, as well as Colonel Lieberg, 
 if you go to him to-morrow ; but if you fail, 
 I tell you as he has done, I abandon you from 
 that moment, and will take no farther interest 
 in you. Do you know where he lives ?" 
 
 The young man replied in the affirmative, 
 and took up his hat as if to depart, but then 
 looked hesitatingly, first at Morley, and then at 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 31 
 
 Lieberg, and then at Morley again. At length, 
 however, he said, addressing the latter — " But 
 I wanted to speak with you, Sir Morley — 
 can't I have a word with you for a minute ?" 
 
 Morley caught the quick eye of Lieberg glanc- 
 ing from the boy's face to his, and he replied 
 at once ; " If what you want to say refers to 
 this business, it must be said to Colonel Lieberg, 
 not to me, for upon him alone does your fate 
 depend — or, at least, it must be said in his pre- 
 sence." 
 
 " It is not about that at all," answered the 
 youth ; " it is something which nobody has any- 
 thing to do with, but you and I." 
 
 " Let him speak with you — let him speak 
 with you, Morley," said Lieberg ; " I am going 
 to make a call on the other side of the 
 square, and will be back with you again in ten 
 minutes." 
 
 Thus saying, he left the room, and the young 
 man, after gazing in Morley's face for a few 
 moments, demanded, abruptly — "Pray where is 
 my sister, sir?" 
 
 " Your sister is quite safe," replied Morley, in 
 a calm tone, " and under the protection of 
 those who will take care that no harm happens 
 to her." 
 
 " That is to say, under yours, I suppose," said 
 
32 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 William Barham, looking at him with a keen 
 and eager glance ; *** but I'll tell you what, sir, 
 if such is the case, I think I have a right to ask, 
 that you should settle something upon her, that 
 she may not come to poverty too." 
 
 Morley grew angry. " You young scoundrel !" 
 he said, " I have a great inclination to take you 
 up, and throw you out of that window into the 
 square. You have a right to ask, indeed ! 
 You, who would have sold your sister to a low and 
 vagabond swindler — you, now to talk of having 
 any right to meddle in her affairs !", 
 
 " You are wrong, sir," said the young man, 
 boldly, and with a more straightforward tone 
 than Morley had seen him yet assume ; ** you 
 are wrong, sir ; I would not have sold my sister. 
 I would not have taken a penny for myself. 
 Now that the truth must come out, I will tell 
 you how it was — a man will do many things 
 to save his life — what is there that he wont do, 
 indeed?" 
 
 " Nothing dishonourable, if he be not a 
 coward,'* answered Morley. 
 
 " Coward, or no coward !" rejoined the young 
 man — " coward, or no coward, no man likes the 
 gallows, and it was to save myself from that, that 
 I did what I did ; besides, I saw that, some day 
 or another, she would not have bread to eat. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 33 
 
 She has been forced to sqU almost everything, 
 even now. Neville offered to settle five hun- 
 dred a-year upon her, if 1 would consent, and 
 to hang me if I didn't. So I had no choice ; 
 but I would not have taken a farthing from him 
 m3^self, for all the world." 
 
 " You are not quite so bad as I thought you," 
 replied Morley ; " but, nevertheless, you are an 
 atrocious scoundrel, and not a bit better for 
 being a coward too. In regard to your sister, 
 however, if you have really any feeling for her 
 — and I can hardly think that such is the case 
 with one who would prey upon her in the way 
 that you have done— make your mind easy ; she 
 is no farther under my protection, than that I 
 will see she is not subjected either to insult or 
 annoyance. She is with two ladies who have 
 taken an interest in her ; one, a lady of high 
 rank, and one, a young lady who is very dear to 
 me. They will provide for and take care of her ; 
 but, as to your present demand, I should be 
 wronging her and myself both, were I to do 
 anything which, even in the eyes of the world, 
 might cause it to be supposed there exists any 
 other connexion between myself and her, than 
 interest in her fate, and sorrow for her misfor- 
 tunes." 
 
 c3 
 
34 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 " I suppose — " said the young man ; but Mor- 
 ley stopped him at once. 
 
 " There is nothing more, sir, to be said upon 
 the subject," he exclaimed. ^* I am very likely 
 to be made angry in this matter ; and, therefore, 
 the less you speak, or suppose, the better." 
 
 " I was only going to say," replied the young 
 man, '* that I suppose, of course, as you know 
 where she is, you'll have no objection to my 
 seeing her." 
 
 " I certainly do know where she is," answered 
 Morley ; " but you will easily understand that, 
 as she removed from her own house for the 
 purpose of keeping at a distance from the in- 
 fluence you had so misused, and from the 
 insulting solicitations which you had permitted 
 and encouraged, there is not the slightest 
 chance of your being permitted to see her. It 
 was from yourself and your acquaintances that 
 she fled ; and, therefore, you will know nothing 
 farther about her than you do know now, till 
 you embark on board a vessel for one of the 
 colonies. Your sister's address will then be fur- 
 nished to you ; you can write to her, if your 
 wishes prompt you to do so, and she will an- 
 swer you, informing you of her own situation, 
 hopes, and prospects. This is all I have to say 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 35 
 
 upon the subject, and you must expect nothing 
 more." 
 
 The young man frowned upon him fiercely 
 as he spoke ; and after looking at him with a 
 bitter and a disappointed glance, for a moment 
 or two, he said — " God give you as hard 
 measure !" 
 
 " I hope he may give me just the same," re- 
 plied Morley ; " for I can call him to witness 
 that I am acting as I judge best for the happi- 
 ness both of yourself and her." 
 
 " Ay," said the young man, thoughtfully, 
 " I may, some time or another, have the means 
 of paying j^ou this ;" and without more ado, he 
 quitted the room. 
 
 " He is a determined young villain !" was 
 Morley's comment, as Helen's brother left 
 him. " How strange it is that we sometimes 
 see the gifts, both of mind and person, so 
 unequally apportioned in the same family! 
 Beauty, and talent, and virtue in one member 
 of it, and vice, stupidity, and deformity in 
 another. Who, even in look, would take that 
 youth for Helen's brother ?" 
 
 He had not long to consider the matter far- 
 ther, for Lieberg soon came back, full of schemes 
 of pleasure and amusement. He had a thou- 
 
36 MORLEY EHNSTEIN. 
 
 sand things for Moiiey to see ; he had a 
 thousand things for Morley to do ; and it was 
 with difficuky that his fiiend, upon the excuse 
 of other business, freed himself from him for an 
 hour or two, in order that he might, as he had 
 promised, convey to Helen Barham tidings of 
 what had passed in regard to her brother. Per- 
 haps it might have been a truer way of putting 
 the matter, if we had said: in order to avail 
 himself of the excuse he had made for visiting 
 Juliet Carr. He promised, however, to join 
 Lieberg in the park within two hours, and, 
 certainly, those two hours were amongst the 
 sweetest that ever he knew in life. He found 
 Juliet Carr sitting with Lady Malcolm ; Helen 
 was in her own room ; and after the elder lady 
 had remained some short time, she rose, dis- 
 creetly saying that she would send Miss Barham 
 to hear what tidings he had brought. Juliet 
 begged Lady Malcolm to let her go ; and, I be- 
 lieve, that if one could have seen into her bosom, 
 her heart would have been found beating ter- 
 ribly as she made the proposal. Lady Malcolm, 
 however, replied — " I am going up for another 
 pair of gloves, Juliet, and therefore I will tell 
 her as I go." 
 
 Juliet and Morley were left alone. Strange 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 37 
 
 to say, however, they both remained silent for 
 several minutes. There was much that Morley 
 desired to say, but yet the thought that Helen 
 might come down every moment made him 
 pause and hesitate, and lose even the time that 
 he had. Juliet, on her part, divined something 
 of what was passing in his breast, and she was 
 afraid of speaking first, for she knew, whatever 
 topic she chose, her voice would tremble so as 
 to shew that her thoughts were busy with agi- 
 tating subjects. 
 
 I do believe that seldom, if ever, has a de- 
 claration of love been made in this world without 
 being managed in the most awkward way that 
 it is possible to conceive. Indeed, though it 
 may seem a contradiction in terms to say that 
 imperfection is a part of perfection, yet I do 
 believe that awkwardness is necessary to a pro- 
 per declaration ; for it is scarcely possible to 
 beheve two persons to be very much in love 
 with each other, without being greatly agitated 
 at that moment, and, consequently, not suffi- 
 ciently master of their own thoughts to act 
 with calmness and propriety. 
 
 Morley, however, at length discovered that 
 the pause must not last any longer ; and, as it 
 was quite out of the question at that moment to 
 
38 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 talk of any indifferent subject, he went round the 
 table, seated himself on the sofa by the side of 
 Juliet, took her right hand, which lay idle in 
 her lap, and pressing his lips upon it, added 
 the small word " Juliet." 
 
 Juliet answered nothing, but sat with her 
 beautiful eyes bent down, the colour glowing 
 in her cheeks, her lip quivering, her bosom 
 panting. Morley was beloved, and he felt it. 
 " Juliet," he repeated — " Juliet, dear girl, after 
 what I see, need I ask you any questions ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, no !" murmured Juliet, turning her 
 head slowly round, still bent so that he could 
 scarcely see her glowing face for the rich hair 
 that clustered over it ; and, leaning her forehead 
 and her eyes upon his shoulder, she repeated — , 
 *' oh, no, no !" 
 
 The doors of Lady Malcolm's house were 
 such as doors should always be, and opened 
 noiselessly. Juliet's face was hid upon Morley's 
 shoulder — her hand was clasped in his — his 
 eyes were bent in tenderness upon her — his 
 arm was thrown around her — when the door 
 opened without their seeing it — closed again 
 softly the moment after; and they remained 
 alone for near an hour. 
 
 Alas ! poor Helen Barham ! 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 39 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WiLLiA3i Barham was punctual to his hour; but 
 Lieberg made him wait for fulty twenty minutes 
 in an empty room, looking out into the dull back 
 court of a London house, where there was no- 
 thing to amuse his mind within the chamber or 
 without: not a picture, not a print upon the 
 walls ; not the sight of a chimney, the smoke 
 of which would have given occupation to the 
 eye : not an odd-looking table, with carved 
 legs : not anything, in short, on which the ener- 
 gies of the spirit could spend themselves. The 
 very carpet was in long straight lines of mono- 
 tonous colours, and the walls were painted of a 
 blank greyish hue. 
 
 The mind, when surrounded by dulness from 
 which it cannot escape, is like the scorpion when 
 
40 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 hemmed in by fire, and tm-ns to sting itself. 
 That room seemed the very abode of gloom and 
 despondency. The windows were dusty, and 
 admitted but little light ; they were not as re- 
 gularly opened as they ought to have been, and 
 there was a closeness in the atmosphere, a smell 
 of desolation, if we may so call it, which made 
 one feel faint. The grate looked somewhat 
 rusty from neglect, and there were no fire-irons. 
 William Barham first walked to a window, 
 and looked out, but nothing met his eye, except 
 the tall, unpleasant, dingy brick wall of an oppo- 
 site house, without a single casement looking 
 that way. He then turned, and gazed round 
 the room.. It was all cheerless and dull. His 
 eye found nothing on which it could rest. It 
 was empty and gloomy as a heart that has been 
 bereaved of the object of its love. He tried the 
 window again, and then let his eye run over 
 the walls of the room ; but all was dark and 
 sad. There was not even a Greek border on 
 the broad expanse of dull, grey painted stucco, 
 with which the mind might form a labyrinth 
 for thought to lose herself withal. He walked 
 up and down for a moment or two, and then 
 cast himself down upon a chair, and his fancy 
 gave itself up to that which was most painful — 
 his own fate and circumstauces. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 41 
 
 Did Lieberg do it on purpose? Who can 
 say ? There are few men who know human 
 nature better than he did. There are few who 
 could more correctly appreciate the effect of 
 solitary thought, with gloomy adjuncts, upon a 
 mind loaded with crime, and weakened by vice 
 and intemperance. None, then, could judge 
 better what would be that effect upon William 
 Barham, and yet he had ordered him, with par- 
 ticular care, to be placed in that room, which 
 he himself had never entered above once or 
 twice since he had hired those apartments ; and 
 yet while the youth remained there, Lieberg 
 was not occupied with any important affair. He 
 was trifling with some objects of art ; writing 
 a note or two in answer to invitations ; doing a 
 thousand things, in short, that might have been 
 done at any other time. It seemed, certainly, 
 that he calculated upon producing a particular 
 effect upon the mind of the unhappy boy who 
 was in his power. 
 
 William Barham's eye, in the meantime, 
 strained upon the floor. It grew more and more 
 anxious in expression, its gaze more and more 
 intense. He looked as if horror-struck with some 
 object on which his eyes fell upon the carpet — 
 but the unhappy boy saw nothing before him 
 but his own fate, llemorbe, if not repentance. 
 
42 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 visited his heart ! He thought of all that he had 
 done, of all that he might have done ; he saw that, 
 by his own foU}^, and by his own crimes, at the 
 best he had driven himself from his native land, 
 and had, but for an accident, condemned himself 
 to death, to an ignominious and terrible death. 
 He had lost all the advantages of a fair educa- 
 tion, an honourable teaching, and of a good ex- 
 ample. He had voluntarily chosen evil when 
 good was within his grasp, and now the conse- 
 quences had fallen upon his head, without any 
 place of shelter, any hope, any refuge, except in 
 the mercy of a man who had shewn him some 
 harshness, and whose objects he was strongly in- 
 clined to doubt. He had come thither with a 
 palpitating heart, and he remained in agitation 
 and distress. 
 
 Minute after minute went by, and each one 
 seemed an age, till at length he began to think 
 — " Is this man deceiving me ? — Perhaps he is 
 playing me false ! — Perhaps even now he has 
 sent for the officers of justice to seize their prey!" 
 
 He started up and approached the door, in- 
 tending to steal out if he found no one, and to 
 say that he could not wait any longer, if he met 
 with any of the servants in the passage. There 
 was a footman within a lew yards, however, and 
 when he had repeated that which he had made 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 43 
 
 up his mind to speak, the man answered, with 
 the cold sauciness of a London lackey, — " My 
 master said you were to wait for him, and so you 
 must wait, if you please." 
 
 The man stood directly in the way, and 
 William Barham re-entered the room, with a 
 sinking heart. His thoughts, hurried and con- 
 fused, first turned to flight, but flight, he soon 
 saw, was impossible. The window was high — 
 there was a fall of five-and-twenty feet, or 
 more, into the area below. His next thought 
 was, what else could give him safety ? Where 
 was there any other hope ? " This man must 
 want something," he thought. " He must have 
 some object, some purpose, some end to an- 
 swer ! — What can it be ? — I will do anything, 
 everything, if he will but spare my life." 
 ^ It was at that moment that Lieberg, as if he 
 had calculated it by a watch, sent to call the 
 unfortunate William Barham to his presence ; 
 and when the youth appeared, he questioned 
 him sternly and steadily, as to the whole transac- 
 tion of the forger}^, writing down his replies. 
 Had WiUiam Barham been an old and wily of- 
 fender, he might have refused to plead in this 
 illegitimate sort of court ; but fear now super- 
 seded everything: even natural cunning gave way 
 
44 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 before it^ and he told all, though he saw Lieberg 
 taking notes of each word he spoke. 
 
 " Now," asked the interrogator, when he had 
 finished, "will you sign that?" and he put the 
 paper before him. 
 
 " But will you promise me safety ?" said 
 the boy, torn by terrors of several kinds, and 
 gazing' upon the countenance of Lieberg with 
 e3^es that seemed as if they would start from 
 their sockets — " will you promise me safety ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Lieberg, "I will promise 
 you — but on one condition, that you will help 
 me with your whole heart and mind in some- 
 thing that I desire to accomplish." 
 
 " Oh, that I will !" exclaimed the youth, " in 
 anything that you like." 
 
 " Li anything f said Lieberg, with emphasis, 
 and at the same time holding up his finger, to 
 mark more particularly, that he had some especial 
 object. 
 
 The blood rose slightly in William Barham's 
 cheek, but the game was for life and death, and 
 he had made up his mind. " Yes," he replied, 
 nodding his head significantly ; " perhaps I un- 
 derstand what 3 ou mean. But I say, I will help 
 you in anything you like." 
 
 " That is right," answered Lieberg, " that is 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN, 45 
 
 quite right ; and if j^ou do help me, instead of 
 death, or exile, and poverty, and privation, and 
 gnawing want, you shall have comfort, and re- 
 spectability, and affluence, in your own land." 
 
 The youth's eyes sparkled, and Lieberg went 
 on, " Attach yourself to my fortunes," he con- 
 tinued, " and you are safe. I tell you fairl}^, all 
 I wish you to sign this paper for, is, that I may 
 have such a hold upon you, that neither any of 
 those rascally companions whom you have un- 
 fortunately met with, nor any of the whining 
 Methodists and hypocrites who are scarcely 
 better than the others, may ever persuade you to 
 play me false in this matter. Mark me ! It is 
 not any knavery on your part that I fear, it is 
 weakness ; but I think you know me well 
 enough, to be sure that I will hang you, as cer- 
 tain as I live, if you fail me — — " 
 
 " But will you certahily spare me, if I do 
 not ?" cried the youth, *^ Will you write it 
 down ?" 
 
 Lieberg paused for a moment, in meditation, 
 drawing in his eyelids, as if to shut out even the 
 daylight from his busy brain, and he replied, at 
 length — 
 
 " Very well, I will, marking the condition, 
 that you pledge yourself to assist me in one 
 
46 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 particular object, with your whole power and 
 might." 
 
 " Very well," said the youth, and Lieberg 
 wTote down the stipulations. 
 
 The boy signed, what might be called, his 
 confession, and Lieberg put his hand to the 
 promise. After he had done so, however, he 
 shook his head, gazing on the boy with a smile 
 full of pity and contempt. 
 
 '^ I will keep that promise, my good youth, 
 firmly," he said, " but at the same time I will 
 tell you, it is of no earthly value; for I have 
 nothing to do but to let this bill slip into the 
 hands of the Bow Street officers, and you are 
 arrested, tried, and executed in the shortest 
 possible time. No promise of mine could save 
 you. It is the state that prosecutes, the law 
 that condemns. I have nothing to do with it 
 but to swear that this name, purporting to be 
 mine, is not my handwriting," and he took out 
 of his pocket-book the identical bill which 
 William Barham had forced, and laid his finder 
 upon the fatal words, " Frederick Lieberg," at 
 the bottom. 
 
 The unhappy youth gazed at it, with eyes of 
 eager fire — and oh, what would he have given to 
 snatch it from the hand of him that held it, and 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 47 
 
 tear it into a thousand pieces that moment ! The 
 bright eyes of Lieberg seemed to read his very 
 thoughts, and again the dark and bitter smile 
 curled his lip, as he said — 
 
 " You cannot get it, my good youth. It will 
 remain with me till there is a stronger bond 
 between you and I, and what I desire is accom- 
 plished. — Where is your sister ?" 
 
 " I do not know," replied the youth, boldly, 
 "Do you not know? — I thought you did." 
 
 " No, indeed," replied Lieberg, " I am ut- 
 terly ignorant. But we must both know ere 
 long. This is the first business we have before 
 us. — You tell me true, I see it — but how hap- 
 pens it that she was removed without your 
 knowledge ?" 
 
 " I was away for two days," replied the youth, 
 " and when I came back she was gone. But he 
 knows — that Sir Morley Ernstein 1 Cannot you 
 get him to tell you ?" 
 
 " I would not ask him for this right hand," 
 replied Lieberg, " but we will soon find out 
 without him." 
 
 " He refused to tell me," said the youth ; " he 
 would give me no tidings, indeed, but that she 
 is safe and with two ladies, one of whom is a 
 lady of rank." 
 
48 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Lieberg. «^ A lady of rank ? 
 Who can that be ? And he positively refused 
 to let you know where she is ?" 
 
 *' That he did," answered the youth ; " but 
 I'll tell you what he told me, too ; he said that 
 I should know where she is, and she should 
 write to me, as soon as I was aboard ship to go 
 to the colonies. Can't we make something of 
 that, sir?" 
 
 " Certainly," answered Lieberg, " we will 
 make everything of that, if we cannot do what 
 we desire before ; for that might produce a long 
 delay, which must be avoided if possible. — Oh, 
 we will arrive at it !" he said, after a moment's 
 thought — " where did you sleep, last night ?" 
 
 *^ In our own house," replied the boy. " The 
 rent is paid, the woman told me, and she is put 
 in to keep it, with seven shillings a week ; but 
 the place is still ours, till the twcnt^Miinth of 
 September." 
 
 " Well then," said Lieberg, " go back at once 
 to the good woman who is in the house, and in 
 the course of the evening get her to tell you ex- 
 actly what was the appearance of the ladies who 
 came for your sister, and what was the livery of 
 the servant whom she talked of to me. Whether 
 he was a tall man or a short man, and, in a 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 49 
 
 word, all the particulars that she can furnish you 
 with. Do not let her see that you are cross- 
 questioning her, for I suspect, from her manner 
 to me yesterday morning, she has been told not 
 to tell the truth to any one. You must there- 
 fore proceed cautiously." 
 
 " Oh, I understand — I understand !" replied 
 the boy. ^^ I must fish it out, you mean." 
 
 " Exactly," said Lieberg, with a smile at 
 the expression. " Fish it out, and come to 
 me at six o'clock to day. I shall then be 
 dressing for dinner, but you will be admitted ; 
 and now, as perhaps ^^ou are in want of money, 
 there is a ten-pound note for you. If we pro- 
 ceed successfully, your fortunes are begun." 
 
 The youth took the money ea,ger\j. It was cer- 
 tainly the wages of iniquity, but evil — whatever 
 be its kind — always smoothes the road for more ; 
 and William Barham had so often tasted burn- 
 ing pleasures bought by money wrongly acquired, 
 that there were no great scruples left in his mind. 
 His sister's honour and soul, her happiness, and 
 her peace of mind, he was ver}' ready to sell for 
 the combined temptation of safety and eiijo}'-- 
 ment ; and, taking the money greedih^, he gave 
 Lieberg a meaning smile, which even sick- 
 ened the superior demon with whom he was 
 
 VOL. II. D 
 
50 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 dealing ; for surely it is a part of the punish- 
 ment which evil spirits are destined to feel, even 
 in the joys which they propose to themselves, 
 that they must abhor the tools they work with, 
 and loathe the means which they employ for their 
 own ends. If Lieberg, at that moment, had given 
 way to his own inclination, he would have driven 
 the youth, with contempt and hatred, into the 
 street. But he suffered him to depart quietly, 
 saying — "Do not fail;" and William Barham 
 proceeded on his way. 
 
 Exactly at the hour appointed he was at 
 Lieberg's door again, and w^as instantly ad- 
 mitted to his dressing-room. The splendour 
 and the luxury of everything that he beheld, 
 the beautiful arrangement, the exquisite taste, 
 struck him so much, that for a moment he did 
 not speak, gazing round at all the richly-chased 
 silver implements, the china, the glass, and the 
 steel-work, with which the dressing-table was 
 covered, and thinking that his sister would be a 
 very happy girl, if, on any terms, she was per- 
 mitted to live in the midst of such magnificence 
 as that. And yet William Barham had been 
 tauo-ht good principles ; had heard, during his 
 early youth, moral and religious doctrines from 
 the lips of his mother ; and, until his father's 
 
MORLEY ERNSTRIN. 51 
 
 health had foiled entirely, had daily received in- 
 struction from him. But there are some minds 
 which seem incapable of imbibing any clear and 
 definite notion of right and wrong. They can 
 recollect that they have been told one thing is 
 good, and another thing is evil, and perfectly 
 distinguish 1)et\veen the two, but without feeling 
 in their hearts, even in the slightest degree, the 
 excellence of the one and the hatefulness of the 
 other. They are like that arid soil, which will 
 produce abundance of weeds, but in which any 
 good shrub withers as soon as it is planted. 
 
 Such was very much the case with William 
 Barham; but there Vv^as another cause which 
 had tended also to make him what he was, and 
 which must be clearl}^ pointed out. His father, 
 though an excellent man and a sincere Christian, 
 was fond of indulging in speculative opinions — 
 not of embracing, but of discussing them — the 
 most dangerous practice in the world before 
 young people, for if they do not absolutely 
 adopt the opinion that is wrong, they learn not 
 to be quite sure that any opinion is right. The 
 mind of Helen herself might have been affected 
 by this fault on the part of their father, but she 
 had two safeguards — a pure, high-spirited heart, 
 and the memory of her mother's counsels, she 
 D 2 
 
 a. .-.5 !LL UB. 
 
52 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 having been somewhat older than her brother, 
 and more capable of receiving principles than 
 he was, at the time of that mother's death. 
 
 The tidings which William Barham brought 
 were fuller than Lieberg had expected. The 
 appearance of the servant and of the ladies was 
 detailed with great accurac}^ and even the crest 
 upon the servant's button was known ; but when 
 Lieberg sent his valet to bring him a book that 
 he named, in which the crests of all the prin- 
 cipal families of England were displayed, he 
 found that several would answer the description, 
 which, as may easily be supposed, had not been 
 given with true heraldic accuracy. William 
 Barham seemed at his wits' end, when he found 
 that this w^as the case ; but Lieberg, whatever 
 might be the strength of his passions, was not 
 one of those who give them vent at every 
 trifling obstacle. On the contrary, like the 
 great propelling power of the present day, they 
 were kept pent up within the iron of his bosom, 
 but to carry him on with the fiercer vehemence 
 to the end desired; and on this occasion he 
 only laughed, saying — " We shall arrive at it — 
 do not be afi'aid. Combining the crest wdth the 
 colour of the livery, and then applying the de- 
 scription of the man himself and the ladies, to 
 
xMORLEY ERNSTEIiV. 53 
 
 discriminate among the various branches of the 
 family, we shall find out the facts. I will put 
 it in the hands of an Argus this very night, who 
 will ferret out the whole matter ere eight-and- 
 forty hours be over. Difficulties, my young 
 friend, to a man of a firm mind, and obstacles 
 in his path, of whatever nature they may be, 
 only afford him stronger inducements to follow 
 his course, and render his pursuit a passion. 
 I remember a man who was told that he 
 could never throw the same combinations four 
 times running with the dice, and he sat for 
 three months in the same room till he had done 
 it. That man was fit to struggle for an empire. 
 I have seldom suffered myself to seek anything 
 very eagerly ; but I never yet was baffled when 
 I did. And now go home, and keep yourself 
 as quiet as may be. Have no communication 
 of any kind with the men that you know in 
 London, and confide no secrets to the women. 
 Always be at your own house, so that I may 
 find you from nine in the morning till night-fall; 
 the rest of the four-and-twenty hours is your 
 own.'* 
 
54 MORLEY ERN8TEIK. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Two days elapsed, and on the third morning 
 Lady Malcolm was sitting in her drawing-room 
 alone, when the servant threw open the door, 
 and announced " Colonel Lieberg." Her visitor 
 upon the present occasion was personally known 
 to her, so far as a mere bow went, when they 
 met in society. But this was the first time that 
 he had ever presented himself at her house; 
 and Lady Malcolm, therefore, as she well might, 
 looked somewhat sui'prised when she received 
 him. Her demeanour, however, was perfectly 
 courteous, though somewhat distant withal, and 
 after begging him to be seated, she enquired 
 what fortunate circumstance procured her the 
 honour of his visit. 
 
 " I beg your ladyship's pardon," said Lieberg, 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. . 55 
 
 " for intruding upon you, especially at this hour 
 of the morning ; but, in truth, though I asked 
 for you — thinking it would be more proper so to 
 do — my visit is intended for a young lady, who 
 is, I find, under your kind care and protection, 
 and to whom I have some intelligence to com- 
 municate, which may, perhaps, give her pleasure." 
 
 Lady Malcolm, however, had lived long 
 enough in the great world to have the faculty 
 of misunderstanding, when she thought proper ; 
 and she therefore replied — " I am really very 
 sorry. Count, but Miss Carr is out, and probably 
 will not return till the evening." 
 
 " Your ladyship is under a mistake," replied 
 Lieberg ; " my visit was not intended for the 
 lady you mention, but for Miss Barham, who, 
 her brother informs me, is residing at your 
 house." 
 
 " He is quite in error," replied Lady Mal- 
 colm ; " Miss Barham did, indeed, do me the 
 favour of passing a few days with me, but she 
 left me yesterday morning." 
 
 Lieberg's cheek grew hot ; and though he 
 still maintained the appearance of the utmost 
 suavity, there was a certain degree of sharpness 
 in his tone, which shewed how mortified and dis- 
 appointed he was. 
 
5ft MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 '^ Then, of course," he said, " your ladyship 
 can favour me with her address." 
 
 " No, indeed," repUed Lady Malcolm, " I 
 cannot. All I can tell you is, that she is gone 
 into the country." 
 
 " May I humbly enquire," rejoined Lieberg, 
 ^^ whether your difficulty, in regard to telhng 
 me her address, is voluntary, or from ignorance 
 of where she is ? — I beg pardon," he added, in 
 a softer tone, "if I am asking anything ex- 
 traordinary; but as I have matters of importance 
 to communicate to Miss Barham, it is very ne- 
 cessary that I should learn her address by some 
 means, in order to write to her speedily." 
 
 " To answer you candidly, Count Lieberg," 
 replied Lady Malcolm, " and as you put the 
 question so distinctly, I must acknowledge that 
 I do not give you the information you wish for, 
 partly because I have not the exact address, and 
 partly because Miss Barham requested me not 
 to say where she is gone to any one." 
 
 " But I should certainly think she would 
 make an exception in my favour," said Lieberg, 
 earnestly, " considering that business of the 
 greatest importance, affecting her brother in the 
 highest degree, is left entirely in my hands. I 
 say, therefore, Lady Malcolm," he added, as 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 0/ 
 
 that lady remained perfectly silent — '^I say, 
 therefore, that I should think she must have 
 made an exception in my favour." 
 
 " She did not," answered Lady Malcolm, drily; 
 " she never hinted at any exception at all ; and 
 such being the case, I cannot take upon myself 
 to make one." 
 
 " Really, this is very extraordinary," exclaimed 
 Lieberg ; " and allow me to say, very mortifying 
 also. Nor can I think that Miss Barham will 
 be at all obliged to those who prevent her from 
 receiving intelligence which it is necessary she 
 should be made acquainted with directly." 
 
 " Indeed," said Lady Malcolm, " I feel it to be 
 a very painful and disagreeable position ; but you 
 must see clearly, my dear Count, that I have 
 only one course to pursue." 
 
 " No, indeed," replied Lieberg, " I cannot 
 say that I agree with you. I cannot but think 
 that, under present circumstances,, and con- 
 sidering my character and station in life, you 
 might, without hesitation or apprehension of the 
 consequences, make that exception in my favour 
 which I am perfectly certain Miss Barham 
 would have done had she thought of it." 
 
 " Ay," replied Lady Malcolm, with a sly 
 smile, " but you men are so bold and resolute, 
 d3 
 
58 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 Count Lieberg, and I am but a poor timid 
 woman, always afraid of doing wrong. You 
 must forgive me, indeed, if I do not act as you 
 wish ; and besides, as I say, I have not got her 
 exact address. She is to write to me in a few 
 days, a«d then if she tells me to give you her 
 address, I can send it. If not, I will write to 
 her, and ask. This is all I can do." 
 
 The tone in which she spoke was firm and 
 determined; and Lieberg, seeing that it was 
 vain to press the matter further, made a virtue 
 of necessity, saying — " Well, my dear Lady 
 Malcolm, you judge for the best, I am sure ; but 
 believe me it may cause great inconvenience, 
 especially as I myself much want to go out of 
 town. What a beautiful little picture that is L 
 That must be a Correggio!" 
 
 " It is generally esteemed so," replied Lady 
 Malcolm. And Lieberg, before he took his 
 leave, examined the various pictures which the 
 room contained, praising several with that de- 
 gree of discrimination which took from his com- 
 mendation every appearance of flattery to the 
 taste of the lady who had selected the paintings, 
 though in reality he was skilfully smoothing 
 down all the feelings of irritation which he 
 feared his own irritation might have produced. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEINo 59 
 
 He succeeded so far as to make Lady Malcolm 
 say to herself, after he left her, " Well, he is a 
 very pleasant person, certainly. — But Morley 
 is right," she added, " I would not trust him in 
 matters such as this." 
 
 Whatever were Lady Malcolm's motives, the 
 story which she had told Count Lieberg was 
 perfectly true. Miss Barham had left her on 
 the preceding day, and had gone down into 
 the country. Juliet Carr, as she had promised 
 when Morley first mentioned the situation of his 
 poor protegee, had written at once to her father, 
 asking if he would receive Helen as her compa- 
 nion and friend, when she herself came down, 
 and hinting at those pecuniary arrangements 
 which she knew would have weight with her 
 somewhat too covetous parent. 
 
 To her surprise, however, she had received a 
 letter by return of post, making no reference 
 whatsoever to money matters, but "begging 
 Juliet to ask only one question of her fair com- 
 panion — namely, whether she was or was not the 
 daughter of the Rev. Mr. Barham, the curate of 
 Elmcs, in Cumberland, and if both her father 
 and mother were dead. If so, he said, he would 
 have the greatest pleasure in receiving her, as 
 he had been an intimate acquaintance of her 
 
60 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 grandfather, and done what he could to pre- 
 vent him from spending his fine property. He 
 added, moreover, that if from the circumstances 
 at which JuUet had hinted, it was more pleasant 
 for Miss Barham to come down at once, without 
 waiting for his daughter, he begged she would 
 do so, and remain as long as she liked, when he 
 would treat her in every respect as his child." 
 
 The whole letter was so unlike her father, 
 that unless Juliet had seen the handwriting 
 she could scarcely have believed it was his 
 composition. That fact, however, was not to 
 be doubted, and she accordingly shewed the 
 epistle to Helen, who immediately replied that 
 she was the daughter of the Mr. Barham men- 
 tioned, and she had some faint idea of having . 
 heard him once or twice speak of Mr. Carr. 
 Juliet then proposed to write back to her father 
 and inform him that, such being the case, Helen 
 would accompany her to Yelverly in a fortnight. 
 But Helen laid her fair hand upon her com- 
 panion's arm, and gazing earnestly in her face, 
 replied, " I would rather go at once, if possible." 
 
 "But why so, dear Helen," said Juliet. 
 " Lady Malcolm wishes you to stay, and go 
 with us to some watering-place for a time, and 
 Morley has promised — ~" 
 
MORLEY ERKSTEIN. 61 
 
 " I would rather go at once," said Helen, 
 with that sad shake of the head which speaks 
 that the heart is faint and weary within us, 
 — " I would rather go at once, dear Juliet — 
 there is much that I would willingly avoid here, 
 in London." 
 
 Juliet understood her in a moment, and 
 opposed her no farther ; and it was settled, at 
 Helen's own desire, that she and her maid 
 should proceed part of the way to Yelverly on 
 the following morning. This plan was put in 
 execution, and Helen herself seemed more than 
 ever anxious to fly from the scenes that sur- 
 rounded her. She was to visit for one day, as 
 she went, the house of the friend to whom she 
 had previously written, and whose prolonged 
 silence she did not understand ; after which, she 
 was to go on to the house of Juliet's father, and 
 to write immediately on her arrival. Thus, Lady 
 Malcolm could safely say that she did not abso- 
 lutely know where she was, though Juliet Carr 
 could not have done so with as much sincerity 
 had she been present, for Helen left the ad- 
 dress of the friend she was about to visit with 
 her. 
 
 We will not enquire into the feelings of Lie- 
 berg as he returned to his own home, suffice it 
 
62 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 that he immediately sent for the youth, William 
 Barham, with whom he held a long conference. 
 At the end of their disquisition of ways and 
 means, he despatched the lad to seek for Morley 
 Ernstein in Berkeley Square, but that gentleman 
 was not at home, and Lieberg himself, in riding 
 through the park a few hours afterwards, met 
 him walking with Lady Malcolm and a young 
 lady, whose dazzling beauty of face and sym- 
 metry of form at once let Lieberg into the secret 
 of a part, at least, of his friend's conduct. " Ha, 
 this is good !" he said to himself, as he rode on 
 after bowing to Lady Malcolm, and nodding 
 familiarly to Morley. " This is good ! How- 
 ever, Sir Morley, you shall not frustrate me." 
 
 Lieberg did not attempt to stop ; nor appear 
 to take any further notice of Juliet Carr ; and 
 Morley walked on by her side with very little 
 restraint upon their feelings from the presence 
 of Lady Malcolm. Whatever restraint did exist 
 was, perhaps, not altogether unpleasant. It is 
 strange to say, that the fact of being prevented 
 from doing what we could wish to do, can ever 
 be agreeable ; and yet, though the lover may 
 long to be altogether alone with her he loves, 
 there is a sweet excitement in expressing all the 
 warm and glowing feelings in the heart, by sha- 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 63 
 
 dowy figures, half veiling, half exposing, the 
 thoughts and the sensations that we should 
 have told openly had there not been an indif- 
 ferent ear to listen. 
 
 Good Lady Malcolm, indeed, was by no 
 means indifferent ; and though her presence, as 
 I have said, was some restraint, yet that re- 
 straint was too small ever to be painful. The 
 marriage of Morley Ernstein and of Juliet Carr, 
 was a thing that she had long set her heart 
 upon ; and that they would fall in love with 
 each other as soon as they met, was one of 
 those facts which she had predetermined, with 
 that peculiar sort of vaticination which many 
 elderly ladies experience in regard to affairs of 
 the heart. When they did meet, then, and did 
 fall in love with each other, she received it more 
 as a comphment to her prophetical powers than 
 anything else ; and, well pleased with them and 
 herself, she left them to settle the rest as much 
 to their own satisfaction as possible. 
 
 Having used the words, " when they did 
 meet, and did fall in love with each other," I 
 must dwell for a minute or two upon the process 
 of that act, as, in the hurry of tale-telling, I 
 could not pause upon it sufficiently to explain 
 some part of the mystery at the exact period 
 
64 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 when it might be most proper to do so. I have 
 shown, indeed, how it took place with Morley 
 Ernstein, that in his case it was, in fact, love at 
 first sight — a thing much more common, by the 
 way, with eager and impetuous hearts and quick 
 imaginations, than is generally supposed. It 
 was, literally, love at first sight; for though 
 there might be some vague boyish impressions 
 of what he had loved and liked in childhood 
 still remaining undefined in his mind, and 
 making his heart spring to Juliet Carr as soon 
 as he saw her, yet they were too indefinite to be 
 taken into the account ; and it was, simply and 
 truly, admiration of her dazzling beauty, and the 
 translation of that loveliness into a guarantee, 
 under the hand of nature, that the heart, and 
 mind, and spirit within were of the brightest 
 kind, which made Morley Ernstein love Juliet 
 Carr from the first moment he beheld her. 
 
 With her, the matter was very different. 
 Woman's love is nursed with more visionary 
 food than man's ; and, in our cold climate at 
 least, is of slower but more solid growth than 
 his. Circumscribed in her sphere of action, 
 even from her childhood, her feelings and her 
 thoughts are more concentrated within her own 
 bosom, and fix more firmly upon the great mas^ 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 65 
 
 ter topic of her whole existence — love, Juliet, 
 the reader has remarked, had recollected the 
 early days she had passed with Morley Ernstein, 
 better than he had done. The reason was, that 
 she was a woman ; and from a very early period, 
 all the affections are matters of more importance 
 to a woman than a man. She had recollected 
 those early days, not only as a passing dream, 
 but as a definite existence ; there was scarcely 
 a sport or a pastime which they had enjoyed 
 together, that she could not call up before the 
 eye of memory. The voice of Morley Ernstein, 
 in all the soft tones of boyish attachment, had 
 often rung in her ears as she grew towards 
 womanhood. His young, bright face often pre- 
 sented itself in her waking and her sleeping 
 hours, and sometimes she would try to picture 
 the changes that must have come over him, and 
 would ask herself, "What the boy would be, 
 now he was become a man !" 
 
 Her annual visit to Lady Malcolm too — her 
 father allowed her to make an annual visit — 
 called Morley frequently back to her mind, for 
 that good friend would often talk of him in the 
 manner which the little scheme she had esta- 
 blished, in her own mind, suggested ; and by 
 one means or another, Juliet's imagination was 
 
66 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 supplied with plenty of food for nursing up 
 young affection into full-grown love. Thus was 
 it, then, that the germ of the future passion 
 went on in her heart; so that when she saw 
 Morley Ernstein again under the wall of his own 
 park, it was with no slight emotion that she re- 
 cognised the companion of her early days ; that 
 she beheld him far surpassing, in personal ap- 
 pearance, all which she had herself anticipated ; 
 that she heard the tones of the same voice, which 
 still echoed in her ear from the pleasant places 
 of her childhood, and that she beheld — although 
 it was evident that he did not know her— -his 
 eyes filled with admiration, and with the promise 
 of love. She dreamt upon that meeting for many 
 a long day, and dreamt joyfully, though the in- 
 terview itself had been mingled with some pain, 
 in consequence of her father's harsh and rude 
 repulse of Morley's apology for the accident 
 which had occurred. 
 
 And now what were her feelings ? Reader, 
 she had given herself entirely to the passion that 
 had taken its place in her heart. Everything 
 which she had seen of Morley Ernstein was so 
 noble, so generous, so kind, that reason confirmed 
 all that the voice of love prompted, and told 
 her that she might well, and without hesitation, 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 67 
 
 acknowledge her choice in the eyes of all the 
 world. She felt that the glow of pride would 
 mingle with the blush of modesty on her cheek, 
 as she avowed her affection for one so well 
 worthy of attachment, and she could not see 
 in the whole range of probability, one objection 
 that any one could urge against her union with 
 him whom she had chosen. The eye of avarice 
 itself, greedy as it is, might be dazzled with the 
 splendour of his fortune. His attainments, his 
 character, his connexions, were all high, and 
 such as might well satisfy a far nobler race than 
 hers. He was master, too, of himself, and of his 
 own choice, so that there did not appear the 
 slightest chance of any obstacle to their union. 
 Indeed, between Morley Ernstein and Juliet 
 Carr, difficulties were never thought of— ob- 
 jections were never anticipated. Morley had 
 never asked her to wed him. He had told her 
 of his love ; he had painted it with all the fire 
 and eagerness that he felt ; he had seen that 
 he was loved in return, and, not satisfied with 
 that, he had drawn from her, by questions, and 
 entreaties, and all the arts of passion, an ac- 
 knowledgment that it was so. More than one 
 day had passed in all the pleasant visions of the 
 future, in all the words, and looks, and caresses 
 
68 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 which form that bright and rapturous dream in 
 which the hours of young affection fleet by. 
 Rarely, very rarely, do lovers think much of 
 difficulties, and certainly if there ever was a 
 case where it seemed needless to do so, it was 
 that of Morley Ernstein and Juliet Carr. While 
 they were together — and it nmst be admitted 
 that they were so during the greater part of each 
 da}^ — the minutes flew by like lightning ; and 
 had their whole lives been destined to pass in 
 the same manner, life and death would have 
 seemed but two points with an instant of joy 
 between them. 
 
 There were times, however, Vhen the ordinary 
 proprieties of society, or the particular arrange- 
 ments of Lady Malcolm, kept them apart, and in 
 those hours Lieberg was almost always with Mor- 
 ley Ernstein. Now, let not the reader suppose 
 that Morley was very foolish, or very weak, for 
 putting any trust in one who was so little trust- 
 worthy, or in associating with a man, whose views, 
 thoughts, and principles, were so different from 
 his own. The reader, it is true, knows what 
 were Lieberg's views, thoughts, and principles. 
 For the eyes of the world we have drawn back 
 the veil, and exposed his heart ; but such was 
 not the case with Morley Ernstein. No hand 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 69 
 
 had laid bare for him the objects and the views 
 of his travelling companion — no one had shewn 
 him Lieberg's dealings with William Barham — 
 no one had told the purposes he nourished 
 against Helen with but the more eagerness and 
 determination from the opposition that he had 
 met with. On all these points Morley was in 
 the dark. He only knew Lieberg as the most 
 fascinating person that he had ever met with ; as 
 a man full of talent, information, and taste ; as 
 one who possessed that sort of candour, which, 
 far from concealing opinions when opposed either 
 to the views and prejudices of others, or to the 
 general feelings of society, rather exaggerates 
 and aggravates them, and makes them appear 
 worse than they really are. He knew him, 
 besides, as one capable of doing generous ac- 
 tions, and at the same time denying all merit in 
 performing them ; as one, who was even at that 
 moment sacrificing a large sum, rather than 
 proceed to the destruction of a fellow-creature; 
 as one who had saved his own life, and who had 
 attended him through a long and painful sick- 
 ness with the care and tenderness of a brother. 
 Such was the light in which Morley had alone 
 a right to regard Count Lieberg, although his 
 friend's openly- avowed principles, in regard to 
 
70 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 some points of morality, might well cause him to 
 avoid as far as possible placing the fate of a young 
 and lovely being, like Helen Barham, in any 
 degree at his disposal. Nor did the least point 
 appear in Lieberg's present conduct, which could 
 excite Morley's suspicions. He entered warmly 
 into his views for hastening the departure of 
 William Barham from England ; he drove with 
 Morley down to the docks, for the purpose of 
 seeking a vessel to bear the j^outh to a foreign 
 land. He aided eagerly in obtaining the pro- 
 mise of a small place of considerable labour, but 
 no great trust, for Helen's brother, and in every 
 respect he seemed almost to have forgotten her- 
 self. So at least it appeared, though, indeed, 
 if there was anything which should have excited 
 Morley's suspicion, it was the fact of Lieberg's 
 total silence in regard to an object which had 
 once seemed to interest him so deeply. But 
 Morley was not of a suspicious nature, and he 
 judged that Lieberg, a man of the world, and 
 a man of pleasure, had looked upon poor Helen 
 Barham as a beautiful picture, which he had 
 seen and perhaps desired, but had forgotten very 
 soon. Thus he was well pleased to enjoy Lie- 
 berg's societ}^, whenever he was obliged to be 
 absent from Juliet Carr. Yet, if the truth must 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. * 71 
 
 be told, Morley did feel that his companion's 
 conversation was not calculated to improve him, 
 though it might be to instruct and to amuse. 
 Nevertheless he did not bring the conviction 
 home to his own heart so far as to prevent him 
 from accompanying Lieberg to various places of 
 entertainment, and enjoying the comments of 
 his friend fully as much as that which he went 
 to see or to hear. 
 
 Once, and only once, during their rambles 
 about London, Lieberg jested with him slightly 
 upon the subject of Juliet Carr, and claimed a 
 right to be pi'esent at the marriage, saying — 
 
 " Pray tell the fair lady, Morley, that I pulled 
 you out of the w^ater just in time to fulfil your 
 country's vulgar proverb, about the propensity 
 to hanging counteracting the risk of a watery 
 death." 
 
 " Oh, you shall be present," replied Morley, 
 gaily, "but recollect, Lieberg, you have been 
 wrong once in regard to your calculation of my 
 proceedings, and you may be mistaken, even 
 now." 
 
 Lieberg looked at him with a quiet smile, but 
 made no reply, and the conversation dropped 
 there. As usually happens in London, two or 
 three gay fetes took place, as if to close the 
 
72 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 season brilliantly and, whenever it was possible, 
 Lieberg induced his young friend to go to these 
 parties, and introduced him to a number of the 
 persons present. Although, by this time, all Mor- 
 ley's plans and purposes, in regard to the study 
 of society, had been burnt up, like old acts of 
 parliament, in the fire of passion, he was not 
 sorry to see such scenes, and to know such 
 people. But if Lieberg thought that Morley 
 was likely to plunge into the vortex of dis- 
 sipated life, to have his attention distracted, and 
 his eyes blinded, by the gay scenes and bright 
 objects around him, so as to forget his purposes 
 in regard to Helen Barham, and to leave her to 
 her fate, even for a short period, Lieberg was 
 mistaken. 
 
 Had Morley not known Juliet Carr, he might 
 have drunk of the cup of pleasure to intoxica- 
 tion ; for there were many beautiful, and spark- 
 ling, and brilliant, who were right willing to 
 lead him into paths more flowery than safe, and 
 to assail him on all sides, with arms very diffi- 
 cult for a young man to resist. But Morley 
 was defended now with that highest and noblest 
 of armour, love for a pure and beautiful being. 
 His life, in short, was in Juliet Carr, and all the 
 rest around him was but a pageant or a dream. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 73 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Take care j^ou're not done, Bill — that's all I 
 say !" was the exclamation of the good-looking, 
 powerful fellow, who has once already been 
 placed before the reader's eyes, under the name 
 of Harry Martin, and who now sat with Helen's 
 brother in the house she had inhabited. "If he 
 gets you on board ship, you mayn't get out 
 again, I take it ; but 3^ou know jonr own 
 business best. 1 don't like the job, I can tell 
 you. I think you're all wrong, my lad, and 
 you'll find it out some day. — Come, pass us 
 another glass, and I'll be jogging. — If I were 
 you, I would stick to my sister; she's a 
 very good girl, I hear ; and hang me. Bill, its 
 very well talking, but a good girl's a good girl, 
 you know, and a bad one's a bad one — there's 
 
 VOL. II. E 
 
74 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 no mistake. You that are born a gentleman, 
 too, I should have thought you'd something 
 more of it in you. Why didn't ye fly at the 
 fellow's throat when he shewed you the paper, 
 and tear it all to pieces in a minute ?" 
 
 " I couldn't," said William Barham, who had 
 been gazing down upon the floor, with a look 
 half sullen, half ashamed ; " there was a table 
 between us, and I couldn't get at it." 
 
 " If you could get hold of that," said Harry 
 Martin, " the job would be at an end, you 
 know ; you could do what you pleased. Can't 
 you make him shew it you agairi?" 
 
 The boy shook his head. "It wont do, 
 Harry," he said ; " he keeps it in a little pocket- 
 book, with some other things ; and I would have, 
 tried to get it out of his pocket quietly, as Simes 
 showed me how one day, but you see it's an in- 
 side pocket, and I can't get at it." 
 
 "Wliy, for that matter, one could cut his 
 pocket off," said Harry Martin ; " and I shouldn't 
 care if I had a hand in it ; but we must have 
 two or three, and unless there was a good deal 
 of tin to be had besides, the men would not like 
 to risk a trip to Botany, just to get that note of 
 yours. However, I'll think over it, and talk 
 with some other fellows about it, and perhaps 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 76 
 
 we shall bring the thing right after all. I'll 
 take one more glass, and then I'll go." 
 
 William Barham thought for a moment or 
 two, and then said, " I'll tell you what, Harry, 
 when we find out where Helen is, he's sure to 
 go down into the country after her. Don't you 
 think that one could do something, as he goes ? 
 He has alwa3^s lots of money about him, and 
 that gold snuff box which there was a piece of 
 work about once with Bill Jones, you know; 
 and if he goes into the country for any time, 
 his dressing-case is worth a cool couple of hun- 
 dred, just to make soup of, as you call it. It's 
 all gold and silver together." 
 
 " What ! a touch of the highwa}^, as men used 
 to have long ago ?" said Harry Martin. " But 
 that's not so easy done now, my bo3\ We have 
 changed all that- — trade has fallen off sadly too. 
 I wish those days would come again, for there's 
 scarce a man of us keeps a horse now." 
 
 " Why, 3^ou've got your horse and gig, Harry," 
 said the youth. 
 
 " Ay, but one can't stop a gentleman on the 
 road with a horse and gig." 
 
 " Very true," answered William Barham ; 
 " but if he were to go down into the country, you 
 could go after him, and make a smash of it." 
 E 2 
 
76 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 The man with whom he was talking, Uiughed, 
 but seemed to think the idea not a bad one. 
 " We can't do it for nothing, Bill," he said ; 
 *' though if he puts up in a place where there's 
 something to be got, and the thing's easy, I 
 shouldn't mind undertaking it, for your sake, 
 though I am not a cracksman, myself — especially 
 if it's a good way down in the countr}^ for you 
 see, there's not so much chance of being pulled 
 up for it. We could have the gig waiting, and 
 after the job was done, get in and drive thirty 
 miles or so, and then take the coach. All I can 
 say is, if you choose to cut this business about 
 your sister entirely, and want reall}^ to get out of 
 the fellow's power, I'll help j^ou as far as I can ; 
 so look out, there's a good boy, and let me know; . 
 for hang me, if I like to see a poor girl bought and 
 sold, like a sheep in Smithfield! — And now, good 
 night, Bill. I would fain see jou a free man 
 again, for now you're no better than a nigger- 
 slave in the West Indies." 
 
 Thus saying, he left him, and I will not pause 
 to investigate and lay bare all the curious com- 
 binations in the bosom of Harry Martin, which 
 produced his strange and anomalous notions of 
 honour and dishonour, honesty and dishonesty. 
 It would be a very difficult task in his case. 
 
3I0RLEY ERNbTEIX. 77 
 
 and perhaps it we knevv all, it would not be 
 much less so in the case of many men of far 
 higher reputation — for too, too often, in this 
 good world, do w^e see the frauds to which 
 they are accustomed, the dishonest — ay, and 
 criminal acts, which suit their purposes and 
 conveniences, placed in as strange contrast 
 with better thins^s in the life of hio;h and 
 distinguished persons, " all honourable men," 
 as the habit of plundering was, with his no- 
 tions in regard to Helen Barbara, in the 
 breast of Henry Martin. The man who takes 
 a solemn vow at the altar, in the presence of 
 his God, and breaks it ere three months are 
 over, would cut the throat of his dearest friend, 
 if he called him a liar ; and yet, what is he ? 
 The politician, who, on the hustings, or on the 
 table, excites the passions of the people, vows 
 that he is seeking their own interests solely, 
 when his object is place, or power, or station ; 
 or he, who in his canvass promises all sorts of 
 things that he never can, and never will per- 
 form, what is he but a hypocrite? and yet he 
 would giin at you like a dog if you gave him his 
 right name. I could go on for an hour to shew 
 how we felons of high station contrive to ren- 
 der our notions of honour quite as co.'upcUible 
 
/» MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 with crime and dishonour, of the basest sort, as 
 were the plundering habits of WilUam Barham's 
 companion, with his indignation at the brother's 
 carelessness of the sister's honour. 
 
 However, as I have said, I must not pause 
 upon such things, for I fear very much, with 
 the slow rate at which my story proceeds, I may 
 be obliged to infringe the boundary which the 
 customs of the present day ascribe to the teller 
 of a tale. Nor will I delay the reader with all 
 that took place between Lieberg and William 
 Barham, previous to the embarkation of the lat- 
 ter in the river Thames, for a long and distant 
 voyage. The whole business was conducted 
 with the knowledge, and under the eye, of 
 Morley Ernstein. Money was furnished to him 
 for all necessary expenses, and Mr. Hamilton, 
 who was now slowly recovering, promised his 
 interest, at Morley's solicitation, to obtain ad- 
 vancement for the young man in the distant 
 land to which he was going, if his conduct 
 during a couple of years justified the belief that 
 he would act honourably for the future. Before 
 he embarked, he wrote a letter to Helen, and 
 gave it into Morley's hands to put upon it 
 the right address. Morley did so, and for- 
 warded it himself, but no answer had been 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 79 
 
 received at the time the ship dropped down the 
 river. 
 
 Such were the principal events connected with 
 the fate of William Barham which took place in 
 London ; but I must now suddenly change the 
 scene, and beseech the reader to accompany me 
 to a distant spot, and take up his abode for a short 
 space in a small room — for the inn had no other 
 but small rooms — in a house known by the dis- 
 tinctive appellation of *' The Sandown Castle," 
 in the small town of Deal. 
 
 It was night, and the wind had been blowing 
 freshly from the westward during the whole 
 day; but as the sun went down it increased to 
 a gale, varying somewhat to the southward, 
 with an unpromising blackness about the sky in 
 that quarter, mingling with the faint red of 
 evening, in the west and north. It was alto- 
 gether as ominous and unpleasant a night to 
 commence a long voyage upon, as any one 
 could wish to see ; and nobody whose destiny 
 was not very well assured, would have chosen 
 the neighbourhood of the Goodwin Sands for 
 his night's lodging on the deep. Although the 
 wind had got to the south, as I have said, the 
 night was one of those which are more generally 
 met with in this favoured climate than any other 
 
80 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 — that is to say, cold, raw, and damp, in the very 
 midst of the summer, giving us back all our re- 
 collections of December in the heart of July. 
 
 The room of which I have spoken in the 
 little inn, had been made as comfortable as pos- 
 sible, under existing circumstances. The table 
 had been well rubbed, to take out the marks of 
 tumblers, imprinted in rum-and-water ; the win- 
 dows had been opened to "air the room" — a pro- 
 ceeding which, to say the truth, was not a little 
 rec^uircd, as a dull and heavy atmosphere of 
 tobacco-smoke and mixed spirits reigned within, 
 and seemed very ill-disposed to go out, either at 
 door or window, in that cold and boisterous 
 night. There was a small fire, too, in the grate, 
 and once or twice, as the evening drew in and. 
 night fell heavy over the world, a very genteel- 
 looking personage, with a foreign countenance, 
 and a grave, sedate air, entered the room, looked 
 about him to see that everything was right, put 
 this thing and that thing in order, smoothing 
 down a great coat, that hung over the back of a 
 chair, stirring the fire, arranging the furniture, 
 and doing all those little acts which give notice 
 that some personage is expected, for whom every- 
 thing must be prepared in the nicest manner. 
 
 At length, he shut the windows and lighted 
 
MORLEY EllNSTElK. 81 
 
 the candles, and in about ten minutes after, 
 a gentleman, dressed in the very height of 
 fashion, with a large blue military cloak, of the 
 finest cloth, hanging from his shoulders, entered 
 the room, and advancing to the fire, gazed into 
 it for a minute or two in silence. The other 
 personage whom we have mentioned, stood at a 
 respectful distance, without saying a single 
 word, till at length his master, for so it was, 
 turned round and gave him his hat and wet 
 cloak, saying, " Here, Martini, take these, and 
 then go down to the beach. It is a terrible 
 night, and I am uneasy about the ship — one 
 can see the surf running upon the sands quite 
 plain. There was a vessel too, apparently 
 coming into the Downs, but I could make 
 nothing of it myself, and the jargon of these 
 pilots I do not pretend to understand. I sup- 
 pose the boy will come ashore directly, of 
 course." 
 
 " If he can, sir," replied the man, with a 
 strong foreign accent ; " but I should not like 
 to trust myself, I know, in an open boat, on 
 such a night as this." 
 
 " There are several boats out," said Liebergj 
 for it was our friend who spoke ; and then mak*- 
 ing a sign for the man to leave him, he sat till 
 e3 
 
82 MORLEY EKNSTEIN. 
 
 nearly eleven o'clock at night in that worst of 
 all states of idleness, the idleness of a strange 
 inn, which is the next thing to solitary confine- 
 ment. Lieberg, on most occasions, had plenty 
 of means of emplo^dng and amusing himself, 
 but at the present moment his mind was evi- 
 dently not at ease. He gazed during the greater 
 part of the evening into the fire, and one might 
 have supposed that it was the thought of being 
 baffled in his pursuit, by the destruction of the 
 ship which bore William Barham, that troubled 
 him, had not a word or two escaped from his lips 
 towards the end of the period we have men- 
 tioned, which shewed that, in reality, some better 
 feelings were mingled with his emotions, and 
 that it was about the youth himself, and the risk 
 he ran for the time, he was anxious. The words 
 indeed, dear reader, to which I allude, were all 
 harsh, and, apparently, unfeeling ; but still they 
 shewed that Lieberg was occupied rather with 
 the boy's fate than with his own plans and 
 purposes. 
 
 "Curse him!" he said, rising from his chair, 
 towards eleven o'clock — " he may as Avell die 
 that way as any other, lie would be hanged, 
 that's certain, sooner or later, if he escaped the 
 water. So it is as well if he be drowned after 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 83 
 
 all. There is no reason for my making myself 
 uneasy about him. It might be as well, indeed, 
 if he had some other business in hand when 
 called upon to join the world of spirits ; but I 
 dare say, let him live as long as a patriarch, he 
 would be engaged in some rascality at the day 
 of his death, and as well this as anything else ; 
 so good bye to him !" 
 
 Thus saying, Lieberg rang the bell and 
 ordered supper to be brought, of which, when 
 it did appear, he partook moderately, and then 
 retired to bed, his valet having by that time 
 returned without any tidings whatsoever of 
 William Barham, or the ship that bore him. If 
 the truth must be told, however, Lieberg did 
 not sleep much, for while he was undressing, 
 a dull, distant peal came from the sea, loud, but 
 heavy. 
 
 " 'Tis some ship firing for a pilot, sir," said 
 his valet. 
 
 Lieberg took out his watch and listened ; ere 
 the minute was quite done, there came the roar 
 of another gun, and then another, and another. 
 For near an hour the same sounds went on, when 
 all became still, except the rushing of the wind, 
 and the heavy, thunder-like fall of the sea upon 
 the beach. Stoicism may do its utmost, but the 
 
84 MOllLEY ERNSTEIX. 
 
 human heart generally finds a tune to speak, and 
 Lieberg was so evidently uneasy, that his valet 
 de chambre — who had about as much feeling as 
 that race of created beings generally have, and 
 no more — evidently saw that his master was very 
 much more mOved than was usually the case 
 with him, and \Ncn\. to bed, wondering what could 
 be the occasion thereof — that is to say, not asking 
 himself exactly what was the object of Liebcrg's 
 emotion, but what possibly could induce him to 
 give way to any emotion at all. 
 
 Perceiving, however, that such was the case, 
 and wishing, as all well-dis}>osed valets de 
 chamhrc are expected to do, to set his master's 
 mind at case, his tap was heard at Lieberg's door 
 towards six o'clock on the following morning, 
 and his voice exclaimed — " He is arrived, sir ! 
 The ship has gone to pieces, but all the crew 
 are saved." 
 
 Lieberg instantly started up, threw on his 
 brocaded dressing-gown, and opened the door. 
 The man, who was standing there, pointed to 
 the sitting-room, Avhich was on the opposite 
 side of the passage, and his master instantly 
 crossed over and entered the room. 
 
 Certainly never on earth did a more discon* 
 solate object present itself to the eyes of man, than 
 
MORLEY EUNSTEIN. 85 
 
 that which was offered to Lieberg's sight by the 
 unfortunate William Barham. He was seated on 
 a chair by the fire — which had just been re- 
 lighted and had not well burnt up — without a 
 coat or waistcoat ; his long, silky, light hair 
 drenched with water, and hanging upon his 
 cheeks and neck ; his countenance, previously 
 pallid with licentiousness and habits of vice, 
 now ten times paler than ever, and purplish at 
 the extremes, with the cold and terror he had 
 undergone ; his eyes languid, his teeth chat- 
 tering, and his whole limbs trembling, while a 
 bad cut upon his forehead, received in getting 
 into one of the boats, made him look still more 
 miserable, and a stain or two of blood oozing 
 through the breast of his shirt, shewed that he 
 must have received some other blow upon the 
 chest. 
 
 Lieberg was truly moved by what he saw, 
 and exerted himself energetically to comfort 
 and assist the unhappy young man. " Get a bed 
 ready, and have it warmed, immediately !" he 
 exclaimed, addressing a drowsy chambermaid, 
 who was trying, by various pokes and thumps, to 
 irritate the cold-hearted coals, in the grate, into 
 some degree of warmth. "You, Martini, bring 
 him some Madeira as quick as possible, while I 
 get him some dry clothes." 
 
86 MORLEY ERN STEIN. 
 
 The girl proceeded as slowly as possible, ac- 
 cording to the usual custom of such personages ; 
 but Martini sprang rapidly to obey his master's 
 orders, and Lieberg himself soon procured all 
 that was necessary for arraying the unfortunate 
 youth in dry clothing, and bringing some degree 
 of warmth back into his chilled and exhausted 
 frame. A surgeon also was sent for, and, as 
 soon as possible, William Barham was placed in 
 a warm bed, and received such treatment as 
 the man of art thought necessary in the existing 
 circumstances. 
 
 While this was taking place he said very little 
 himself, only answering in a monosyllable ; and 
 Lieberg asked but few questions for the time. All 
 that he thus learnt was, that the vessel had got 
 well out of the mouth of the Thames, and was 
 making the best of her way towards her desti- 
 nation, notwithstanding the Captain's previous 
 intimation that he would touch at Deal, when 
 the change of wind had forced him to try for 
 an anchorage in the Downs, and, by some mis- 
 management towards nightfall, the ship, instead 
 of getting into a place of security, had been 
 driven upon the Goodwins, and become a com- 
 plete wreck. Though the gallant boatmen of 
 Deal had done all in their power, it had proved 
 utterly impossible to save any one from the wreck 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 87 
 
 before daybreak. But then, with great difficulty, 
 and at the imminent risk of their own Uves, the 
 hovellers, as they are called, had contrived to 
 bring off the whole of the crew, except one or 
 two, who had been swept from the wreck during 
 the night. Further particulars were obtained by 
 Lieberg in the course of the day ; and with the 
 spirit of liberality which he always shewed, he 
 contributed largely to assist the unfortunate per- 
 sons who had lost the whole of their stores in 
 the ship, and also to reward the brave fellows 
 who had saved their lives. 
 
 Lieberg thus occupied himself during the day, 
 and at night returned to the inn, where his 
 servant met him at the foot of the little stairs, 
 and communicated to him two pieces of intel- 
 ligence, the latter of which seemed to affect him 
 the most. 
 
 " He is up, sir," said the man in a low tone ; 
 " and in the sitting-room ; and he has received 
 a letter from the post-office, addressed to William 
 Barham, Esq., in the ship * Mary Anne.' " 
 
 " In what sort of hand ?" demanded Lieberg^ 
 eagerly. " Did you see the post-mark ?" 
 
 "The hand was a very good one, sir," re- 
 plied the valet. " The post-mark was Don- 
 
88 MORLEY ERNSTEtN. 
 
 Lieberg started, and turned red. "Morley 
 Ernstein's post-town !" he exclaimed. " But 
 nonsense !" he continued, after pausing for a mo- 
 ment, "he is still lingering on in London. 
 The thing cannot be. He must have got some- 
 body to receive her in the neighbourhood ;" 
 and with some doubts still upon his mind, 
 he mounted the staircase and entered the room, 
 where William Barham was seated over the 
 fire, though by this time the weather had be- 
 come sultry to the feelings of every one else. 
 
 '•' ITow hot the room is !"' exclaimed Lieberg, 
 as he entered. " Tell the people to serve din- 
 ner as soon as possible. — Well, Wihiam, how do 
 you feel now ?" 
 
 " Very much bruised, and very cold,'' replied, 
 the youth, sullenly. 
 
 " I hear you have had a letter from your sis- 
 ter," said Lieberg, in a quiet, easy tone. " Pray 
 where is she now ?" 
 
 The man Martini was in the room ; and it 
 is probable that Lieberg calculated upon the 
 youth giving him an answer at once. But Wil- 
 liam Barham still sat over the fire, without look- 
 ing up, and replied — "We'll talk about that 
 by-and-b3\" 
 
 '• Leave the room. Martini," said Lieberg^ 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 89 
 
 adding, as soon as he was obeyed — *^ Well, 
 William, now, where is your sister ?" 
 
 The youth rose up from before the fire, and 
 stood opposite to Lieberg, pale, ghastly, and 
 haggard, replying, boldly — " I do not mean to 
 say I do not know where my sister is, for I do, 
 and 1 know too that you have got me in your 
 power ; but before I tell you any more, or help 
 you any farther, I will have you promise me 
 to settle something upon her, so that she may 
 never want." 
 
 Lieberg gazed at him for a moment, with a 
 dark, considering look, not unmixed with con- 
 tempt, and he then replied — " Make your mind 
 easy, she shall never want. Now answer my 
 question, and quickly, for I do not love being 
 trifled with." 
 
 The worm he trod upon turned against him, 
 and the youth replied — " I shall not tell you 
 anything more, or help you any farther, unless 
 you give me some better assurance than that, 
 ril tell you what. Count ; last night in the 
 storm, when I was clinging to the wreck, I 
 thought I heard Helen's voice in the wind, and 
 this morning I have been thinking of her ever 
 since T woke ; and I have made up my mind 
 sooner to die than to do anything farther, unless 
 
90 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 you will give me something, under your hand, 
 which will ensure that she shall never be walking 
 about the streets in misery, as I have seen some 
 poor girls do." 
 
 Lieberg frowned upon him darkly, with feel- 
 ings that it may be best to explain. We can 
 only do so in part, it is true, for there w^as one 
 dark side of his character upon which we cannot 
 throw light. Such explanation, however, as 
 we can give, we Avill. There had been some- 
 thing in the beauty of Helen Barham — ay, 
 in her innocence and somewhat wild simpli- 
 city — which had struck and captivated him 
 much. Her talents, too, and tastes, were of a 
 kind to attract him ; and though he had beheld 
 her but once, he had seen quite sufficient to 
 show him that she was exactly the being for 
 whom he had been long seeking, to be his com- 
 panion, his paramour, the object of passion, the 
 amusement of idle hours ; to be sported with, 
 conversed with, to be lapped in luxury, spoiled, 
 petted, and perhaps loved, but to be dependent 
 entirely upon his will — the slave of the Eastern 
 harem, not the wife of a civilized land. 
 
 He saw all this in a moment, and had deter- 
 mined to obtain her : yet perhaps he might have 
 been diverted from the pursuit by any small and 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 91 
 
 ordinary obstacle, which did not pique his vanity 
 or excite his passions. The difficulties he had 
 met with, however, had been the work of human 
 beings; he had been thwarted and opposed 
 by those who seemed inferior to himself; 
 and every stumbling-block that he met with, 
 every barrier in his way, made him but the more 
 resolute to overleap them all, and to pursue his 
 course with a degree of vehemence and passion, 
 which mere love for Helen Barham could not have 
 excited in the short space of time that he had 
 known her. 
 
 Determined to win her, and thinking that 
 no sacrifice would be too much for that ob- 
 ject, he would not have hesitated, in the least, 
 to make any provision for her that was in 
 his power, had it not been dictated to him ; 
 but that her brother, who was bound hand and 
 foot before him, chained to his will, as a sinner 
 to the power of Satan — that he should turn and 
 make conditions, excited the evil spirit that 
 reigned in him to the very highest pitch, and 
 made him reply, after gazing upon the youth 
 darkly for a moment — " Very well — you would 
 sooner die, would you ? That is easy. I had 
 better send for a constable ;" and he put his 
 hand towards the bell, adding, as he did so — 
 
92 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 " You make your own choice, young man ; but 
 do not let any wild notions of romance enter 
 into your head, and make you beheve that you 
 can frustrate me. You will only be hanged 
 yourself, and make no change in your sister's 
 fate, for I know that she is in the neighbourhood 
 of Doncaster as well as you do.. So now I shall 
 give you into charge at once ; then go down to 
 see her, and return in time to bear testimony to 
 your merits at the trial :" and he rang the bell. 
 
 The youth's resolution failed him ; he gasped, 
 as if he were half strangled, exclaiming — " For 
 God's sake — for God's sake, spare me !" and 
 thrust into Lieberg's hand — even as the land- 
 lord entered the room — the letter which he had 
 received from Helen Barham. 
 
 Lieberg's lip curled, and grasping the letter 
 tight, he turned round to the landlord, saying — 
 " Is not the dinner ready ? I ordered it at six 
 precisely ! What wine can you give me ?" and 
 he entered, in the calmest tone possible, into a 
 discussion upon things to be eaten and drunk, 
 which would not edify the reader to hear. 
 
 After he had done, and the landlord was dis- 
 missed, Lieberg walked with the letter to the 
 window, read it attentively, took a note of one 
 or two things on some tablets, and then returned 
 it to William Barham. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 93 
 
 ^* Mark one thing, my good young man," he 
 said, " and recollect it well in your future deal- 
 ings with me — I am not a man to be dictated to. 
 Nothing was ever obtained from me by threat or 
 opposition yet. What you required for your 
 sister just now, and I would not grant, because 
 you asked it in a high tone, I will now consent 
 to, since you have yielded obedience, and will 
 give you a promise under my hand of that Avhich 
 will always put your sister above need. Where is 
 the paper I gave you when we were in London? 
 I will add it to that." 
 
 The boy shook his head sadly, saying — "It is 
 lost, with everything else that I had, in that 
 ship. You must write it on another piece of 
 paper." 
 
 " That I will do at once," said Lieberg, 
 drawing a writing-desk to him. " Do not be 
 cast down, my good youth, at your losses, I 
 will soon repair them amply if we succeed. 
 But come, here is the dinner, and you want 
 some refreshment. I will write it afterwards. 
 Sit down ; what will 3^ou take — some soup, or 
 some fish?" 
 
 The youth sat down to table with him, and 
 Lieberg treated him with kindness. But the 
 reader learned in the human heart need not be 
 
94 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 tokl, that William Barhatn hated him as much 
 for his after-condescension as he did for his 
 previous tyranny. 
 
 Lieberg kept his word. After dinner he 
 wrote a promise, which was quite as satisfactory 
 to William Barham as such a promise could be : 
 he provided him also with all that was necessary 
 for his comfort, while weakness obliged him to 
 remain in Deal, and gave him money to journey 
 to London as soon as he had taken some repose, 
 charging him strictly, however, to go to the 
 house he had formerly inhabited, and keep him- 
 self out of sight of Sir Morley Ernstein. Lie- 
 berg himself set off early in the following morning 
 for London, proposing to go down at once to 
 Doncaster, in pursuit of Helen, but hoping to 
 return successful ere many days were over. 
 
 Not wishing his proceedings to be particularly 
 remarked, and fearing that he might meet some 
 one in the coach who knew him, Lieberg had 
 come down to Deal in his own carriage, and in it 
 he returned ; but scarcely was he gone, when 
 William Barham demanded at what hour the 
 coaches started, and in less than half an hour 
 after he also was on his way to town, with feel- 
 ings of hatred in his heart towards him who 
 had just left him, which were not without their 
 fruit in due time. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN, 95 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 Wend back with me, dear reader, into that dis- 
 tant part of the country where this tale first 
 began ; not exactly, indeed, to the same scene, 
 but to a spot about three or four miles from 
 Morley Court, which you have already heard of, 
 under the name of Yelverly. The aspect of 
 that place, and of the whole country round it, 
 was so peculiar, that I should have wished to 
 pause, and give some description of the house 
 and grounds, even if I had not been impelled to 
 do so by the necessity of the case. But there 
 are things to come, which may render it re- 
 quisite that the reader's eye should be able to 
 call up, like a magistrate, each individual part 
 of the scene before it, and examine it strictly 
 as a witness in regard to the events that are 
 
96 MORLEY ERNSTEIN, 
 
 taking place. Oh, those silent witnesses ! — those 
 trees, those shrubs, those fields ! those dark 
 panels of the old oak chamber ! those carved 
 figures and antique busts of ancient heroes ! — 
 oh, those silent witnesses in every old domain ! 
 Could we but endow them with a voice, what tales 
 might they tell of merry or sad scenes in the long 
 past ; of secret sins, and horrible treacheries ; of 
 human absurdity, folly, and vice; of crime, of 
 agony, and of despair ! How might they, with 
 their quaint old legends, make the lips laugh, the 
 bosom heave, and the e3^es overflaw ! 
 
 The house of Yelverly was a curious old 
 stone structure, of firm and solid masonry, on 
 which few repairs had taken place, for few had 
 been necessar}^ but which had been subjected 
 to several alterations, as was evinced by apertures 
 blocked up here and there, and by the lines of 
 different coloured stone-work, which indicated 
 that the tops of the windows, which were now 
 square, had once displayed pointed, or Tudor 
 arches. What the building had originally been 
 I do not know, probably some dependence of a 
 monastery or abbey, in the neighbourhood. It 
 had never been large, though it now formed a 
 roomy and convenient house for a small famil3\ 
 But, notwithstanding its antiquity, and the pic-^ 
 
MORLF.Y ERNSTEIN. 97 
 
 turesque taste of the architects of the age in 
 Avhich it was built, it had not one single preten- 
 sion to beauty of any kind, sort, or description 
 whatsoever. It was grey, and cold, and flat, 
 with the windows apparently scattered over the 
 face of it by accident, each having been put in, 
 beyond all doubt, wherever it was found con- 
 venient ; here, to light one room — there, to 
 light another ; at one point to clear up tlie ob- 
 scurit}^ of a staircase — at a second, to let the 
 sun shine into a passage. 
 
 As if to disfigure the front more completely, 
 a penthouse had been thrown out from one side, 
 at the height of about ten feet from the ground, 
 covering an eighth part of the building, and 
 rendering the rooms thus sheltered dull and 
 sunless enough. The principal door would 
 have been as ugly as the rest of the house, had 
 it not possessed an old-fashioned stone porch, 
 with a seat on either side, which, by no means 
 beautiful in itself, yet relieved the eye, in some 
 degree, by breaking the flatness of the building. 
 
 Before the house, extended a long grass 
 court, up which no carriage could drive, and 
 which was separated from a cross road that run 
 in front, by a wall about three feet high, sur- 
 mounted by a row of tall, thin, iron railings. 
 
 VOL. IT. F 
 
98 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 The ornaments of the court were ten magnificent 
 old yew trees, forming, as it were, a sort of 
 avenue from the gate in the iron raiUng, up to 
 the door of the house, the trees being ranged at 
 equal distances on either side, and a small path, 
 formed of dumpling-like stones placed edge- 
 ways, running between them. On either side 
 the court was flanked by a tall brick wall, and 
 the only entrance for a carriage was down a 
 narrow lane at the side, which led by some 
 gates into a large paved court behind. It is 
 true that Mr. Carr, having quarrelled with all 
 the gentry in the neighbourhood, and not being 
 particularly beloved by the great farmers, who 
 had an idea that he was fond of fomenting dis- 
 putes, was seldom troubled with the approach 
 of curricle, or carriage, or one-horse chaise. 
 But still that lane was necessary and useful to 
 him, as he was himself a skilful and experienced 
 agriculturist, though so avaricious, as often to 
 injure himself by grudging a load of manure 
 where it was really necessary. 
 
 The country round was of a very curious 
 aspect. For more than a mile on either side, it 
 displayed chiefly fine old grass-land, separated 
 into fields of every size and shape by thick-set 
 hedges, well kept, but totally without trees. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 99 
 
 The scenery, though not at all mountainous, 
 or even hilly, might be called hillocky, for it was 
 so undulating, that if a field contained more than 
 foiu' acres, it was certain to have in it both a hill 
 and a valley ; and through several of the latter 
 ran a clear trout-stream, giving great luxuriance 
 to the grass, and rendering it the finest pasture 
 ground in the world. There w^as an air, how- 
 ever, of bareness about the landscape, from the 
 want of trees, which accorded well with the bald 
 antiquity of the old house, and on a summer 
 evening, w^hen the sun was going down, and the 
 slant beams peered over the green uplands, one 
 might sit in that stone porch, and fanc}^ oneself 
 a yeoman of the olden time, so much did the 
 ancient aspect of the whole scene sink into the 
 heart. 
 
 It was on such a summer evening, then, that 
 Old Carr, the miser — as he was called in the 
 neighbourhood, — walked forth between those 
 black yews w ith fair Helen Barham. Nature, 
 who loves contrasts, and who places the bright 
 red berries amidst the dark green leaves, might 
 well be satisfied w^ith the opposition of those 
 two : Helen, as she came forward, the picture 
 of youth and grace and wild simplicity ; and 
 Robert Carr, wnth age, and heaviness, and slow 
 f2 
 
100 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 computation in all his steps and looks. I have 
 already described his personal appearance, and 
 have onl}^ to add, in that respect, that he seemed 
 to the eye much more aged when on foot than 
 on horseback, as is very often the case. His 
 hair was not white, indeed, but it was very 
 thickly mingled with gre}^ and though he was 
 not fat, yet, as I have said, he was heavy. His 
 step w^as deliberate and v;eight\^, and his face, 
 W'hich had certainly once been handsome, was 
 marked with many lines, which one might have 
 taken for the traces of strong passions, had it 
 not been for the thoughtful, calculating expres- 
 sion of the countenance, v^^hich seemed utterly 
 at variance with passion of any sort but one. 
 The greed of gain was written there in cha- 
 racters easily read, though it also was of its 
 particular kind. It was more the eagerness of 
 the beast of prey, than the spirit of petty accu- 
 mulation ; nor was it alone the rapacity of the 
 wolf, for the subtlety of the fox was there also. 
 
 The e^^es were bent down upon the ground 
 all the time he walked, but the right eyebrow 
 was raised up and down, as the feelings, called 
 forth by the conversation, produced any change 
 upon his countenance, and always, while he 
 was listening, his upper lip was raised on the 
 opposite sidc; displaying a long, fang-like tooth, 
 
MOHLEY ERNSTEIN. 101 
 
 with much of the look of a dog when one strives 
 to take away a bone. He must have been a 
 tall man and powerfully formed, though now 
 very much broken ; and it is said that he beat 
 another attorney almost to death in the streets 
 of York, for having foiled him in an unjust 
 suit. The other prosecuted him, indeed, for an 
 assault; but by some of the extraordinary loop- 
 holes of the law, Robert Carr crept through 
 the danger, and escaped unpunished. 
 
 He did not give his arm to Helen Barham as 
 they walked, but held a thick staff in his right 
 hand, with which he steadied his steps, and 
 strove to give himself the appearance of youthful 
 firmness. He had shewn to Helen Barham 
 so much kindness and courtesy since her arrival, 
 however, that she would have been very willing 
 to pass over the want of any small attention, even 
 had she perceived it, which certainly she did 
 not; and, walking on beside him, with her bon- 
 net loosely thrown on, her rich hair clustering 
 round her beautiful face, a look of thoughtful 
 sadness in her dark bright eyes, and a somewhat 
 listless grace in all her movements, very dif- 
 ferent from the wild buo} ancy of lier step before 
 she knew Morley Ernstein, she listened to the 
 old lawyer's questions, and gave him true and 
 
102 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 simple answers, with little or no reservation, for 
 he did not touch upon any of those points where 
 she might have felt some difficulty in framing 
 her reply. 
 
 " And so," said old Carr, " your brother is 
 seventeen years of age." 
 
 " Nearly eighteen," replied Helen ; " his 
 birthday is in December." 
 
 " A cold month," said the lawyer — " mine is 
 in October. And so you left him in London ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Helen, " but he was very 
 speedily to sail for the West Indies." 
 
 The old man started — " Sail for the West 
 Indies !" he exclaimed. " Sail for the West 
 Indies ! That is very unfortunate. What could 
 make him think of such a thing as that? — that 
 is very unfortunate, indeed !" 
 
 " Perhaps not so much as you imagine," said 
 Helen, colouring, and determined to meet the 
 point at once, with the general truth, lest 
 she should be cross-questioned in regard to 
 the particulars. " My poor brother had got 
 into very bad society, I am sorry to say, and 
 some kind and generous friends have obtained 
 for him a small post in one of those colonies." 
 
 " He must come back — he must come back !" 
 said the old lawyer. " I was just going to bid 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN* 203 
 
 you invite him down here. Do you think he is 
 gone ? Are you sure he is sailed ?" 
 
 " By this time he certainly is," replied Helen. 
 " In your kind daughter's letter, which I re- 
 ceived two or three days ago, she informed 
 me of the day that he was to sail, and enclosed 
 to me a letter from himself, confirming the 
 same tidings, and bidding me write to him at 
 Deal, as that would be the last opportunity of 
 communicating with him ere his departure. I 
 wrote yesterday, accordingly." 
 
 " That is very unlucky," said the old man, 
 " and now the post is gone out. He must come 
 back — he must come back !" 
 
 " Nay," answered Helen, somewhat surprised, 
 and, to say the truth, thinking the old gentle- 
 man verging towards dotage. " It will be 
 better for him, I believe, to stay where he is. 
 You know that he has no means of gaining his 
 bread in England, and there at least he has a 
 provision." 
 
 " I know — I know," said the lawyer, impa- 
 tiently. " You are all poor — you are all beg- 
 gars — Juliet said so. But, I tell you, your 
 brother must come back — he is heir to a large 
 property unjustly withheld from him, and I will 
 undertake to cause restitution. Why, I have got 
 
104 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 all the papers myself! I did not know, till Juliet 
 wrote, that your father had any children ; and 
 your father himself w^as a fool, and would not 
 let me act for him ; but would have suffered 
 you both to live like beggars and die on a 
 dunghill, out of a mere idle whim. But your 
 brother will be wiser, and I will get back the 
 estates for him, if he will give me — give me ten 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 Helen smiled, and in gayer days she might 
 have laughed, though many things that the 
 lawyer had said had made her shrink as if he 
 had put his hand upon a w^ound. 
 
 " Where is my brother to get ten thousand 
 pounds, think you, Mr. Carr ?" she said. " We 
 are, as you said, if not quite beggars, very nearly 
 so, and I think poor William would find it diffi- 
 cult to find ten thousand pence." 
 
 " I mean — I mean," cried Mr. (Jarr, " he shall 
 give me ten thousand pounds when I have got 
 the property for him. I will stand all the ex- 
 penses in the meanwhile. Ten thousand pounds 
 shall cover all, and he shall give me a bond to 
 pay it when I have got back the property for 
 him. I will be like the quack doctors — ' no cure, 
 no pay,' my dear Miss Barham. Ha, ha, ha !" 
 and he laughed aloud. ** Why the thing is as 
 
MORLEY EKNSTEIN. 105 
 
 easy as possible/' he continued ; " the name is 
 WiUiam Henslow Barham in the deed, and his 
 name was John." 
 
 " John was my grandfather's name," said 
 Helen — ^- that I know very well, because I have 
 his miniature set in gold, with the name at the 
 back, with the day of his birth, and his^age when 
 it was taken." 
 
 " To be sure — to be sure," said old Carr, ''his 
 name was John. It was your great grandfather's 
 name that was William, and the drunken clerk 
 made a mistake in copying the old deeds. He 
 shall have it back, every inch of it, and Warm- 
 stone Castle and all ; and you, my dear young 
 lady — why you will be a fortune. There is an 
 old settlement, I know, providing for younger 
 children. There will be plenty of back rents 
 to pay, enough to beggar him, the coxcomb ! 
 Ha, ha, ha I" and again the old lawyer laughed 
 at some merry subject in his own breast. 
 
 Helen, too, looked joyfully up, for the words 
 of Mr. Carr awakened in her bosom various me- 
 mories of the past, and convinced her that, 
 whether he was right or wrong in the expecta- 
 tion of recovering a fortune for her brother, 
 there was not wanting a foundation for what he 
 said. She remembered, in her father's room, at 
 f3 
 
106 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 the Rectory, an old water-colour painting, dim 
 with dust and age, but under which she had 
 often spelt, in early years, the words " Warm- 
 stone Castle, the seat of John Henslow Barham, 
 Esq ;" and she remembered upon one occasion 
 hearing her father and a neighbouring clergy- 
 man commenting upon the drawing, while she 
 was standing near. Her father had then re- 
 plied, in answer to some question put by his 
 friend, " How did we lose the property ? By 
 the simplest process in the world. My father 
 was a prodigal, and his son an honest man. 
 That is the way that half the properties in 
 Europe are lost." 
 
 The words had made an impression at the 
 time, and Helen recollected them now, so that 
 she gained, in some degree, a clue to the old 
 lawyer's thoughts ; and her heart, it must be 
 owned, rejoiced; not for her own sake, poor 
 girl, but for the sake of her brother. Her fancy 
 v;as a lively one, and in an instant it presented 
 to her mind's eye that unhappy young man, 
 freed from all the troubles and difficulties in 
 which he had placed himself, and — like him 
 who was afterwards the victor of Agincourt — 
 shaking from him the vices of his youth when 
 placed in a loftier station. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 107 
 
 I do not mean to say, that Helen thought not 
 at all of herself; but she thought of herself only 
 for a moment, and then shrunk away from the 
 ideas that imagination conjured up. She could 
 not but feel that it would be a joy and satisfac- 
 tion — perhaps I might call it, more properly, a 
 consolation, placed as they were at that mo- 
 ment — to meet Morley Ernstein, even for a 
 brief space, as his equal in worldly gifts ; and 
 yet there was a voice whispered at the bottom 
 of her heart, that there could never be anything 
 like pride in her bosom towards him. Oh, 
 could he but have loved her, how willingly 
 would she have been the creature of his bounty 
 — dependent upon him for everything on 
 earth ! From his hand she could have received 
 all, and enjoyed all that she did receive, be- 
 cause it was he that gave it ! 
 
 She would not pause upon such things — she 
 dared not ; and though she mused for several 
 minutes over the various pictures called up, she 
 soon returned to a consciousness of the ques- 
 tions which Mr. Carr was asking her, and to 
 which, for a time, she had returned but irrele- 
 vant answers. She promised immediately to 
 write to her brother urging him to return ; or, 
 at least, to tell him the facts, and let him re- 
 
108 MORLEY ERN3TEIN. 
 
 turn if he thought fit ; and the conversation 
 soon led to her own recollections of former 
 times, in regard to which Mr. Carr cross-ex- 
 amined her as if she had been a witness at the 
 Old Bailey. 
 
 There was something, however, Mr. Carr 
 suffered to appear, which surprised and puzzled 
 Helen in some degree. His words led her to 
 imagine that her flither had known fully that a 
 fortune of considerable amount was thie to him- 
 self and his children, but that on some account 
 he had refused, or neglected to claim it. Helen 
 enquired why, and more than once during their 
 walk pressed Mr. Carr upon the subject. That 
 gentleman would give her no distinct informa- 
 tion, however, sometimes saying that it was a 
 whim, sometimes saying that it was laziness ; 
 but, in truth, Mr. Carr did not choose to tell 
 Helen that it was a conscientious scruple which 
 had prevented Mr. Barham from pursuing the 
 course pointed out by his legal adviser. There 
 was something in the truth and simplicity of 
 that sweet girl's heart which was formidable to 
 knavery ; and Mr. Carr at once understood that 
 there would be difficulties with her which might 
 not exist in the case of her brother, and he 
 therefore avoided the question altogether. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 109 
 
 They strolled on slowly till it was nearly dusk, 
 and then returned towards the house, still con- 
 versing on the same subject, when, as they ap- 
 proached the front gate, walking over the crov.'n 
 of one of the little hilly fields in the neigh- 
 bourhood, Mr. Carr's eyes were astonished and 
 dazzled by the sight of a very handsome carriage 
 standing opposite the iron railings, with tv/o 
 post-horses, hot and panting with a long stage. 
 
 " Who can that be ?" said the old law^yer. 
 "Thank God, I have not seen fools in gilded 
 carriages for a long time ! It must be either for 
 you, Miss Barham, or there must be some 
 mistake." 
 
 " Perhaps it is Morley Ern stein !" thought 
 Helen Barham ; but she did not speak it, for 
 that was a name which deep feelings in her 
 own bosom had prevented her from uttering 
 once to the cold ear of Mr. Carr ; and now, the 
 very thought of Morley, probably, being there, 
 made her heart flutter violently. 
 
 There was a servant out of livery standing at 
 the carriage door, but no one was in the inside 
 of the vehicle, and the iron gate was open. In 
 the porch of the house, too, through the 
 avenues of yews, could be seen one of Mr. Carr's 
 maid-seiTauts, as if looking out for his return ; 
 
iio 
 
 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 and, as soon as they were within hearing, the 
 girl exclaimed, in a jargon, which I shall not 
 attempt to transpose to these pages — "There's 
 a gentleman, sir, in the drawing-room, waiting 
 to speak with Miss Barham upon business." 
 
 " Business ! — Let me go in with you, Miss 
 Barham," said the old lawyer; *< perhaps my 
 advice may be of use." 
 
 And as Helen saw no reasonable objection 
 to be offered, she did not object, though she 
 would rather have gone in alone. Her heart 
 throbbed, and her knees somewhat trembled, 
 but nobody could have perceived her agitation 
 in the easy, graceful step in which she advanced 
 towards the door of the drawing-room. 
 
 When she entered, however, all agitation 
 ceased, though not surprise, for the person 
 who came forward to meet her, with calm and 
 tranquil aspect, was no other than Colonel 
 Lieberg, who had been standing near the table, 
 with his hat in his hand, waiting for her arrival, 
 and affecting to look over an old illustrated 
 copy of Bunyan's " Pilgrim's Progress," which 
 the lawyer, from some unaccountable motive, 
 would always have in a conspicuous part of the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 " My dear Miss Barham," said Lieberg, tak- 
 
MOULEY ERN STEIN. Ill 
 
 ing her hand, with a smile, which certainly was 
 as bright and engaging as any that ever crossed 
 a mortal lip — " I dare stiy you are surprised to 
 see me here ; but, having obtained your address 
 from your friends in London, I came hither 
 with all speed from Doncaster, where I had 
 some business to transact, knowing that you 
 must be very anxious about your brother." 
 
 Helen glanced her eye to Mr. Carr, who was 
 now entering the room, and lest Lieberg should 
 suffer the secret of her brother's conduct to 
 escape, she introduced the Count to her host, 
 saying, " Colonel Lieberg — Mr. Carr;" and 
 then immediately added, "I heard from my 
 brother, sir, the other day. He wrote me a 
 letter which quite relieved my apprehensions 
 regarding him. I am very much obliged to you, 
 indeed, however, for the kind trouble that you 
 have taken. Pray sit down." 
 
 While she had been speaking, Lieberg with 
 cool effrontery had measured Mr. Carr from 
 head to foot with his eye, and returned his bow 
 with a cold and stately inclination of the head. 
 He turned to Helen, however, as soon as he 
 had done so, saying — " I imagine from your 
 words that my visit has been more useful than 
 I expected, dear Miss Barham, for I have out- 
 ran bad news that might have alarmed you." 
 
112 MORLEY EllNSTEIN. 
 
 Helen turned somewhat pale; for the idea of 
 her brother having committed some fresh crime 
 or folly was the first that imagination presented. 
 Lieberg, however, who marked each variation 
 of her cheek, hastened to relieve her. 
 
 " Do not be frightened," he said, " the danger 
 is all past now. Your brother is well, and in 
 safety ; I left him at Deal, two days ago, but he 
 was soon to follow me to London. The vessel he 
 was in was wrecked upon the Goodwin Sands." 
 
 Helen clasped her fair hands together, and 
 looked up to heaven, in Lieberg's eyes more 
 beautiful than any object that he had ever be- 
 held on earth. Had he dared, he would have 
 thrown his arm round her, carried her, willingly 
 or unwillingly, to the carriage at the gate, and 
 bade the postilion drive anywhere on earth, 
 so that he might secure possession of her. Such 
 were the feelings which had grown up in his 
 heart under the influence of opposition and dis- 
 appointment ; but, as is too usual, his demeanour 
 was the most opposite that it is possible to 
 imagine. 
 
 " Come, my dear young lady, sit down," he 
 continued, " and do not let this matter agitate 
 you. Poor William certainly has had a very 
 narrow escape, and remained all night upon the 
 wreck with the sea washing over hiiu ', but he 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 113 
 
 was much better when I left hun, though some- 
 what bruised and chilled." 
 
 " Poor boy !" exclaimed Helen. " Oh ! how I 
 wish I could be with him !" 
 
 " That is what I was about to propose," said 
 Lieberg, in a quiet, easy manner. " I think it 
 would be better for you to be with him, for he 
 really needs some nursing, and a sister's care and 
 tenderness may make the difference of life and 
 death to him." 
 
 " Good God !" cried Helen—" what shall I 
 do ? There is no one to take care of him there ! 
 — The very maid I have taken with me " 
 
 " Nay," answered Lieberg, " do not suppose 
 that I would leave him without aid. Miss Bar- 
 ham, if not on his own, on your account. I 
 would not act such a part, believe me. I left 
 him attended by a skilful surgeon, with plenty 
 of money and every convenience ; and in Lon- 
 don I gave directions to my own servants to 
 watch for his arrival in town, and treat him as 
 if he were my own brother. You think me 
 very hard-hearted and unkind, I see." 
 
 " Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Helen, clasping 
 her hands again : " God in heaven will bless 
 you ! I will pray to him to bless you for your 
 kindness and humanity to that poor boy." 
 
 A dark shade came over Liebcrg's coun- 
 
114 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 tenance^ as it had done once before when 
 Helen had used nearly similar expressions ; but 
 some words she added immediately afterwards, 
 changed his feelings, whatever they were, 
 making him believe himself on the point of 
 succeeding to a greater extent than he had 
 even dared to hope would be the case so 
 speedily. 
 
 " What shall I do ?" exclaimed Helen. " I 
 w^onder wdiat I ought to do ?" 
 
 Lieberg paused for a moment, not to seem 
 too eager, and then replied — " I cannot think 
 that you will hesitate, dear Miss Barham. 
 Your brother wants much tendance and care, 
 and " 
 
 " Go, my dear young lady — go !" said Mr. 
 Carr, much to Lieberg's surprise, at finding so 
 unexpected an ally. " His life is infinitely 
 valuable just now ; and as you ought not to 
 travel alone, I think I will go with you. We 
 ^vill have a post-chaise over to Doncaster to- 
 morrow, and then take the coach to London." 
 
 Lieberg's countenance fell, and his expecta- 
 tions likewise. He laid a strong curse upon 
 the old man in his own mind, and still more so, 
 when Mr. Carr, with the sarcastic bitterness he 
 sometimes displayed, added — "Colonel Lieberg 
 would doubtless liave much pleasure in escorting 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 115 
 
 you, but I think my plan is the most proper 
 one. 
 
 Lieberg was instantly upon his guard, and he 
 replied — " Most certainly, my dear sir ; and 
 though I should have been very happy to escort 
 Miss Barham, yet I could scarcely have done 
 so to-morrow, as I have business of importance 
 to transact at Doncaster. There is one little 
 matter I have to settle with you also, Mr. Carr," 
 he continued ; " you arc, I think, the proprietor 
 of the manors of Yelverly and Maxtown, and 
 wish to let the sporting for the next year ?" 
 
 Mr. Carr's face assumed quite a dilFerent 
 aspect ; he smiled graciously upon Lieberg, and 
 replied that such was certainly the case. He 
 had long given up shooting himself, he said — 
 his family required very little game ; it annoyed 
 him to deal with poachers continually; and 
 therefore he always liked to let his manors 
 when possible ; that the two years' lease of 
 them had lately fallen in, and the gentleman 
 who had before taken them, being but a poor, 
 second-rate sort of man, had not been able to 
 keep them on. There could not be better 
 manors in Europe, he continued. There were 
 the finest covers it was possible to see ; the best 
 partridge -ground in Europe ; trout -streams. 
 
116 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 where the fish jostled each other in the river ; 
 and moors, the higher parts of which were 
 actually swarming with grouse and black game. 
 
 Lieberg appeared charmed with the account, 
 regretted that it was too late to take a canter 
 over the ground that afternoon, but added, that 
 he would return the next morning to see them, 
 that he might know how the ground lay. He 
 imagined, he said, that he could not find an 
 inn without either returning to Doncaster or 
 going on to Bingley, and he should prefer the 
 latter, as it was much nearer, and there were 
 also two manors there which he had heard of, 
 and which he could see early in the morning, 
 before he returned. 
 
 Now, Lieberg had taken care to get plenty of , 
 good information at Doncaster, and knew per- 
 fectly well that, in a sporting point of view, the 
 manors at Bingley were infinitely preferable 
 to those of Mr. Carr. Mr. Carr was very 
 well aware of the same fact, and, bent upon 
 taking in Lieberg to hire the sporting of his 
 manors, instead of the better ones a little 
 further on, he was himself taken in to ask 
 Lieberg to stay the night, which was all that his 
 visitor wanted. It may seem that he em- 
 ployed a complicated manoeuvre to obtain that 
 
MORLEY ERNSTETN. 117 
 
 end, but in truth it was a veiy simple one, with 
 a man who knew the facts, and saw profoundly 
 into the heart, as Lieberg did. 
 
 Mr. Carr assured him that, after the manors 
 of Yeh'erly and Maxtown, the two manors at 
 Bingley were not worth his seeing. He took 
 down the county map, and demonstrated to 
 him that the estates could not be compared 
 for a moment, with as much ease as any other 
 falsehood can be demonstrated when there is 
 nobody to contradict it. If Colonel Lieberg 
 would do him the honour of taking^ a bed at 
 Yelverly, they could very easily ride over the 
 manors in the morning, before it was neces- 
 sary for himself and Miss Barham to set off for 
 Doncaster. The coach from York was late ere 
 it passed, he said, and the}' had plenty of time 
 before them, 
 
 Lieberg, on his part, affected to be afraid of 
 putting Mr. Carr to inconvenience — there was 
 his servant, too ; he really thought he had bet- 
 ter go on to Bingley for the night. But Mr. 
 Carr was determined that such should not 
 be the case — a bed could be found for the ser- 
 vant, too. His calculation was, that the whole 
 expenses of Lieberg's stay, even if his servant 
 had beer and meat for supper, and the Count 
 himself took a glass of wine before he went to 
 
118 MORLEY ERNSTETN. 
 
 bed, could not amount to four shillings, while, 
 if he missed the opportunity of letting his 
 shooting for two years, it might be a couple of 
 hundreds of pounds out of his pocket, besides 
 all the expenses of gamekeepers, lookers, &c. 
 The matter, then, was at length arranged, the 
 post-horses sent away, Liebcrg's carriage placed 
 in the yard, and his valet, with his goods and 
 chattels, brought into the house. 
 
 The Count very soon suffered to appear, 
 without saying so directly, how much he pro- 
 posed to give for the shooting he desired, and 
 from that moment Mr. Carr's civilities knew no 
 bounds. Tea was sent for, and Helen Barham 
 presided over the " odoriferous infusion," as 
 some gentleman, prodigal of fine words, has 
 called it ; Avhile Lieberg, seating himself by her 
 side, put forth all his powers of fascination, 
 which, as we have before informed the reader, 
 were anything but small. He had a peculiar 
 habit of fixing his large dark eyes, with all their 
 deep, intense light, upon the persons to whom 
 he spoke, not with what is termed a stare, or 
 anything that could be looked upon as rude or 
 annoying; but with a sort of thoughtful in- 
 terest, as if that glance established a communi- 
 cation between his soul and theirs, making 
 thought answer to thought, before any words 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 119 
 
 were spoken. There was something over- 
 powering in it, especially when he used all his 
 exertions to please, as he did this night ; and, 
 in truth, as he sat there, gazing on the lovely 
 face of Helen Barham, it might well put one 
 in mind of the serpent fascinating the bright 
 birds of the warm climates of the south, by the 
 lustre of his dangerous eyes. 
 
 In this case, however, the bird had a talisman 
 which set such magic at defiance : and, though 
 there was in his whole conversation and de- 
 meanour, that mingling of sportiveness and 
 depth ; that appearance of pride bent down to 
 please, of confident reliance on innate powers 
 of mind, yet deference to the opinions of the 
 being spoken to ; that light and sparkling bril- 
 liancy, which seems merely the sport of strength ; 
 that combination of all things, in short, which 
 are engaging — except the heart — though the 
 manifold expressions that he brought over his 
 fine and striking countenance rendered the 
 beauty thereof more marked and attractive ; 
 though ever}^ movement was full of grace and 
 gentlemanly suavity — though all those small 
 cares and little attentions, which win so much 
 upon the heart of Avoman, seemed as familiar 
 to him as any of the daily acts of life, jet upon 
 Helen Barham the whole had no more effect 
 
120 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 than to make a few hours pass pleasantly, and 
 occupy her somewhat sad and wandering 
 thoughts. Reader, she was in love with another ! 
 
 What was the effect upon Lieberg himself? 
 His arts recoiled and wounded him ; her beauty, 
 her grace, her talents, her enthusiasms, all 
 stnick and captivated him more than he had 
 ever been with any other mortal being ; but, 
 strange as it may seem, her indifference attracted 
 him more than all. He saw it — he could not 
 help seeing it. There was something to con- 
 quer, and he resolved to conquer it. But hov»^? 
 — that was the question. It mattered not ! Lie- 
 berg was one who had few scruples of any kind. 
 " Once she be mine," he thought, " I will soon 
 teach her to love me. First let me overcome 
 her, and the rest will be easy enough." 
 
 I have said that Lieberg's presence and con- 
 versation made the hours pass pleasantly to 
 Helen Barham. It cannot be denied that such 
 was the case, and that she certainly thought 
 him one of the most gentlemanly and agreeable 
 men she had ever met with, though nothing 
 more. She grew much more cheerful, how- 
 ever, under this influence, and was prevailed 
 upon, ere the evening came to an end, to sit 
 down to Juliet's piano, and sing one of those 
 songs for which her full rich voice was pecuharly 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 121 
 
 adapted. It was at Mr. Carr's request that slio 
 did so, and he named a song that he had heard 
 his daughter sing. 
 
 Helen had sung it many a time before ; and 
 she sat down without dreaming that either the 
 wm'ds or the music would touch her in the 
 least ; but the changes that are within us 
 affect the influence of all external things upon 
 ourselves, fully as much as the changes of ex- 
 ternal things affect our feelings. Since last she 
 had sung that song, there was a new spirit in 
 the breast of Helen Barham, and a new sensa- 
 tion—love and hopelessness. In the stormiest 
 hours of former days she had not given way to 
 despair; though the spot on which she stood 
 was ever so dark, there had been bright hopes 
 lighting the future. But now, the cloud hung 
 above the coming days — dark, impenetrable, 
 gloomy ; and if we could make a distinction 
 between hopelessness and despair, we might 
 say that the former was her state, rather than 
 the latter. Thus it was she herself was changed, 
 and 3^et the song seemed entirel}^ altered to her. 
 It spoke to her heart ; it seemed to thrill 
 through her bosom ; it was like the voice of 
 her own sorrows poured forth whetlier she 
 would or not ; and the very feeling with which 
 
 VOL. II. G 
 
122 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 she sang, the expression she gave to each note, 
 acted upon herself even more than upon those 
 that heard her, and made the tears rise in her 
 eyes, and well nigh overflow when she had done. 
 The song had a great effect upon Lieberg, 
 too ; it made him sad, though it excited him ; it 
 seemed like the voice of an angel singing to a 
 fallen spirit, mourning over his degradation and 
 loss, and drawing from his heart tears of regret, 
 though not of repentance — the glow^ of shame, 
 though not of contrition. For, as the inspired 
 writer says — " There is a shame that bringeth 
 sin ; and there is a shame which is glory and 
 grace." There were moments with him, as with 
 all others like him, when he felt the bitterness 
 of wrong, but without even a dream of turning 
 unto right; and one of the times at which that 
 feeling was most strong upon him v:as when he 
 heard plaintive music — not the music of the 
 opera, of the concert, or the oratorio, for those 
 are places in which it is easy to cast aside one's 
 heart, and become the mere connoisseur, but 
 the song sung in private, the piece of music 
 played by a delicate hand, and breathing softly 
 to the ear, like the low, still voice of conscience, 
 or like the tongue of memor}^, speaking to us of 
 early days — of innocence — and of peace. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTETN. 123 
 
 Such was the case now ; and when Helen had 
 done, when she had turned away till the drops 
 had disappeared from her eyelids, and looked 
 ronnd again, she saw Lieberg sitting with his 
 head bent thoughtfully forward, his eyes fixed 
 sadly upon the ground, and his whole attitude 
 and look displaying deep and sad abstraction. 
 Had Helen's affections been free, that would 
 have been the moment in which Lieberg would 
 have made more impression upon her than at 
 any other, for the widest door of woman's heart 
 is pit}^ and he seemed sorrowful. 
 
 The effect soon passed away with the whole 
 party, and not long after, Mr. Carr left the room 
 for a moment, to see for some supper, as he ex- 
 pressed it. Strange to sa}^, Lieberg was agitated; 
 he, the calm, the composed, the immovable, felt 
 shaken in a way that he had never known in all 
 his earthly course before ; and SLiigry at himself 
 for what he called such weakness, he at length 
 drew a little nearer to Helen's side — who, as if 
 placed in stronger opposition than ever to him, 
 was not in the least degree agitated or embar- 
 rassed — and said — "Dear Miss Barhani, I wish 
 very much to obtain a few minutes' private con- 
 versation with you." 
 
 Helen looked a little surprised, but answered 
 g2 
 
124 MORLEY KP.NSTEIN. 
 
 with a degree of calmness that provoked him — 
 " Certainly ! — I suppose about my brother, of 
 course — I hope there is nothing worse concern- 
 ing him to be told me, Count Lieberg !" 
 
 Lieberg resolved to keep her imagination at 
 work, and he replied — " Nothing worse exactly, 
 but still something of much importance." 
 
 " Can you not tell me now ?" she asked, 
 eagerly ; but ere he could reply, Mr. Carr re- 
 turned, and did not quit the room again, till 
 Helen Barham rose and proposed to retire to rest. 
 
 Lieberg and Mr. Carr sat for about a quarter 
 of an hour after she was gone, and the Count 
 then was shewn to his room, which he found a 
 very comfortable one ; while the display of all 
 his dressing apparatus had given it even an air 
 of splendour, notwithstanding the dimity cur- 
 tains, and the plain Kidderminster carpet. The 
 valet. Martini, was still busy, arranging every- 
 thing in the place, when Lieberg entered, and 
 the Count having made him take out some 
 writing materials, sat down, and wrote — 
 
 " Dear Miss Barham — Will you kindly write 
 underneath, merely in pencil, at what time to- 
 morrow I can have a few minutes' conversation 
 with you alone, upon the subject that we men- 
 tioned ?" 
 
MORLEY ERXSTEIX. 125 
 
 " Therej take that !" he said, foldmg up the 
 paper, " and find out Miss Barham's maid di- 
 rectly ; bid her give it to her mistress, and let 
 me have an answer." 
 
 The valet took the note, and disappeared. 
 Helen's toilette for the night vras well nigh done, 
 and she was on the point of seeking her bed, 
 when she received it; and, guileless and innocent 
 herself, witho>ut a thought of evil, she wrote 
 underneath the lines sent by Lieberg, in pencil, 
 ^'Whenever you like. — Helen Barham," 
 
 When the note was brought back, Lieberg 
 gazed at it with a Iceen, triumphant look, though 
 his cheek was pale with intense feeling. 
 
 " Do you knov/ which is Miss Barham's 
 room?" he said, addressing the valet. 
 
 " The one at the end of the corridor, sir," 
 said the man ; " that on the right ; the opposite 
 door leads to a store-room, I find." 
 
 "And where do you sleep yourself, Martini?" 
 said Lieberg. 
 
 " I sleep just above Miss Barham^ room, sir,'' 
 replied the man. 
 
 " Get a horse early to-morrow," said Lieberg; 
 "go over to the post-office at Doncaster, and 
 let me have my letters before eleven." 
 
 The man bowed, and very little further con- 
 
126 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 vcrsation took place, while Lieberg undressed, 
 and retired to bed. His last words were, 
 " Leave the light burning." 
 
 As soon as the man was gone, Lieberg rose 
 from his bed again, carefully cut the sheet of 
 note-paper on which he had written to Helen in 
 two, separating the part containing his enquiry 
 from Helen's reply, burnt the former part, and 
 then gazed steadfastly upon the other, repeating 
 — "Whenever I like»! — whenever I like! — I 
 like this very night! — This shall justify me;" 
 and putting the paper into his desk, he extin- 
 guished the light, and retired to bed again, but 
 not to sleep. 
 
MORLEY ERN STEIN. 127 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 For a short space we must not only leave sweet 
 Helen Barliam in the house of Yelverly, but Lie- 
 berg, with all machinations in his head, and turn 
 to schemes of a different kind, and at a different 
 spot. It was in the back room of a low public 
 house that, on the very day which witnessed Lie- 
 berg's arrival in London from the town of Deal, 
 there sat together four as powerful and deter- 
 mined-looking fellows as ever perhaps met, with 
 a view of consulting upon the grand purpose of 
 cutting a purse, or proving that there are other 
 people, as well as the little god of love, who can 
 laugh at locksmiths. In the chair — for it will 
 always be found, in civil and political matters 
 alike, that the meetings which assemble for the 
 purpose of setting all laws and regulations at 
 
128 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 defiance, must have their laws and regulations 
 likewise — in the chair of this gallant and re- 
 spectable assembly, was placed that worthy 
 gentleman, Harry Martin, whom we have had 
 the honour of bringing before our readers on 
 more than one occasion. On his right was a 
 gentleman who was delivering himself with a 
 great deal more eloquence than is usually met 
 with, either on the hustings or the Commons 
 House of Parliament — though, like the oratory 
 of those places, his had its peculiar characteristics, 
 which suited it to the auditory who were to hear 
 it — he was delivering himselti I say, of a speech, 
 to which I can only do partial justice, both 
 from a want of a thorough knowledge of the 
 copious tongue in which it w^as composed ; 
 and also from lack of space to give all the' 
 figures of rhetoric, the tropes, the metaphors, 
 the similes, with w^hich it was ornamented. 
 The tendency of the speech, however, was to 
 incite his hearers to undertake a great enter- 
 prise ; and an expedition against Carthage, or 
 a war against Philip, was never debated with 
 more vehemence and animation. 
 
 "Til tell you what, Simes," he said — "you think 
 that Martin and I do this out of regard to Bill 
 Barham ; but I tell you it is no such thing. I do 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 129 
 
 it only, because I think that such good hick 
 does not fall in a man's way every da}'. Did 
 3'ou ever see a blackbird, on a sunshiny morn- 
 ing, sitting upon a bough, and singing as quietly 
 as I might do at the club ? Well, if he sees a 
 great fat worm wriggle out his head, down he 
 pouaices upon him, and never ceases pulling 
 till he has got him all out of his hole. Well, I 
 am the blackbird, and this Old Miser Carr is 
 the worm. I have sat cherupping here in Lon- 
 don for a long while, till I got scent of this old 
 fellow, and now I'll pounce upon him just like 
 a sparrov^hawk upon a ground-lark. We will get 
 help enough, if you don't like to go ; its not 
 every man that has the same liberality of feel- 
 ing as you think you have, to refuse his share 
 of four or five thousand pound, just for a little 
 bit of a smash that can be done in a muiute, 
 and we can be all over to Sheffield again, and 
 then to London, before cuiy one knows that we 
 have been in the place at all. If the thing were 
 to be done near town, I would not press it upon 
 you, gentlemen, for there's all the risk in the 
 world of being trapped, if we do such things 
 too near home. But down there it's easy to do, 
 and not easy to discover; and when four or five 
 thousand pound is to be got, it's vvorth the touch 
 g3 
 
130 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 of a crow-bar, or ten minutes' work with the 
 centrebit." 
 
 " Ay, but there's the job !" cried the man 
 he called Simes ; " I want to be made sure that 
 the thing's worth the journey. I can pick up a 
 nice little living here in London^ v^dthout going 
 down into Yorkshire, and perhaps getting my- 
 self hanged into the bargain ; so let me be 
 sure, I say, that there is this tin, or I shall say, 
 I would rather be excused. I am not fond of 
 eating an empty pudding, and do not par- 
 ticularly like the cordwainer's company. I 
 don't choose to be made a freeman of it, and 
 wear the riband upon the jugular ; not that I am 
 afraid, when there's anything really to be done, 
 but I should like to know more about the 
 money first." 
 
 "Why, as for that, Mr. Simes," observed a stout 
 man, with a hawk's nose, on his right hand ; 
 " you see I knew the country well enough, not 
 long ago, when I used to do a little with the 
 thimbles, at Doncaster. You may recollect that 
 we, onetime, had an engagement with the other 
 gentlemen of the course ; but they were too 
 much for us, and drove us off with the butt 
 ends of their horsewhips, and then we scattered 
 about the country. Well, I had a gossip with 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 131 
 
 one of the maids there, and sold her some real 
 French muslin, which I picked up at York, and 
 I asked her all about her master, Old Carr, the 
 miser, as they called him in those parts, and 
 she said he was prodigious rich, and never had 
 less than two or three thousand pounds in the 
 house, besides lots of plate." 
 
 " You hear, Simes," said Harry Martin ; " so 
 you see, whatever you may think, we don't stand 
 only upon what Bill Barham says, because Bill 
 does not know whether- the man's rich or 
 poor, and only knows that he's called Carr, the 
 miser. However, you shan't want for full in- 
 formation ; Bill has promised to bring some one 
 with him here to-night who knows the whole 
 place, and the people round about, for he was 
 the Squire's groom at Bingley,^ which is close 
 by. His name's Andrews, and he's now in an- 
 other way of business, as a horse-dealer — and 
 has done a clever thing or two." 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied Simes, " I know him very 
 well — a pleasant gentleman he is. He sold old 
 Major Groundsell the same horse three times 
 over ; first, as a black horse, with not a spot of 
 white about him ; then with the two fore feet 
 white ; and then he shaved him, docked him, 
 and made another creature of him ; but the 
 Major could never ride him first nor last*" 
 
132 MORLEY EllNSTEIN. 
 
 '' No, nor anybody else," said another of the 
 men present, " for he was a plunger, a bolter, 
 and a rearer, and when he couldn't get you off 
 he went over with you." 
 
 " A pleasant chap to be on the outside of," 
 said Harry ; " but let us have some more lap. 
 Mr. Simes, may I trouble you to ring the bell. 
 Oh, here comes Bill, and Mr. Andrews too ! 
 Mr. Andrews, good evening to you— I hope 
 you're well, sir," 
 
 Various civilities now took place between the 
 whole party, for the meeting was evidently a 
 form.al one, and gentlemen of that class are 
 generally much more ceremonious on such oc- 
 casions than people who consider themselves 
 better bred. Fresh supplies of drink were 
 brought, and as soon as the room was again clear, 
 the subject matter of the debate was once more 
 brought forward, and the account given by Mr. 
 Tony Andrews was so conclusive, that even the 
 cautious soul of Mr. Simcs was fired with gener- 
 ous ardour, and it was determined, nem. con., 
 that the thing should be undertaken. As soon 
 as this was settled, William Barham — who occu- 
 pied a scat by the side of Harry Martin, but a 
 little behind the general line, not being one of 
 the active participators in the enterprise — whis- 
 pered a word or two in his friend's ear, who 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIX. 133 
 
 immediately pronounced a new oration upon the 
 occasion. The tendency of the harangue was 
 to shew the absohite necessity that there existed 
 of setting about the thing at once ; but in this, 
 Martin met with no opposition whatsoever, for 
 every man present was a veteran in his profes- 
 sion, and knew well that in great undertakings 
 promptness of execution is only secondary to 
 maturity of deliberation. 
 
 " I'm ready this minute," said Simes — ** I 
 only want to go home to get a tool or two." 
 
 *^ And I think there's no time to be lost 
 either," said the man with the hook nose. " But," 
 continued he, turning his left eye downward, and 
 locking with that orb alone into the bottom of 
 his glass with an air of deliberate wisdom — 
 " but how are we to go ? If we four get upon the 
 mail together, the guard will Ije in such a fuss 
 about his bags, that he'll blow who we are, all 
 the way down. Then, I think, Harry, you 
 talked of j^our mare and the gig; but your mare 
 can't run half the way, and the gig wont hold 
 four, though I've seen you put three into it, 
 and bad enough it looked." 
 
 ** Oh, I'll lend you a phaeton for one horse," 
 cried Mr. Andrews — "and if Mr. Martin can 
 make hiin run forty miles before this time to*- 
 
134 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 morrow, I'll give you a note to a friend of mine 
 
 at , who will contrive to horse you on. 
 
 You see, gentlemen, I shall expect a trifle — not 
 so much, in course, as if I went out of town 
 myself, but say a tenth, and upon honour." 
 
 The claim was agreed to, upon the condition 
 of the horses being all ready and no mistakes 
 made ; and then the gentleman with the beak 
 again brought his peculiar eye to bear upon the 
 lump of sugar at the bottom of the tumbler, 
 and remarked — " What I said myself, just now, 
 gives me a good hint. Suppose we were to get 
 Jerry Knowles and Sam Harrison to " 
 
 " Oh, that will never do," cried Mr. Andrews, 
 who was a man that stood upon his reputation, 
 " those gentlemen have such a bad character that 
 we must not bring them into the business, for 
 there's always somebody looking out after them." 
 
 " That's the very reason," said the other. 
 " You gentlemen from Yorkshire are so quick, 
 that you see gooseberries upon cherry trees. 
 These are the very men who ought to be em- 
 ployed for what I mean. The worse, the better 
 for my purpose. We put dung upon a field, to 
 make it bear, not ice cream. What I mean to 
 say is, that everything is good in its way, and 
 these gentlemen, though they certainly have 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 135 
 
 gained themselves a reputation, may very well 
 serve my purpose." 
 
 " Well, well ! what is it ?" exclaimed Harry 
 Martin, impatiently, for he loved long speeches 
 in nobody's mouth but his own. " Speak out, 
 and let us hear !"' 
 
 " It is," answered the hook-nosed man, " that 
 they should be sent down by coach to Don- 
 caster, with a promise of a five-pound note 
 each, if the thing answers. They can go down 
 by coach, you know, and be absent for a day or 
 two, and go back again, taking care to get into 
 mischief, and to have proof of where they 
 were." 
 
 " Oh, I understand — I understand I" cried 
 two or three voices at once. 
 
 " As a blind," said Harry Martin — " a devilish 
 good plan ; and then if they get into the brown 
 jug, we must give them a trifle more." 
 
 Some farther conversation in the same strain 
 took place ; and then Harry Martin said in a 
 low voice to William Barham — " But what share 
 are you to have. Will ?" 
 
 " Not a farthing," answered the boy eagerly, 
 " not a farthing. If you get me those papers 
 that's all I care about. He always carries them 
 in a Russia leather pocket-book, in a pocket 
 
136 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 inside his coat. It is a brovrn pocket-book, you 
 know, with a steel spring and clasp." 
 
 " But are you sure he is there ?" asked 
 Martin. 
 
 Bill nodded his head, saying, in a low tone — 
 " Helen is there, and he'll find a way to fix 
 himself where she is. But the papers are all I 
 want." 
 
 " Well, well, you shall have them," answered 
 Harry ; " and if I find the fellow himself, I'll 
 put my mark upon him. Now, Simes, you get 
 your tools, and I'll get mine and have the horse 
 in the phaeton before a couple of hours are 
 over. Let's all meet and have a little supper 
 here at ten o'clock, and then we can drive out 
 pleasant by the moonlight." 
 
 The rest of their arrangements were soon 
 settled, and the party separated ; William Barham 
 returning to his own abode, where he remained 
 for several days, waiting, with no light anxiety, 
 to hear the result of an enterprise which was 
 first devised for his benefit. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 137 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 No sleep visited the ejes of Everard, Count 
 Lieberg. He heard people moving about, doors 
 opened and closed, and various other sounds, for 
 near an hour. Then all was silent, and remained 
 so for another hour. At the end of that time 
 he raised himself upon his elbow and listened, 
 struck his repeater, which gave him half-past 
 one ; lay down for about a quarter of an hour 
 more, with his head resting upon his hand, and 
 then started, at hearing sounds again. A mut- 
 tered curse broke from his lips, and he sat up, 
 endeavourino; to distino-uish what could be the 
 occupation of the person who was watching, and 
 busy at that "very witching time of night." He 
 could make nothing of it, however, for his ear 
 only caught a low whirring sort of sound, very 
 
138 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 much like that of a watch running down. He 
 thought he heard some people speaking or whis- 
 pering also in the court, and rising from his bed 
 he threw on his dressing-gown, drew back the 
 curtain of his window, and looked out. 
 
 It was a bright and beautiful moonlight night 
 as ever was seen. One could almost distinguish 
 the blades of green grass in the turfed court 
 below; but Lieberg could perceive nothing of 
 any human being. He found, indeed, that the 
 penthouse of the large shed, which I have men- 
 tioned as disfiguring the front of the building, 
 came nearly up to the window of his room ; and 
 he concluded that the noise he heard must pro- 
 ceed from some of the early farm servants, busily 
 at work in those agricultural mysteries which he 
 himself did not understand. By this time, 
 however, the sound had ceased, and another 
 kind of noise succeeded for a moment, which 
 also came to an end, and then all was quiet. 
 
 Silence maintained her reign for about a 
 quarter of an hour, during which time Lieberg 
 gazed out upon a scene which was well cal- 
 culated to afford high and holy thoughts, had 
 his been a breast to receive them. The beau- 
 tifiil orb, which, like woman's love to man, follows 
 this earthly sphere through all its wandering 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 139 
 
 course, was shining bright and pure, in her 
 highest glory. The green lawn, the dark yew 
 trees, the sloping upland, the well-trimmed 
 hedges, caught the rays as they fell, and deep 
 shadows, like those which must ever fall to the 
 eye of memory over various spots in the past, 
 when we look back from the end of a long life, 
 were cast over the turf from every rising object. 
 Round about, at a distance from their queen, 
 in the blue heaven, — for those that were near 
 were swallowed up in her light, — the bright 
 attendant stars filled up the glory of the sky, 
 and spoke to man's heart of the majesty of that 
 God who made a thousand worlds, and yet 
 bows himself to regard the lowest being on the 
 earth. 
 
 Such, however, were not the thoughts with 
 which Lieberg gazed. We shall not, indeed, 
 attempt to penetrate them ; they were deep, 
 inscrutable, and would do no good to the mind 
 of any one. Suffice it, that as his eye strayed 
 upon the dark blue expanse, and seemed shooting 
 back rays to the bright orb above him, a dark 
 shadow came upon his brow, his lip curled, his 
 head was raised higher than before, his chest 
 expanded, as if with some struggle within him. 
 Indeed, it would seem that he heard some 
 
140 MORLEY ERNSTKIN. 
 
 warning voice, and succeeded in drowning it in 
 the clamour of pride and passion, for he mut- 
 tered to himself as he turned from the window 
 — " So hypocrites would tell us, and so fools 
 would yield !" 
 
 He left the curtains open, and with a quiet 
 and steady step, walked towards the door. As 
 he did so, however, and as his hand was actually 
 upon the lock to open it, he thought he heard a 
 faint cr}^, and paused for a minute to listen. 
 " Busy imagination !" he said, finding the sound 
 was not repeated ; and he opened the door. 
 
 All was dark, but the moonlight, which 
 streamed through his room, crossed the corridor 
 and gave a faint light. There was a sudden step 
 heard in the passage, and Lieberg instantly drew- 
 back ; but before he could shut the door, or see 
 what was coming, he received a heavy blow 
 upon the head, which struck him to the ground, 
 and for a few minutes deprived him of all 
 thought and feeling. When he opened his 
 eyes, one of the candles on his dressing-table 
 was lighted, and he saw two tall, stout men, 
 covered with smock frocks, each with a large 
 piece of black crape drawn over his face, busily 
 engaged, the one in packing up quietly all his 
 dressing apparatus,^at least that part of it which 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 141 
 
 was formed of silver or gold, whilst the other, 
 who had, to say the truth, opened various port- 
 manteaus and carriage-hoxes, without their mas- 
 ter's privity or consent, was examining a purse 
 and a pocket-book by the light of a candle. 
 
 Lieberg was a man of dauntless courage ; and 
 though there were two to one against him, yet 
 he strove to rise, trusting to his own powers to 
 enable him to contend successfully with the 
 housebreakers, till he received some assistance. 
 The very first effort to move, however, shewed 
 him that his hands were tied tightl}^ behind his 
 back, and his feet linked together, for which 
 purpose two of his own silk handkerchiefs had 
 been employed. As soon as he found that such 
 was the case, he perceived that it was vain to 
 make any effort ; and he took his resolution at 
 once, lying as still as if he was dead, and only 
 v\^atching the proceedings of the plunderers, 
 through his half-closed ej^es. 
 
 After having examined the contents of the 
 pocket-book, the man put it in his pocket, saying 
 to himself, " That v\nll do !" He then proceeded 
 to aid his companion, and their arrangements 
 were very soon made. The larger articles were 
 tied up in a towel ; Lieberg's rings, watch, seal, 
 and various other trinkets, were disposed about 
 
142 MORLEY ERNSTFJN. 
 
 their persons, and then, shading again a dark 
 lantern which they had brought with them, they 
 approached the door, leaving the candle burning 
 on the table. Lieberg closed his eyes com- 
 pletely, and lay quite still, though his heart 
 burnt within him ; and had there been the 
 slightest possibility of success, had he been able 
 to free himself, even in a degree, he would have 
 undoubtedly struggled up, at all risks, rather 
 than remain in a situation which wounded his 
 pride perhaps more than anything that had ever 
 occurred to him In life. 
 
 He could hear, as he la}^ with his eyes shut, 
 however, that the two men stopped beside him ; 
 and the one said to the other — 
 " You've done for him, Harry !" 
 " No, I haven't !" exclaimed the other, in a 
 loud, rough tone. " D — n his heart and limbs, 
 I have a great mind to do for him, though ! 
 He's only stunned, like — see how he breathes ! 
 but if he were up to knowing why I did it, I'd 
 take and thrash him till I drove the soul out 
 of his body. I'll tell you what — this is the 
 fellow that you heard of, who got hold of 
 the poor boy, and threatened to hang him 
 for forgery, if he wouldn't make his sister go 
 into keeping with him. Now, that's what I 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 143 
 
 call being a rascal, indeed. These gentlefolks 
 call YOU and I, blackguards, and scamps, and 
 criminals, and felons ; now, I should like to 
 know who is the greatest rascal, who is the 
 greatest felon — he or I? I never take any- 
 thing but a little mone}^ from those that can 
 spare it, but he — curse the pitiful mongrel- 
 wants to take away a poor girl's life and soul, 
 and threatens to hang her brother if he wont help 
 him. If it were with all her own good will, I've 
 nothing to say ; but to think to go to buy her 
 with the price of her brother's blood! — if that isn't 
 a blackguard trick, I don't know what is. How 
 it happens that what you call gentlemen keep 
 him amongst them, I can't say; but I know if he 
 were to come amongst us, we would kick him 
 out. But come along; if I stand looking at 
 him any longer, I shall do a something that I 
 shall be sorry for. I don't like taking a man's 
 life in that way, unless he stands up to me ; so 
 come along, for I feel inclined to put my foot 
 upon him, and tread his dirty soul out, as I 
 would to a toad." 
 
 The next moment came the sound of re- 
 ceding steps, and then voices were heard, 
 speaking in another part of the house, and 
 then doors opening and shutting again, and 
 
144 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 what seemed tones of lamentation and sup- 
 plication. Those were followed by the banging- 
 to of a heav}^ door, and the sound of a key turned 
 in the lock; and then all was still, till what 
 seemed the noise of distant cart-whcclR came 
 upon the air, and silence resumed her sway 
 again. 
 
 All these sounds Lieberg might have heard, 
 and did hear as far as the external organs were 
 concerned, but his heart was moved with pas- 
 sions far too strong for the mental ear to give heed 
 to anything. Had it been possible for his strong;, 
 clear mind to give way, it would have yielded at 
 that instant, when, lying bound and helpless, and 
 forced to counterfeit insensibility, he listened to 
 the comments of a low-born ruffian upon his own 
 base conduct, and felt himself, in spite of all 
 the resistance of vanity, placed in a state of 
 utter degradation both in his own eyes and in 
 those of the two men who had been gazing upon 
 him. There was no excess of frantic vehe- 
 mence in which he could not have indulged 
 had he given way to the sensations of his heart ; 
 but, instead of doing so, he lay perfectly still, 
 concentrating all his feelings within his own 
 dark bosom, and continuing to shut his eyes, as 
 if to prevent the rage over which he brooded, 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 145 
 
 from venting itself by any of the senses what- 
 soever. 
 
 It required nearty an hour for his feehngs 
 to become tranquil in any degree, and during 
 that time everything remained quiet in the 
 house, while the calm, sweet dawn of day came 
 gradually on, throwing warmer and warmer 
 tints into the room, till at length all was sun- 
 shine. As soon as the day was bright and high, 
 the ear of Lieberg caught the sound of knocking 
 and shaking, as if some persons at the top of 
 the house were locked in a room, and trying 
 to make themselves heard. Then came the 
 voice of his own servant. Martini, exclaiming, 
 with his Italian accent— " Why have you locked 
 me in? Some one let me out! My master 
 ordered me to go for the letters early. Let me 
 out, I say !" 
 
 " We can't !" screamed a woman's voice, still 
 further off; " they have locked us in, too." 
 
 " They I" exclaimed the voice of Martini, 
 again — " who the devil are they ?" 
 
 "The men who broke in, and robbed the 
 house, and murdered my master and the strange 
 gentleman — I dare say," screamed the woman, 
 who had spoken before. "Lord have mercy 
 upon us! I saw one of their black faces"— and 
 
 VOL. 11. U 
 
146 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 she plunged into a personal dcRcription of the 
 housebreakers, which was certainly borrowed 
 very greatly from imagination, although she 
 had preser\^ed judgment enough, as she said, to 
 lie still, pretending to be asleep, and do nothing 
 but shiver wdiile the men were in the room. 
 This was the lady who exercised the function 
 of cooking, which is a w^akeful sort of profession, 
 there arising a kind of salamanderishness in the 
 nature of a cook, from living constantly in fiery 
 atmospheres, which prevents her from giving 
 way more than is absolutely necessary to the 
 cold and frozen state of sleep. The housemaid, 
 however, following the characteristics of house- 
 maids, had slept through the whole, and did not 
 even wake with the cook's shivering, although 
 the latter w as her bedfellow, and added a num- 
 ber of thumps in the side to rouse her, as soon 
 as she found courage to move hand or foot. 
 Not even did the shouted dialogue between her 
 close companion and Signor Martini disturb her 
 slumbers, and the conversation soon dropped. 
 
 At length, the notes of some early country- 
 man, whistling gaily as he went to his labour, 
 caught Lieberg's ear, and he now raised his 
 voice, calling to his servant as loud as it was 
 possible; and bidding him, holla out of the 
 
 i 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 147 
 
 window, and tell the man to break open tlio 
 doors. Fortunately^ Martini's ears were quick, 
 and he heard and distinguished his master's 
 orders. The wandow w^as throw^n open, and 
 several loud shouts soon brought the country- 
 man, who was passing along the road, into the 
 green court, and under Martini's window. 
 
 " What is the matter, master ?" he cried. 
 " What do you want ? It seems Master Carr 
 has got you there in a cage, that you are 
 chirping out so early in the morning." 
 
 " I want to be let out," exclaimed Martini. 
 " Break open the doors, and let me out." 
 
 " No, no," said the man, " that wont do. 
 We never meddle with any of Master Carr's 
 birds. He's a queer hand to deal with, and so 
 I'll let him alone." 
 
 He was actually stalking off, when the head 
 of the cook popped out of another window, and 
 she exclaimed — "Master Turnbull — Master 
 Turnbull ! break open the door, there's a dear 
 heart ! There have been robbers and murderers 
 in the house last night ; and I don't doubt you'll 
 find master, with his throat cut, down stairs. 
 Do break open the door, there's a good soul, 
 and let us out, for v^x' are all locked in together ; 
 though by the blessing of God, we are all alive !" 
 h2 
 
148 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 " I'll go and get somebody to help me," said 
 the man, with a knowing look — " the fellows 
 may be there still. It would take them some 
 time to break open old Can's strong box, I 
 take it. No one ever got in there easily. I'll 
 go and get help — you wait there till I come." 
 
 The poor cook had no choice except that of 
 doing so, or throwing herself down upon the top 
 of the penthouse, and probably breaking her legs ; 
 and the man began to walk away, with as slow 
 a step as if he had been following the plough. 
 Fortune, however, decided that their state of 
 durance should not continue much longer ; for 
 no sooner had Master Turnbull issued forth 
 into the road again, than his e^^es lighted upon 
 two labourers, coming leisurely up towards him. 
 With their aid and assistance he now deter- 
 mined to encounter all the powers of darkness 
 which might be found in Mr. Carr's house, and 
 approached with a steady purpose of breaking 
 open the door, and restoring egress and regress 
 to the inhabitants. All violent proceedings, 
 however, were spared him ; for, on coming 
 nearer, he found that one of the windows, 
 under the shed which we have before men- 
 tioned, was wide open, a large hole having been 
 cut in the window shutter with a saw, and the 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 149 
 
 sash having been raised quietly by a hand in- 
 troduced through the aperture. 
 
 One of the labourers made his way in by 
 this entrance ; but in the meantime, Master 
 Turnbull had been examining the door, and 
 discovered that, though it was locked, the key 
 was on the outside. This he turned, and, 
 accompanied by the other peasant, entered by 
 the ordinary passage. The first thing that the 
 three deliverers did, was to proceed together to 
 that part of the house from which they had 
 heard articulate sounds ; and the door of the 
 maid's room, as well as that of the valet, was 
 opened. Forth from their several apartments 
 issued the male tenant, in haste to set his 
 master free — the cook, all alive to look after her 
 old gentleman, as she called him — and the house- 
 maid, still rubbing her eyes. 
 
 The countrymen followed as quick as it was 
 in their nature, upon the steps of Martini, to 
 Count Lieberg's room, and arrived in time to see 
 the valet raise his master from the floor, and 
 place him in a chair. The floor of the room 
 displayed a good deal of blood, which had flowed 
 from Lieberg's head, and Master Turnbull ex- 
 claimed — " Lackadaisy, that is a bad cut !" 
 
 ^' Off'my hands, off" my hands, first!" exclaimed 
 
150 3IORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 Lieberg, as Martini was endeavouring to untie 
 the tight knot round his ancles. "Cut it, cut 
 it !" What matters the price of a handkerchief, 
 in comparison with this torture ?" 
 
 The man took a knife from his pocket, and, 
 solving these Gordian knots in the Alexandrine 
 fashion, set his master at liberty. 
 
 " Now, my men," cried Lieberg, " where can 
 my servant find a magistrate ?" 
 
 " Oh, there's a magistrate at Bingley, mas- 
 ter," replied Turnbull ; " but you can't get a 
 .surgeon nearer than Doncaster." 
 
 " Never mind a surgeon," said Lieberg ; 
 " never mind a surgeon, for me at least. What 
 has become of Mr. Carr and Miss Barham ?" 
 
 " That we can't tell," replied one of the pea- 
 sants ; " the maids are gone to see after them." 
 
 " Let us go too ; though," replied Lieberg, 
 " they would not hurt the lady, and I do not 
 think, from what they said, that they have 
 killed the old man. But let us go and see — 
 some one had better run for a magistrate imme- 
 diately. These fellows must be pursued at once." 
 
 As Lieberg spoke, he rose from the chair in 
 which he had been placed; but for some mo- 
 ments he could scarcely stand, and, motioning 
 the rest to leave him, he said — " Go quick, 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 151 
 
 go quick ! I must put on some more clothes. 
 Go with them. Martini, and bring me intelU- 
 gence as soon as may be." 
 
 The man obeyed at once, and Lieberg pro- 
 ceeded to dress himself, as quickly as possible, 
 though it was but slowly after all — for both his 
 arms and feet were cramped and swollen, from 
 the tightness of the ligatures which had bound 
 them. As he proceeded, he paused two or 
 three times in thought, and once struck his 
 hand vehemently upon the dressing-table, saying 
 — " Curses upon them ! — Well, well. Martini," 
 he exclaimed, as the man entered the room; 
 " what have you found ? — what has happened ?" 
 
 There was a grin upon the man's countenance 
 which assured Lieberg that no life had been 
 lost ; and the Italian replied — " We found the 
 old man, sir, tied naked to the bed-post, cold, 
 shivering, and miserable enough, but he has 
 contrived to warm himself since, for never did I 
 see a man in such a fury about his money and 
 his plate ? They have cleared the whole house 
 out, that is certain, and got some seven thousand 
 pounds, the old man says." 
 
 " They have got five or six hundred from me," 
 said Lieberg. " But what of Miss Barham ?" 
 
 " Oh, she is very well, sir, I suppose," said 
 the man, with a peculiar expression of counte- 
 
152 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 nance. " I met her maid just now going to her 
 room^ and she did not say that her mistress had 
 been disturbed at all. The truth is, sir," he 
 added, approaching close to Lieberg, and speak- 
 ing in a low tone, " I did hear some noise in 
 the night, but I did not know what it might 
 be, and thought it better to keep quiet, and 
 take no notice." 
 
 Lieberg shut his teeth hard, and clenched his 
 hand with a frowning brow ; but he made no 
 reply, and having dressed himself as far as was 
 necessary, issued forth and proceeded to the 
 room of Mr. Carr. /rhat gentleman was coming 
 out, with nothing but his stockings, breeches, 
 and a grey dressing gown on ; and grasping Lie- 
 berg's arm, he dragged him on towards the draw- 
 ing-room, saying, " They have rol^bed me — they 
 have plundered me — they have ruined me, sir !" 
 
 Now there was nothing on earth that excited 
 Lieberg's scorn and hatred so much as to see a 
 human being give way to passion or emotion, 
 simply because he had great powers of conceal- 
 ing his own ; and the agony of Mr. Carr, on 
 account of his loss, only served to curl his com- 
 panion's lip with a contemptuous smile, and 
 render all his movements, as if for the contrast's 
 sake, as cool, as self-possessed as possible. 
 
 While the old man, then, walked about the 
 
MORLEY EllNSfEIN. 153 
 
 room in a state of half-frenzied agitation^ Lie- 
 berg calmly approached the table, and after look- 
 ing at him for a moment, with a cold, sneering, 
 gaze, he opened quietly the leaves of Bunyan's 
 Pilgrim's Progress, and began to turn over the 
 engravings. 
 
 "Do you know, Mr. Carr," he said, in the 
 tone of a connoisseur, " I think they have made 
 a very great mistake in representing Apollyon 
 as so fearfully ugly. Surel}^, if that good gen- 
 tleman, who tempts us all, be so frightful as 
 he is here put down, we sinners must be men of 
 good stomachs to run after his sweet things so 
 greedily." 
 
 Mr. Carr thought him perfectly insane ; but 
 Lieberg went on in the same spirit — " He should 
 be rendered very beautiful and attractive, 
 powerful certainly, and well armed, but still 
 very charming ; for we all of us paint our own 
 particular fiend as a pleasant, sweet personage. 
 Now you, for instance, never represent to your- 
 self Mammon with horns and a tail, and all this 
 paraphernalia of episodical horrors, fangs, and 
 hoofs, and claws, and all that sort of a thing. I 
 dare say, in your eyes, he is a sweet little 
 cherub, with a purse in his hand, as I paint 
 Asteroth to myself as a beautiful woman." 
 u3 
 
154 MORLEY EIINSTEIN. 
 
 The miser gazed at hiin as if he had suddenly 
 found himself in the presence of a furious mad- 
 man, and he exclaimed vehemently, in the first 
 excitement of passion, " Why I believe that 
 you are Satan himself! Is it not enough to 
 drive me mad, to have lost seven thousand 
 pounds in one night, without having a stranger 
 insulting me in my own drawing-room, talking 
 of Asteroth, and Mammon, and Apollyon, and 
 all the follies that ever were concocted in the 
 brain of that half-drunken idiot, John Bunyan ? 
 ■ — Was it you that robbed me? — How should I 
 know that it was not ? — I never saw you be- 
 fore — you may have had a hand in it for aught 
 I know!" 
 
 " It is very probable," answered Lieberg, 
 " especially as there has been another robbery 
 committed in your house that you are not aware 
 of, and that to a large amount." 
 
 Mr. Carr instantly ran to a little old oak cabi- 
 net, and shook the door to see if it had been 
 opened. All was safe, however, and he ex- 
 claimed, " Where ? — how? — in what room ?" 
 
 "In my room" — answered Lieberg; " that is 
 to sa}^, in the room where I slept last night ; 
 and where, if I robbed you as you say, I com- 
 mitted the folly of robbing myself also, to the 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 155 
 
 amount of some six or seven hundred pounds — 
 It seems to me, Mr. Carr," he continued, in a 
 quicker but less ironical tone, " that this loss of 
 yours has made you mad, and that instead of 
 thinking of recovering your property by pur- 
 suing these men at once, with all the activity in 
 your nature, you are, instead, raving like an 
 insane perscm. Why don't you saddle every 
 horse in your stable, and track the wheels of the 
 cart in which they carried off your goods and 
 mine? I have already sent for a magistrate, 
 and no time ought to be lost in taking other 
 measures." 
 
 "True— very true. Count!" said Mr. Carr, 
 who, now that the first burst of passion had 
 passed, was coming to his senses again, and re- 
 collected that it would not do to offend a guest, 
 who was likely to hire his manors — " I will send 
 out some men directly. I beg your pardon, sir, 
 for being so violent, but this is a great loss. — 
 We must despatch people to the village, too, 
 and after we have taken all sorts of measures, 
 we can just go over the manors together. But, 
 dear me, what shall I do about going to town 
 with Miss Barham ? — Hark ! — what is that ? 
 There is somebody calling me — they do not 
 know where to find us. Perhaps they have 
 
156 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 found some of the plate. It was very heavy, 
 and the men may have thrown it away. Here 
 I am— here I am !" he continued, putting his 
 head out of the drawing-room door, " What do 
 you want with me? Have you found any- 
 thing?" 
 
 " No, sir, no !" exclaimed the cook, running 
 up with eager eyes. '' We have not found any- 
 thing, but what is worse than finding anything 
 in this world, we can't find the young lady — we 
 can't find Miss Barham !" 
 
 " God of Heaven !" exclaimed Lieberg, start- 
 ing forward. " Can't find her? Are there any 
 signs of violence ?" 
 
 " Oh, dear ! Lord bless you, sir ! they have 
 murdered her!" exclaimed the cook, with her 
 eyes as big as saucers, while the housemaid 
 gaped behind, and Helen's maid appeared with 
 the tears on her cheeks. ** They have murdered 
 her, and taken away the body to bury it, like a 
 dead dog, in some field. I'll wager any money 
 she saw them and screamed, and they cut her 
 throat. They w^ould have cut mine, tooj if I 
 had screamed, but I knew better." 
 
 " I declare I heard her scream in the night !" 
 cried the housemaid; '*but I thought it was 
 only a screech owl." 
 
MORLEY ERNStElN. l5l[ 
 
 " Get along, you fool," said the cook, in 
 reply, " you heard nothing at all, not even your- 
 self snoring." 
 
 "Let me pass!" said Lieberg, with his face as 
 pale as death. " This must be seen to at once." 
 
 He was confronted, however, by Helen's 
 maid, who said, wiping the tears from her eyes — 
 " I don't think they have murdered my young 
 lady, sir, for the shoes and the gown that she 
 wore last night arc gone, though everything 
 else is left, even the combs for her hair. I 
 think she must have seen them, too, and they 
 must have made her go away with them for 
 fear she should tell." 
 
 " Come with me — come with me !" cried Lie- 
 berg, and away he rushed to the room where 
 Helen had inhabited. He found everything as 
 the girl had described. There were no signs 
 of any violence, but evident proof that Miss 
 Barham had quitted the place suddenly, and but 
 half-dressed. Nothing seemed to have been 
 plundered, however ; two rings which she had 
 worn were on the dressing-table ; and the pic^ 
 ture of her grandfather, which she had spoken 
 of to Mr. Carr on the preceding evening, lay 
 beside them, having been apparently taken out 
 of the lower part of a small dressing-case, on 
 
158 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 which was inscribed — " To Helen Barham, from 
 her affectionate Father." Her drawing-box was 
 also on the table, and beside it, a sketch which 
 she had been drawing. Signs of her mind were 
 in everything about the room, and Lieberg gazed 
 around it with sensations such as he had never 
 experienced before. He felt that, for the first 
 time he loved — passionately, strongly ; and when 
 he thought of the fair being who had so lately 
 tenanted that chamber — whose spirit seemed to 
 live in every object round him — of her grace, 
 her loveliness, her bright mind, her glowing 
 heart ; of his own evil designs against her, and 
 of her uncertain fate, of her being cast into the 
 hands of ruffians, and left entirely to their will 
 and disposal, he struck his hand against his 
 brow, and then shook it wildly in the air. 
 
 The moment after he had done so, his eye 
 rested upon the form of Mr. Carr, standing be- 
 fore him, with a bitter sneer upon his counte 
 nance. 
 
 " And so," said the old man, evidently finding 
 his revenge in Lieberg"s agitation, " Mammon 
 is a sweet little cherub — a sweet little cherub, 
 with a purse in his hand ; and Asteroth is a 
 beautiful lady ! Well, Count, you see, we have 
 all our weaknesses, and I agree with you per- 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 159 
 
 fectly that we should paint Apollyon good- 
 looking, though powerful. I do not know that 
 you might not sit for the picture yourself." 
 
 " I will give five guineas to any man," ex- 
 claimed Lieberg, "who brings me a saddle- 
 horse to the door in half an hour." 
 
 *' I will — I will !" said Mr. Carr, " and give 
 you credit for the sum, Count, for I believe 
 they have taken your purse as well as mine." 
 
 " I have more that they did not find," 
 answered Lieberg, abruptly. " Quick with the 
 horse then, sir ! Every minute is precious. 
 Let my servant, when he returns, wait for me 
 here. If I should not come till to-morrow, let 
 him have his food, Mr. Carr ! You shall be paid. 
 I know the principles of your proceedings. 
 Quick with the horse, I say !" 
 
 In less than a (quarter of an hour the horse 
 was brought round, and Lieberg was upon its 
 back. He tracked the marks of wheels for a 
 long way with the skill of a wild Indian, but at 
 length they entered upon a high road wherfe 
 they were lost amongst other traces. Lieberg 
 chose his direction after a moment's considera- 
 tion, and then galloped on till he came to a 
 large town. 
 
160 morLey ernstein. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It is not in the least my intention to keep 
 the reader in suspense regarding the fate of 
 Helen Barhara, or, indeed, of any of the other 
 personages in this book. It is a plain unvar- 
 nished tale, without mystery or secret in any 
 part of it, narrating the events exactly as they 
 occurred, and preparing no other surprises for 
 the public, than precisely those which fate and 
 fortune destined for the actors in the scene 
 itself. We will, therefore, at once, with good 
 leave and permission, return, in point of time, to 
 the night preceding the attack upon Mr. Carr's 
 house, and venture, in our ghostly capacity, into 
 the bedchamber of sweet Helen Barham. 
 
 She was certainly as fair a being as ever was 
 seen, and the great test of loveliness, which the 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 161 
 
 poet gave in his few masterly words^ proved 
 hers — that ornament made no addition to her 
 charms; that dress added nothing, but rather 
 took away, and that her beauty was assuredly, 
 " when unadorned, adorned the most." She 
 was indeed so lovely that eyes, not in general 
 accustomed to contemplate or appreciate very 
 great refinement, admired as much as those 
 which fed upon rare flowers every day ; and 
 the girl whom Helen had brought from London 
 with her, was almost as much her lover as if 
 she had been a man. 
 
 Helen's toilet for the night, though always 
 careful, was not long ; and, it must be repeated, 
 that in her bed-gown she was not a bit less 
 lovely than in the richest robe that ever came 
 from the hands of a Parisian artist. She had 
 approached the side of her bed, to kneel down 
 and pray to that God who had mingled most 
 unexpected mercies with his chastisements, 
 whom she had never forgotten in her misfor- 
 tunes, and who had saved her from temptation 
 to sin. She was about to kneel, then, when 
 her maid, whom she had dismissed for the 
 night some time before, re-entered the room, 
 and said — " A little note from Count Lieberg, 
 Miss Helen." 
 
162 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 Helen turned round, perhaps somewhat im- 
 patientl}-, for her thoughts were full of other 
 things — full of all the wants and wishes which 
 she was about to express to the ear of God ; 
 and she asked, " What is it, Mary ? — open it, 
 and read it." 
 
 The girl obeyed, and taking the note to the 
 light, read aloud the words which the reader 
 has already heard. Helen returned to the table, 
 and wrote her hasty reply beneath; and then 
 dismissing the maid, knelt down and prayed. 
 Amongst other petitions was the request that 
 God would pardon, reform, and bless her bro- 
 ther ; and her thoughts naturally ran on, after 
 she had done, to his future fate, and to the hopes 
 of fortune which Mr. Carr had held out. She 
 could not help thinking that his having been 
 prevented from proceeding on his voyage just 
 at the time that such a discovery was likely to 
 take place, seemed like an interposition of Pro- 
 vidence. Such a train of thought induced her 
 to take out of the lower part of her dressing- 
 case the picture of her grandfather, and compare 
 it with that of her father, which had belonged 
 originally to her mother, and which, since her 
 mothers death, she had constantly worn round 
 her neck, night and day. The latter portrait 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 163 
 
 was an extremely small miniature in a gold 
 case, smrounded by small brilliants ; but it had 
 been painted for her father in the times of his 
 happiness and prosperity, by an artist who has 
 not long been dead, but whose works are of high 
 value still to all who possess them, and who was 
 known in his own day by the name of Gen- 
 tleman Shelley. His skilful hand had preserved 
 the likeness in a size scarcely greater than that 
 of a large ring, and in comparing the two pic- 
 tures, the resemblance between the father and 
 the son was extraordinary. 
 
 Helen gazed on them for several minutes ; 
 her memory ran back to the past, and to the last 
 looks of that father who had been taken from 
 her at an hour when a father's care was most 
 needful. No one can wonder that her eyes filled 
 with tears ; but feeling that it was in vain to 
 indulge such sorrow, she extinguished the light 
 and retired to bed, with her own heart free from 
 guile, though crime, in various shapes, was hover- 
 ing round — crime of one kind destined, by the 
 wisdom and mercy of God, to disappoint another. 
 
 She lay awake for some time, for from the 
 bosom of Helen Barham had gone for ever that 
 balmy peace which sheds the downy blessing 
 on the eyes of childhood. Passion, the scarer 
 
164 MORLEY ERNSTEIN 
 
 of slumber, had taken possession of her bosom, 
 and the lids that not a year before used to drop 
 at the first invitation of repose, now refused to 
 shut out busy waking thought from the troubled 
 brain. At length, however, weariness overcame 
 her, and after a deep-drawn sigh, she fell into 
 profound sleep. 
 
 How long it lasted she knew not, but when 
 she woke, it was with a start. There was a 
 light in the room which dazzled her eyes, and 
 to her horror and consternation she beheld three 
 men, dressed as we have described those who 
 entered Lieberg's chamber, except that one had 
 for the moment withdrawn the crape from his 
 face, and was drinking a draught of cold water 
 from a tumbler which she had left upon the 
 table. All three were standing near the dress- 
 ing-glass, and one was examining some of the 
 little trinkets which she had laid down. Al- 
 though they all seemed so peaceably disposed, 
 Helen could not restrain the first impulse of 
 terror, and uttered a scream, though it was ren- 
 dered a faint one by an effort to repress it. The 
 man whose face was uncovered, instantly drew 
 the crape over it again, and darted towards her 
 bedside with a crow-bar in his hand, exclaim- 
 ing — *^ By she has seen me !" 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 165 
 
 Helen, overpowered by terror, could not 
 utter a word, but clasped her hands in an 
 attitude of supplication. She was so young, 
 so beautiful, there was so much of the light 
 and spirit of life about her, that it must have 
 been a heart of stone indeed that could have 
 struck her, as she there lay, in her innocence 
 and her loveliness. The man paused suddenly, 
 repeating — " She has seen me !" and then asked 
 in a harsh and grating tone, " Did you not 
 see me ?" 
 
 Even then Helen would not tell a falsehood, 
 and she murmured forth, " I did ; but I will 
 never, never say a word of it to any one." 
 
 The man continued gazing at her for a 
 minute or more, in perfect silence, and then 
 thrust the end of the crow-bar into his pocket, 
 saying, " It's no use ! — I can't do it! Look ye, 
 my young lady, I know ye, your name is Bar- 
 ham — I have seen you with your brother. Now 
 if I spare your life, and j^ou help to take mine, 
 damme if you're not a great deal worse than I 
 am." 
 
 " I will never say one word against you, so 
 help me Heaven !" exclaimed Helen. 
 
 At that moment one of the man's companions 
 pulled him by the sleeve, and they had a quick 
 
166 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 whispering conference together at the other side 
 of the room. 
 
 "Very well," said the man who had ap 
 proached her bedside, " that will do. You stay 
 here at her door, on the outside, d'ye see, while 
 Simes and I go to the other room. — Don't you 
 do her any harm, mind ye, for I wont have her 
 hurt. I know she's a good girl. — Come, ma'am, 
 you must get up, and put on some things, and 
 go with us. They don't choose to leave ye 
 here. So now be quick. Don't be afraid ; no 
 harm shall happen to ye. I give you my 
 honour I'll take care of ye, and nobody shall 
 lay a finger on ye. If they do, I'll take care of 
 them — that's all. Get up quick, there's a good 
 girl," he added, in a softer tone, and all three 
 left the room. 
 
 Astonished, surprised — scarcely knowing 
 whether she was dead or alive — Helen lay for a 
 moment ere she proceeded to execute the com- 
 mands she had received. She then rose, though 
 it was with terror and agitation, which scarcely 
 left her power to dress herself, so terribly did 
 her hands tremble and her knees shake under 
 her. Her dress was still in sad disarray, when 
 the man who was watching on the outside put 
 his head in, exclaiming, " Be quick — be quick I 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 167 
 
 — wc can't stay here all night. They'll soon 
 have clone." 
 
 But, as may well be supposed, his exhorta- 
 tions to speed only tended to agitate Helen 
 more, and take from her the power of making 
 haste. A minute after, another man appeared, 
 who, by his voice, she recognised as the man 
 whose face she had seen. " Come, come !" he 
 exclaimed, "you must be quick." 
 
 She would fain have supplicated to be allowed 
 to remain, but he caught her sharpl}^ by the 
 hand, and led her along, saying, " Not a word, 
 as you value your life." 
 
 With these words he led her down stairs, 
 through the passages at the bottom of the house, 
 and to the door leading out into the court. 
 Another man who preceded them, darted away 
 towards a room, v.hich she knew to be Mr. 
 Carr's, and returned in a minute, bearing a 
 large and heavy load, and followed by a third 
 similarly burdened. A fourth carried another 
 large package, and as soon as they were all col- 
 lected in the hall, they opened the door and 
 issued forth, one of them pausing for a moment 
 to lock the door behind them. Poor Helen, still 
 grasped by the arm, was' hurried along through 
 the grass court, and down the road, which passed 
 
168 MORLEY ERNSTEIN, 
 
 before the house, to a spot at about a hundred 
 yards distance, where they found a double- 
 bodied phaeton, and two knavish-looking horses, 
 which apparently had come some distance that 
 morning. These animals had their forelegs" 
 tightly tied with handkerchiefs, so as to pre- 
 vent them from moving; but the bandages being 
 speedily taken off, the packages, which the men 
 had brought, were placed in various parts of the 
 carriage, and Helen, in a state scarcely to be 
 described, was lifted into the vehicle. 
 
 The man who had hitherto shewn her some 
 kindness, now took his place by her side, seized 
 the reins with an experienced hand, and drove 
 on, as fast as the horses would go, for the space 
 of nearly two hours, only stopping for one single- 
 minute to let the poor animals breathe at the 
 top of a hill. He shewed no hesitation as to 
 w^hich way he should turn, though one of the 
 men — of whom there were three, crowded into 
 the second body of the carriage — called out 
 from time to time, "To the right, Harr^^ — to 
 the left !" as they approached any lane or road, 
 up which it was necessary to go. 
 
 It seemed to Helen from the way in w^hich 
 they turned and returned, that they were mak- 
 ing more than one circuit, in order to evade 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 169 
 
 pursuit ; and such indeed was the case, for 
 the spot which they at length reached was not, 
 in a direct line, more than sixteen miles from 
 Yelverly, and the round they had taken must 
 have been at least twenty-four. Instead of 
 slackening their pace, they quickened it towards 
 the end of the journey, and entered a large 
 smoky-looking town, just as the darkness of 
 the night was beginning to turn grey with 
 the light of the morning. There was nobody 
 stirring in the streets, and they did not 
 drive far into the town, stopping at a small 
 public house on the left hand, alaiost imme- 
 diately after they had entered. All was dark- 
 ness in the aspect of the dwelling, but one of 
 the men springing down, opened the door 
 without knocking, and Helen was lifted out, by 
 another, and taken into a small parlour, where 
 she found a rushlight on the table, the faint 
 twinkling of which shewed her, that the people 
 who were with her had not yet taken the crape 
 from off their faces. One of the two who had 
 got out of the phaeton stayed in the room with 
 her, without saying a word, while the other ran 
 out, and returned with a candle, which he lighted 
 at the rushlight; and then both quitted the 
 VOL. ir. I 
 
170 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 parlour, leaving Helen alone, and locking the 
 door npon her. 
 
 Nearly half-an-hour passed without any one 
 returning, and the poor girl remained shivering 
 with terror, and w^ith a sensation of cold all over 
 her: althouo;h it was in the midst of summer, 
 and the morning was in reality warm. No 
 sounds stirred in the house — nothing gave any 
 indication of its being inhabited ; but at length 
 the door was again opened, and a man appeared, 
 in whom, though the crape was gone, and the 
 smock-frock was thrown off, Helen recognised 
 without difficulty, the man whose face she had 
 seen in her room at Yelverly. He was a hand- 
 some, powerful, active-looking man, with a frank 
 and bold, but somewhat stern countenance; and 
 though his brow was frowning when he entered, 
 yet, to say the truth, Helen felt more security in 
 his presence, than probably she might have dorfe 
 in that of any of his companions. 
 
 She had been sitting upon a w^ooden chair, 
 with her head resting upon her hands, but she 
 started up as soon as the man entered, and 
 gazed upon him as if enquiring her fate. The 
 expression of apprehension upon her face seemed 
 to move him, and his first words were — "Don't 
 
 i 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 171 
 
 be afraid, young lady ; I told you nobody should 
 do you any harm, and they shan't : so make your 
 mind at ease on that score. — You can hurt no- 
 body but me, and I'll take my chance." 
 
 "On my word," cried Helen — "on my honour, 
 I will never say anything to injure you." 
 
 " Well, well, I believe you," he said ; " and if 
 you did think of peaching, I don't fancy you 
 will, when I give you what I've got in my hand. 
 Look here, Miss Barham ; you know your bro- 
 ther's a d — d fool. — There, that paper might 
 have hanged him — ay, and it was kept for the 
 purpose of hanging him, too, by that bitter bad 
 scamp, Lieberg, if he did not do what was wrong 
 by you. So there, now, take it, and do what 
 3^ou like with it :" and he held out towards her 
 the very bill that her brother had forged. 
 
 "Oh, no, no I" cried Helen, drawing back; 
 " I do not know what to do with it." 
 
 " Not know what to do with it !" cried the 
 man; " why, you foolish girl, I'll shew you then ;" 
 — and twisting it up in his fingers, he put it 
 to the light. In a moment it blazed up, and 
 the chief record of William Barham's guilt was 
 at an end. Though Helen dared not do that 
 act herself, yet her heart beat gladly when she 
 saw it done, and starting forward with one of 
 i2 
 
172 MORLEY EKNSTEIN. 
 
 her wild impulses of gratitude, she caught the 
 man's hand, and pressed it to her lips. 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense ! — don't do that," he cried, 
 actually colouring with a feeling of shame. '^Look 
 here ! here's another paper I got out of that same 
 pocket-book — a sort of confession that he made 
 your brother sign, all for the sake of getting 
 hold of you — I can't well wonder at it, after all. 
 But then he should have gone honourably about 
 it, and asked you yourself However, we will 
 serve this the same," and he set fire to it like- 
 wise, and threw it into the empty grate. " And 
 now," continued he, " j^ou're to stay here for an 
 hour more, Miss Helen ! After that, you may go 
 where you please — back again if you like ; but 
 take my advice, and have nothing to do with 
 that d — d rascal, Lieberg, for he's as bad a 
 one as ever lived. He would have made your 
 brother sell you, like a sheep, to save his neck ; 
 and that's not the way to get a woman's love, 
 I'm sure." 
 
 " But how can I get back ?" said Helen ; 
 " how can I get home ?" 
 
 " Oh ! easy enough," replied the man ; " you 
 have nothing to do, but to turn to the left out 
 of the door, and walk straight up the street, till 
 you come to the Tontine Inn, and the coach- 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIX 173 
 
 office ; and so now remember, that whenever you 
 see me again, you're not to know me from Adam." 
 
 " I have promised you most sincerely," said 
 Helen, " and on my word I will keep that pro- 
 mise — you need not be in the least afraid." 
 
 " I am not — I am not," said the man ; " there, 
 give us your hand upon it. Stay here for an 
 hour, and then go where you like." 
 
 Thus saying, he shook her hand heartily, and 
 was turning to depart, but Helen stopped him, 
 saying, timidly, " But am I safe here ? " 
 
 ^* Perfectly," replied the man — "perfectly! 
 Why bless your little heart, there's nobody in 
 the house but yourself" 
 
 " But if the people to Vv^hom it belongs should 
 come ?" said Helen, " they may think — " 
 
 " Well, tell them how you were brought 
 here," said the man ; " in an hour you may say 
 anything you please ;" and he added, " we shall 
 be far on the road into Scotland by that time, 
 so don't forget your word, and good bye !" 
 
 Thus speaking, he quitted the room, and 
 Helen stood watching the light, as it burnt 
 slowly down in the candlestick. 
 
174 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 In an hour after the period at which we closed 
 the last chapter, Helen Barham stood before a 
 house, bearing the name of the Tontine Inn, in 
 the town of Sheffield. It was now broad day- 
 light, and there were a many artisans and 
 people of the lower classes going about the 
 streets on their various employments ; but yet 
 very few of the houses and shops that she had 
 passed were open, it being barely half-past five 
 o'clock in the morning. About the inn itself 
 there was no appearance of wakefulness, and 
 the coach-office was not to be seen. 
 
 Poor Helen Barham's heart sunk as she gazed 
 up at the closed shutters and blank face of the 
 tall house. She knew not where to go, or what 
 to do ; and had she recollected that her appear- 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 175 
 
 ance at that moment was certainly somewhat 
 wild and strange — her hair dishevelled, her 
 bonnet scarcely tied, without shawl or handker- 
 chief, or gloves — she might have felt still more 
 abashed and apprehensive than she did. 
 
 After pausing for several minutes, Helen 
 wandered some way on, and then came back 
 again, when, to her great satisfaction, she saw 
 one of the drudging housemaids of the esta- 
 blishment sweeping out the passage. Helen 
 approached her timidly, and asked which was 
 the coach-office ? 
 
 " Why, bless you. Miss !" replied the girl, 
 " it wont be open these two hours ; those lazy 
 fellows are never in it much before eight o'clock. 
 The early coach started an hour ago and 
 more ; and then Mr. Jones, who is the night 
 clerk, goes away, and it's long enough before 
 the others come.^' 
 
 " That is very unfortunate !" said Helen, 
 " for I wanted to go to Yelverly as fast as 
 possible." 
 
 " There's no coach, ma'am," answered the 
 girl, " till ten o'clock. But hadn't you better step 
 into the waiting-room, and remain there ? What 
 coach did you come by ?" 
 
 " I came by none," replied Helen ; " I was 
 
176 MORLEY ERNSTElN. 
 
 brought here from Yelverly against my will, 
 and want to get back, as soon as possible, to 
 Mr. Carr's." 
 
 " Oh, what miser Carr's house !" said the 
 girl. *^I know that very well, for I was born 
 at Bingley ; and I know Miss Juliet very well, 
 too, for she was kind to my poor dear mother 
 before she died." 
 
 " She is a very dear and good friend of mine," 
 answered Helen ; " and I have been staying at 
 Mr. Carr's for some time : but a party of men 
 brought me away by force this morning." 
 
 The girl's wonder and compassion were both 
 moved by Helen's short account of herself; and 
 after a moment's thought, she said — "May be, 
 you would not like to go into the waiting-room, 
 where everybody can come in. Hadn't I better 
 shew you into a private room, Miss ? Some of 
 the waiters will be up soon, and then you can 
 get some breakfast." 
 
 Helen very willingly agreed to this proposal, 
 and by the maid's assistance she was, in the space 
 of half an hour, not only seated in a comfort- 
 able room in the inn, but had before her such 
 tea and toast as the place could afford, and all 
 that constitutes the inn idea of a breakfast. 
 It must not be supposed that Helen forgot 
 
MORLEY ERNStEIN. 177 
 
 her purse had been left behind her, and that 
 she had no money with her ; but she had busily 
 turned in her own thoughts the situation in 
 which she was placed, and had made up her 
 mind as to the course she was to pursue, in 
 order to pay both for her accommodation at the 
 inn, and her place back to Yelverly. 
 
 The personage who attended upon the room 
 where she sat, who brought her breakfast, and took 
 away the things when she had done, could not 
 exactly be called a dumb waiter, because he 
 possessed at least two words, which were — *' Yes, 
 ma'am!" and once even, in a fit of Laputan abstrac- 
 tion, he replied to a question from Helen — " Yes 
 sir I" — though, bless her, she looked as little 
 like a gentleman as it is possible to conceive. 
 From this personage, it may be easily supposed, 
 Helen could get but very little information of 
 any kind, either respecting the starting of 
 the stages, or aught else ; and, after having 
 waited till she heard, by the chime of the clock, 
 that the hour of the coach's departure would be 
 the next that struck, she rang the bell, and asked 
 the waiter if she could speak with the mistress 
 of the house ? 
 
 The waiter replied — " Yes, ma'am" — per- 
 haps with the intention of informing his mis- 
 i3 
 
178 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 tress; but by this time, as I have hinted, it 
 was nine o'clock : people were coming and 
 going ; much gossiping was taking place at 
 the door of the house ; bells were ringing, and 
 a variety of calls, objurgations, screams, appli- 
 cations, and scoldings, were flying about the 
 chambers and passages, fit to deafen the ears or 
 distract the brain of any personage but Figaro 
 or the waiter of an inn. 
 
 The consequence was, that, after waiting for 
 about a quarter of an hour more, Helen again rang 
 the bell, made the same demand, and received 
 the same reply. " Pray do not fail," she added, in 
 a gentle tone; and the man hastened away, 
 determined to obey her behest, before he did 
 anything else. In a minute after, a tall, fine- 
 looking, stately dame, dressed in black silk, 
 with an apron and cap as white as snow, not- 
 withstanding the manifold globules of soot that 
 float about in the air of Sheffield, entered the 
 room, and asked the young lady, what was her 
 pleasure, surveying her, at the same time, from 
 head to foot, with some degree of curiosity. 
 
 Helen, by this time, had indeed done some- 
 thing at the looking-glass, to take away the 
 wildness of her appearance ; but still she was 
 Conscious of not being dressed with that care 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. It9 
 
 which becomes a lady, and her situation alto- 
 gether gave a timidity to her tone, as she re- 
 plied — " I wished, madam, to ask a favour of 
 you. The case is, simply, this : I have been 
 spending some time at Mr. Carr's, at Yelverly ; 
 but I was brought away from that place last 
 night by four men, perfect strangers to me, and 
 against my will. All my money was left be- 
 hind " 
 
 The landlady uttered an ominous " Oh !* 
 and pursed up her lips, with a very significant 
 expression of countenance. But Helen hastened 
 on to the principal point of her story, saying — > 
 " I desire to get back again to Yelverly, as fast 
 as possible, and I have no means of doing so, 
 but " 
 
 " I never lend money to nobody, ma'am," 
 said the landlady, tossing her head ; " and I 
 always expect people to pay for their breakfast 
 when they order it." And as she thus spoke, 
 she took a step towards the door, as if to consult 
 with her excellent spouse upon ulterior pro- 
 ceedings. But Helen was made a little angry 
 at the worthy lady's sharp selfishness ; and she 
 replied, in a tone of more firmness, and com- 
 mand — 
 
 " Stop a minute, madam, and be so good 
 
180 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 as to hear me out, before you come to such 
 rapid conclusions. I do not expect you to lend 
 me money, or to trust me in any way, without 
 some certainty of being paid. I have, luckily, 
 one thing with me, which — though I have never 
 parted w ith it for an hour, from the time I first 
 had it till the present day — I must now give up 
 for a time, till I can get to Yelverly, and send 
 the money to you." 
 
 As she spoke, she unclasped the little gold 
 chain that suspended her father's picture around 
 her neck, and looked at the miniature for a 
 moment, with a glistening eye. " This picture, 
 madam," she continued, " is set in gold — those 
 are brilliants round it, of no great value it is true, 
 but more than enough to make you quite sure 
 that you will not lose by trusting me with what- 
 ever may be the amount of my bill here, and 
 with a sufficient sum to carry me to YelvcrJy. 
 You will be good enough to give me a little 
 memorandum of having received the picture ; 
 and as soon as I arrive at Mr. Carr's house, I 
 will send back the money to redeem it." 
 
 The landlady's manner was altered in an ex- 
 traordinary degree, as she looked at the minia- 
 ture, and saw that it was set round with a row 
 of small diamonds, intrinsically worth, perhaps, 
 
MORLEY ERKSTEIN. l8l 
 
 seven or eight guineas. " I will speak to my 
 husband, ma'am," she said. "Indeed, I did 
 not mean to say anything " 
 
 Helen bowed her head gently, replying — 
 " Theve is no need of any apology. It is very 
 natural that you should not trust a mere stranger. 
 Speak to your husband by all means ; shew him 
 the picture, and tell him what I say. Indeed, 
 if he likes to send some one with me to Yel- 
 verly, I shall greatly prefer it. Then he can 
 have the money at once, and I will pay his mes- 
 senger." 
 
 " Oh dear, no, ma'am, there's no occasion for 
 that, I'm sure," cried the landlady ; " he'll be 
 quite satisfied, I'm certain. I'll be back in a 
 minute, ma'am," and away she went to tell her 
 husband all about the nice young lady in No.'5, 
 whom ten minutes before she had set down for 
 a swindler and a reprobate. 
 
 When she came into the bar, however, she 
 found her husband speaking busily with a gen-^ 
 tleman whose whole attire was dusty, as if from 
 long travelling. 
 
 ** No, sir, no," said the landlord ; " I have 
 heard nothing of the kind — Lord have mercy ! 
 you had better go to the magistrates. What do 
 you think, ray dear ? They have broken into Mr. 
 
182 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 Carr's house, at Yelverly, and carried off every 
 thing out of the place." 
 
 " Then I'll bet any money," cried the land 
 lady, " that this here picture is a part of the 
 stolen goods. — But no, that can't be it, neither ; 
 for the young lady wants to go back again." 
 
 " What young lady ? — What picture ?" cried 
 Lieberg eagerly, for he it was. " Let me look 
 at it !" 
 
 " Why, sir," rejoined the landlady, handing 
 it to him, " the young lady says she was carried 
 away by force by four men against her will. 
 To say the truth, I did not believe it at 
 first " 
 
 '* Then you were a fool for your pains !" 
 thundered Lieberg. " It is Miss Barham ! 
 Where is she ? Poor girl, what she must have 
 suffered !" and Lieberg, who without scru- 
 ple would hav^ wrung her heart, and con- 
 demned her to a life of regret and remorse, 
 did, nevertheless, feel sincere compassion for 
 Helen Barham under sufferings not a thou- 
 sandth part so intense. 
 
 The landlady, however, who did not at all 
 like being called a fool in the presence of her 
 husband and her waiter, determined to stand up 
 for Helen Barham's dignity, now that she was 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 183 
 
 thoroughly convinced that the young lady was 
 what she professed to be; and to Lieberg's 
 repeated question of " Where is she ?" she 
 rephed, " I must first ask the lady, sir, whether 
 she desires to see you. What name shall I tell 
 her ?" 
 
 " Colonel Lieberg," he exclaimed, sharply. 
 " But, as there is no doyfct about her seeing me, 
 I shall accompany you." 
 
 The landlady led the way to No. 5, and 
 opened the door sufficiently wide to admit her 
 own portly person, but not to let Lieberg pass, 
 saying, at the same time, " Madam, if your 
 name is Miss Barham, here is a gentleman, who 
 calls himself Colonel Lieberg, wishing to see 
 you." 
 
 In an instant the warnings of the house- 
 breaker came back to Helen's recollection, but 
 more powerfully still the words of Morley Ern- 
 stein. Her countenance spoke at once plainly 
 that her visitor was not one whom she most 
 eagerly desired to see, but, ere she could reply, 
 Lieberg pushed the door impetuously out of the 
 landlady's hand, and, passing by her, advanced 
 at once towards Helen. 
 
 " Dear Miss Barham," he cried — " we have 
 almost been in despair about you. This is, 
 indeed, joyful to have found you so soon. I 
 
184 
 
 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 have been galloping about the country these 
 last three hours in search of you." 
 
 There was so much real joy and satisfaction 
 in his whole look, that Helen could not refuse 
 to give him her hand ; and the landlady having 
 shut the door, Lieberg, in the excitement of the 
 moment, pressed his lips upon it, resolved to 
 hazard everything at what he believed to be a 
 favourable opportunity. 
 
 Helen would have drawn away her hand in- 
 stantly, but he held it firmly, and led her to her 
 seat, saying — " Oh, Helen, what have I suffered 
 on your account this night !" 
 
 Helen coloured and trembled, feeling that a 
 moment of trial was approaching. She replied 
 gravely, however — " I am extremely sorry that 
 you should have been put to any pain on my 
 account; but as~the stage will soon be depart- 
 ing for Yelverly, I must settle with the people 
 here, and take my place." 
 
 "Nay, nay, Helen,," said Lieberg, "you 
 must first listen to me for a moment." 
 
 Helen turned very pale ; but he continued, 
 eagerly, though in that bland, persuasive tone 
 which he knew well how to use, his voice assum- 
 ing the softest modulations, his brow cleared of 
 every thing that was stern and dark, his magni- 
 ficent features glowing with animation, but full 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 185 
 
 of gentleness and entreaty, his eyes beaming like 
 stars in a dark night, but with a subdued and 
 gentle light. 
 
 " Helen," he said, " dear Helen, you must 
 know, you cannot but know, since last night, 
 that I love you ; deeply, passionately, ten- 
 derly ; with an ardour, strength, a profound- 
 ness that I n^ver felt before towards any 
 woman. I know not what it is, or how, but 
 you have fascinated me — enchanted me. That 
 song which you sang last night seemed to 
 waken in my heart feelings that had slept for 
 years — those early dreams of love and ecstatic 
 joy with one adored being, separate from all the 
 rest of earth, bound to her by none of the cold 
 worldly ties that unite the dull earthly insects 
 which crawl about the world and call themselves 
 society, but united to her by the bond of strong 
 affection — of passion, powerful, overpowering, 
 everlasting, indestructible — of passion, neither to 
 be changed by the world's cold maxims, nor re- 
 strained by idle ceremonies or empty laws. Oh, 
 Helen, listen to me ! Turn not away your 
 head — let not your cheek grow pale as if you 
 thought I wished to deceive or to wrong you, for 
 I am yours altogether, and you shall dictate any- 
 thing to me that you please. You shall command 
 
186 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 me in all respects ; I will be your slave, the 
 creature of your will. I, who never bowed my 
 head to human being — who never found any to 
 resist or to control me — I will take my law 
 from your lips, and do in all things as you 
 would have me ! — Only, only, do one thing. 
 There are circumstances which I cannot explain 
 now, for want of time, but which shall be en- 
 tirely made clear to you as we go. Only, I 
 beseech you, let me order horses, and go with 
 me at once to London and to your brother. 
 I would fain have you, too, go on with mc 
 to the Continent; but you shall stay in Lon- 
 don if it please you better. All I have is 
 at your command, myself, my fortune, my life 
 itself; and you shall always dictate to me every 
 thing that you would have done, and it shall be 
 done at once. Helen, dear Helen, come with 
 me ! True passion bears no cold delay, and a 
 rapid resolution, taken in a moment like this, 
 when love speaks out, when opportunity pre- 
 sents itself and there is nothing to oppose, often 
 goes on to happiness the most intense, the most 
 durable, when, if we lose the instant, we give 
 ourselves up to grief for our whole lives. Nay, 
 shrink not from my arms, beloved — for once let 
 me clasp you to a bosom that burns for you alone." 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 187 
 
 Helen did shrink from him, however, farther 
 and farther, as with increasing energy and 
 vehemence, with his eyes lighting up, his words 
 rushing rapidly from his lips in a thousand 
 varied intonations, and his whole spirit moved 
 by the strong feelings within him, he poured 
 forth his passionate solicitations. She shrunk 
 from him, I say, farther and farther, with the 
 small, finely cut ear glowing with the scarlet 
 blood, her cheek as pale as death, her lip 
 quivering, her eye fixed upon her suitor, in ter- 
 ror, surprise, and horror. She could hardly 
 speak. But however Lieberg veiled his pur- 
 poses under vague, though glowing language, 
 warned as she had been, she understood him 
 only too well, and saw that all which had been 
 told her was true. 
 
 Her lips moved for a moment without uttering 
 a sound, but at length she murmured, "Monster!" 
 — and turned to ring the bell. 
 
 Lieberg, however, caught her hand and 
 stopped her, and she stood gazing at him with 
 such a look of horror and pain as, in the mo- 
 ment of the great temptation, the mother of 
 mankind might have worn, had some angel 
 whispered the real nature of the being to whom 
 she listened, and displayed to her mind's eye 
 
188 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 the endless misery, through unnumbered gene- 
 rations, that was to follow on man's fall." 
 
 " Beware !" said Lieberg, at length, as he 
 marked that look and read it aright; and his 
 tongue, while he spoke, lost its poisonous 
 melody, his face its fascinating smile — " beware 
 what you do ! Remember, Helen Barham, that 
 you are in my power. The moment is now 
 before you to choose between my love and my 
 hate. Be m.inc, and I swear by all that I hold 
 sacred, such a life of joy and love shall be 
 yours as even your fancy could never dream ; 
 but if you reject all that I offer, recollect that 
 your brother's ftite is in my hands, his life, his 
 shame, ay — and your own fate, too — that repu- 
 tation of which you may be idly vain. ' Disap- 
 point me now, and men shall laugh, and say 
 that she was Count Lieberg's paramour ; but 
 that he tired of her, and cast her off in a single 
 day. Your fate, I say, as well as his, is in my 
 hands." 
 
 " Mine, mine !*' cried Helen, with astonish- 
 ment and terror. " Mine in your hands ? What 
 is it that you mean ?" 
 
 , " Nay, nay," said Lieberg, softening his tone 
 again, "though what I say is true, think not 
 of it. I meant but to shew you what was in 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 189 
 
 my power, Helen. I have not thought of using 
 that power. To wring or pain your heart 
 would pain my own, dear girh Forgive me for 
 what I have said — think that it was but the mad 
 vehemence of passion. Oh, feel for me, Helen ! 
 — you that seem made for love and joy, feel for 
 the intense, the burning love you have in- 
 spired. Think not that I would hurt your 
 brother. On the contrary, I have tended him 
 with kindness and care, when there was no one 
 to tend him but myself. I have furnished him 
 with all that was needful for his happiness, and 
 it is his first wish and desire you should be 
 mine. My vehemence has frightened and sur- 
 prised you, I see ; but you know not what it is 
 I feel. Sit down again, dear girl, and listen to 
 me — listen to me but for a moment — — ." 
 
 " No, Count Lieberg," she replied, firmly, " I 
 will not ! I will neither sit down nor listen to 
 you at all, but upon one subject. I can easily 
 conceive that you suppose my brother's fate 
 entirely in your hands ; but, thank God, my 
 reputation is not ; and I believe you speak a 
 falsehood when you say that you can make 
 even the general world, much less those that 
 love and esteem me, believe that I ever was the 
 paramour of a man whom I hate and despise. I 
 
190 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 believe, sir, that yon have told a gross falsehood, 
 for the same base purpose for which you have 
 threatened a brother's life to the ears of his 
 sister." 
 
 The look of Helen Barham had changed 
 under the emotions that she felt. Instead of 
 fear, and timidity, and horror, it bore now the 
 look of indignant pride. Her head was raised 
 high, her beautiful nostril expanded, her bright 
 eyes flashed, and Lieberg, though all these signs 
 of anger were displayed against himself, felt 
 passion but the stronger in his heart. 
 
 " Nay, nay, Helen," he said, in a quick, but 
 half sportive tone, " if you so dare me, dear 
 lady, I must shew that I threaten not without 
 power. Look at these few words of written 
 invitation, in Helen Barham's hand ! Sent to 
 me by my own valet last night, after all the 
 household were in bed — ' Whenever you like. — 
 Helen Barham r'' 
 
 To Lieberg's surprise, the horror and detesta- 
 tion which became the predominant expression 
 of Helen's countenance, was unmingled with 
 anything like fear. 
 
 " You are a fiend, indeed I" she cried. " You 
 are a fiend, indeed ! But, like the machinations 
 of all other fiends, your devices are controlled 
 
3I0RLEY ERNSTEIN. 191 
 
 by the good will of God ! When the note that 
 you wrote to me last night, and which you have 
 torn off from the answer, was brought to me, 
 know that I was not alone. It was read by an- 
 other to me — by one who can swear to every 
 word of it. Thus I set you at nought, scorning 
 you, as well as hating you, feeling as much dis- 
 gust as horror at your conduct. Let me tell you 
 more, Count Lieberg, that, were there no other 
 man on earth, I would regard you with the same 
 contempt that I do now ; that j^ou are person- 
 ally odious to me ; and that were you at my feet 
 to-morrow, with proposals as high and pure, as 
 those of to-day are base and infamous, though I 
 were a beggar in the streets, seeking my bread 
 from door to door, I would spurn you from me, 
 with the same scorn that I do now," and passing 
 him boldly, she rang the bell. 
 
 The moment that Helen's hand had left the 
 bell rope, the stately old landlady burst into the 
 room, with her face all in a glow\ 
 
 " You shan't be injured, or insulted, in my 
 house, ma'am," she said. " I beg your pardon 
 for listening, ma'am, but I thought you might 
 want a little help from what I saw. The gen- 
 tleman may take himself where he likes, but he 
 shan't affront you any more here." 
 
192 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 Helen burst into tears at this unexpected 
 support; and the good woman, who really, except 
 in money matters, deserved that name, held out 
 her arms towards the agitated and beautiful being 
 before her, saying, in the tone of a mother — 
 
 *'Come here tome, my dear ! You are a 
 good, virtuous girl, and deserve to be taken care 
 of. The coach will go in a quarter of an hour, 
 and my son, Will, shall go with you on the top, 
 to see that no harm comes to you. There's the 
 picture, my dear — we don't want it ; and as for 
 the gentleman, he had better budge, for if my 
 husband had heard all that I have heard, he 
 would have leathered his jacket." 
 
 Lieberg gazed at her for a moment, with a 
 look of calm scorn, for his self-possession had 
 been restored in a moment. 
 
 " My good woman," he said, " you are a very 
 foolish person ; and, if you meddle in this way, 
 with things that don't concern you, you will 
 burn your fingers some day. Miss Barham, we 
 shall meet again, when you will think differ- 
 ently." 
 
 " Never !" said Helen ; arid Lieberg, without 
 more reply, quitted the room, and ordered his 
 horse over to the other inn. 
 
 " Feed him," he said, to the hostler who took 
 
MORLEY ERNSTETN. 193 
 
 him, "and bring him round as soon as he is 
 ready." 
 
 He then called for a private room, and buried 
 his eyes in his hands till the sound of a coach 
 setting out from the office opposite made him 
 look up. Then biting his lip, without any 
 other gesticulation, he muttered — " Curses upon 
 it all P 
 
 VOL. ir. 
 
194 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 In passing through life we must have remarked, 
 not only that the satirical maxim of Rochefau- 
 cault is true, with a great number of people, in 
 regard to the pleasures that they derive from the 
 misfortunes of their friends, but that the general 
 world contrives to extract an infinite quantity 
 of amusement, delight, and satisfaction from all 
 the evils that are going on throughout the uni- 
 verse. What a fund of pleasant excitement is 
 there to the minds of many, in that column of a 
 newspaper, headed " Accidents and Offences." 
 What gratification to multitudes in a child being 
 scalded to death, a house being burnt down, a 
 retired tradesman, in a solitary cottage, under- 
 going the process of murder ! And such is the 
 joy and delight the great mass of mankind feels 
 in crime and sorrow, that I do really believe, 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 195 
 
 if any person could invent an unheard-of ini- 
 quity, or contrive to die some unknown kind of 
 death, not only would rags of his clothes be kept 
 as relics, locks of his hair preserved in lockets, 
 or the rope that hanged him be sold at a guinea 
 an inch, but a very handsome subscription might 
 be gathered, to raise a statue to him, as the man 
 who furnished the public with a new^ kind of 
 excitement. 
 
 Fie upon it ! The morbid taste for stimu- 
 lating things, that habitual drunkenness of the 
 mind, which is increasing day by day more 
 and more throughout the whole world, exclud- 
 ing the sane, the simple, and the just, must end 
 in moral death — the sad, worn-out, apathetic 
 death of the spirit drinker. On my life, I have 
 a great inclination to shake hands with Father 
 Mathew, and preach a mental teetotalism ! 
 
 The prevailing spirit, the love of excitement, 
 which is in every human being, was not wanting 
 even amongst the quiet fields and villages around 
 Yelverly ; and the news of that famous burglary 
 having spread far and wide, the retired house of 
 Mr. Carr became an object of attention and visi- 
 tation, for; all the places in the neighbourhood. 
 Magistrates flocked in, farmers and yeomen 
 made their appearance, constables, from every 
 k2 
 
196 MORLEY ERN STEIN. 
 
 place in the vicinity, travelled thither without 
 loss of time ; and though many a one winked 
 the eye and laughed at Old Carr's misfortune, 
 the general pleasure derived by the multitude 
 from an extensive robbery in that part of the 
 country was of the higher and more interesting 
 kind, called excitement. 
 
 The retired lawyer, himself, as his first step, 
 shut up his house, and would let no one in but 
 those whom he knew; and, after he had col- 
 lected his thoughts in some degree, he visited 
 various parts of the building, opened different 
 drawers and secret cupboards, and found, to his 
 great relief, that the robbers, from their ignor- 
 ance of his habits, had missed many of the stores 
 which he had fancied carried off. lid then 
 gathered together his papers, which were scat- 
 tered about his room, examined the marks arid 
 memorandums upon them, and, to his great joy, 
 perceived that they were all correct. Another 
 thing tended to relieve him from a still greater 
 portion of the load of care, which was, that the 
 plunderers, with a fine apprehension of detection, 
 had displayed a goodly contempt for bank-notes, 
 so that two packets, amounting each to five hun- 
 dred pounds, were found cast down upon the 
 floor without the slightest sign of veneration. 
 
 In the midst of these operations, several ma- 
 
3I0RLEY ERNSTEIN. 197 
 
 gistrates poured in upon him, and all the local 
 wisdom of the neighbom'hood was expended 
 durino; the next three hours, in consultinfr and 
 considering what was to be done. As will ever 
 be the case where there are manifold persons, 
 each of whom has as much right to speak as 
 another, a great deal of nonsense was talked, 
 and a great deal of time was expended to very 
 little purpose. 
 
 The abduction of poor Helen Barham formed 
 one of the principal topics with the magistrates; 
 and Mr. Carr himself expressed much greater 
 anxiety upon the subject than he had ever 
 been known to evince in regard to anybody 
 except his daughter. By the time that the 
 premises had been thoroughly examined, the 
 means by which the robbers had obtained an 
 entrance clearly ascertained, and the route that 
 they had taken in their escape rendered as con- 
 fused and puzzled as possible, by conflicting 
 testimonies and innumerable conjectures. Count 
 Lieberg's servant had returned from Doncaster, 
 bringinp; information from some of the magis- 
 trates of that place, that three persons of very sus- 
 picious look, and one of whom was known to be 
 an inflimous character, had appeared in that town 
 on the preceding day, and had suddenly disap- 
 
 pear 
 
 ed towards nin^ht. All attention was now 
 
 o 
 
198 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 turned towards Doncaster, every man who 
 thought himself an active mao;istrate, or who 
 wished to establish for himself such a reputation, 
 set off instantly for that town, while the rest re- 
 tired to their own houses, satisfied with having 
 talked much and done nothing at all, as is too 
 much the case with county justices and with 
 members of parliament. 
 
 When they were all gone beyond recall, and 
 Mr. Carr was left alone, the real track of the 
 plunderers, as so generally happens, was dis- 
 covered at once by no other event than the 
 passing of the Sheffield coach, and the arrival 
 of Helen Barham. Mr. Carr was really de- 
 lighted to see her, both because she had proved 
 a pleasant companion to him, and because in 
 the prospect of managing her own and her bro- 
 ther's affairs, he foresaw, or thought he foresaw, 
 the means of recovering, and more than re- 
 covering, the riches which the house-breakers 
 had carried away. 
 
 Many and eager were his questions, to all of 
 which Helen gave a sincere answer, telling ex- 
 actly what had occurred, with the exception of 
 those points which referred to her brother 
 William. She related how she had seen the 
 man's face in her bed-room ; how she had been 
 forced to rise and accompany the robbers ; how 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 199 
 
 she had pledged herself most solemnly never to 
 give evidence against the man at whose inter- 
 cession her life was spared ; and how she had 
 taken refuge at the Tontine Inn, and come 
 thence by the stage to Yelverly. She would 
 willingly have ended her history there, but Mr. 
 Carr asked, as soon as she paused, if Colonel 
 Lieberg, then, had not found her ? 
 
 " I regret to say he did, my dear sir," repHed 
 Helen, with much agitation ; " he found me 
 alone and unprotected, and took that oppor- 
 tunity, when I most needed comfort and help, 
 to insult and grieve me. Had it not been for 
 the kindness of the people of the inn, I do not 
 know what I should have done. I trust," she 
 added, with the tears in her eyes, " that he will 
 not return here while I remain. If he have any 
 feeling of honour or shame left he certainly will 
 not." 
 
 " But the manors ! my dear Miss Barham — 
 the manors !" cried Mr. Carr ; " what can be 
 done about the manors ? Oh, he certainly must 
 return here, for he has left his carriage and his 
 servant." 
 
 " Then if he does," said Helen, " by your 
 permission, my dear sir, I will remain in my 
 own room till he is gone, and will not sec him 
 on any accoimt whatsoever." 
 
200 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 " Ob, quite right — quite right, my dear Miss 
 Helen," replied Mr. Carr ; " the foolish fellow 
 doubtless thought you poor and friendless ; but 
 he will find himself mistaken ; and when he 
 sees you with seventy or eighty thousand 
 pounds, or, may be, with a hundred — for I 
 have not calculated what the arrears will be, 
 and, indeed, cannot, till we enter into the ac- 
 counts fully — he will change his tone, I am sure." 
 
 Helen smiled sadly, for, notwithstanding the 
 belief, which had gained a strong hold of her, 
 that there might be some truth in what Mr. 
 Carr said regarding the claims of her family to 
 greater fortune than they possessed, she could 
 not help looking upon his expectation of re- 
 covering it as a mere dream. 
 
 '' If he were to alter his tone," she replied, 
 " I should certainly never alter mine. But I 
 will go now, Mr. Carr, and write at once to my 
 brother. I have many important things to tell 
 him." 
 
 "Bid him come down here, with all speed," 
 exclaimed Mr. Carr — "bid him come down 
 here, with all speed. He will soon recover his 
 health here, and if he do not, you will do quite 
 as well; the entail was in the female line, as 
 well as the male, and, indeed " 
 
 " But I thought you proposed, Mr. Carr," 
 
^rORLEY EllNSTEIN. 
 
 201 
 
 said Helen, '• to accompany me to London. I 
 know that it is too late to-day, and, indeed, I 
 feel too faint and weak to undertake such a 
 journey without repose ; but I did hope that 
 you might be able to go to-morrow, for I only 
 intended to write to my brother to comfort 
 him in the meantime. You heard what that 
 miserable man said about his state of health." 
 
 " Oh, he exaggerated — he exaggerated !" an- 
 swered Mr. Carr. " Don't you see, he had an 
 object to gain ? But, however, I will go up, if 
 you like it ; and, indeed, perhaps it would be the 
 best way. Then we could settle all things with 
 your brother speedily, and 1 could set the Bow- 
 street fellows upon the track of these villains who 
 have carried off so much of my property. You 
 say very right, my dear, it will be the best way, 
 and we will go to-morrow — that is, if you be 
 well enough, for we must not risk your life too. 
 You must take care of yourself — you must take 
 care of yourself, my little lady, for you will be 
 a rich dame some of these days, and life be- 
 comes well worth preserving, when people have 
 plenty of money.'' 
 
 Helen gazed down upon the ground, and her 
 eyes filled witli tears, but she merely replied— 
 "Ahttlc repose is all that I require— I shall 
 k3 
 
202 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 be quite able to set out to-morrow ; but now I 
 will go and write to my brother, and pay the 
 young man from the inn at Sheffield, who is 
 waiting in the kitchen, I fancy." 
 
 "Ay, do, my dear Miss Barham — do," said 
 Mr. Carr. " I would ofter to pay him, but, 
 really, these men have taken all the money I 
 have got." 
 
 " That would be quite unnecessary," replied 
 Helen ; " I do not think they took anything 
 from my room, and I have, luckily, plenty of 
 money in my desk." 
 
 " Plenty ?" said Mr. Carr, with a smile. 
 " Never think you have plenty, my dear Miss 
 Barham ; you will always find more than enough 
 to do with it, if you had twenty times as much." 
 
 Helen made no reply, but retired to her 
 chamber as she had said, and after having paid 
 the boy from Sheffield^ wrote a long letter to 
 her brother, and another to Juliet Carr. To 
 the first she told all that had taken place 
 between herself and Mr. Carr, regarding the 
 fortune which he said was unjustly withheld 
 from them. She entered into the whole of her 
 own recollections, and the facts which induced 
 her to believe that there was some ground for 
 the statements of the old lawyer, and at the 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 203 
 
 same time she informed her brother of her ap- 
 proaching return to London. The most im- 
 portant intelhgence of the whole, however, was 
 conveyed in a postscript of a few words, to the 
 following effect ; — " You need no longer be 
 under any apprehension regarding the conse- 
 quences of an act that you lately committed, 
 which you once told me of Both the papers 
 were destroyed before my own eyes, by a man 
 who seemed to know something of you, and 
 who had obtained possession of them in the 
 commission of another crime." 
 
 The letter to Juliet was upon other topics, 
 though she noticed briefly all that had occurred 
 at Yelverty, and stated that she was about to 
 return to London, accompanied by Mr. Carr. 
 In the end of the letter she said — " Count 
 Lieberg has been here, and has justified too 
 sadly the opinion which Sir Morley Ernstein 
 and Lady Malcolm entertained of him. He has 
 insulted me cruelly, dear Juliet ; and, I do not 
 know why, but since I have had your friendship, 
 and the support and protection of one who is, 
 I know, very dear to you, my spirit has risen, 
 even in spite of much sadness ; and those in- 
 sults which, a few weeks ago, I looked upon as 
 a part of my fate, a misery that I was born to 
 
204 MORLEY ERK STEIN. 
 
 endure, I now feel angry and indignant at, and 
 my heart burns within me. It seems as if being 
 admitted to call myself your friend, has given 
 me back a dignity of feeling that misery and 
 friendlessness had before taken from me. The 
 poor teacher of music and of drawing, who 
 could hardly gain enough, by her utmost labour, 
 to keep herself and her Ijrother from absolute 
 want, seemed to consider herself, as well as to 
 be considered by others, as merely a being to be 
 pursued by the wicked and licentious, and with 
 no other task before her, than to struggle and 
 resist, till age came to relieve her from any share 
 of attractions^ without feeling the least anger or 
 surprise at views and proposals the most de- 
 grading. Now, however, it is different, and I 
 feel the insult that this man has offered me to 
 the very heart. Nevertheless, my dear Juliet, 
 you must, on no account, mention this to Sir 
 Morley Ernstein ; we both know his noble and 
 his generous nature too well to doubt that it 
 might, and very probably would, produce a 
 quarrel between liim and the other, which might 
 end fatally. Just in the proportion as I am un- 
 protected, poor, and without any claim to the 
 generosity and friendship of any one, would he 
 think himself called upon to resent an injury 
 
MORLEY ERNStEIN. 205 
 
 and an evil inflicted upon her to whom he has 
 shewn so much disinterested kindness. I tell it 
 to 3^ou, because I will conceal nothing from 
 you ; but you must on no account let him hear 
 one word of what I have said, as you value your 
 own peace, and as you value mine." 
 
 Before Helen had concluded her letter to 
 Juliet Carr, she received a message from the 
 old lawyer, informing her that Count Lieberg 
 had sent somebody from Sheffield with post 
 horses, to bring away his carriage and servant, 
 as he did not intend to take the manors or 
 return to Yelverly ; and about half an hour 
 after she was summoned to the drawing-room to 
 speak with two of the magistrates, who had been 
 recalled by Mr. Carr. Their object was, of 
 course, to ascertain in what direction the house- 
 breakers had fled, and by what signs they could 
 be recognised. In regard to the first point, 
 Helen made a clear statement of what had taken 
 place, and repeated what the man, Harry Mar- 
 tin, had said, respecting their soon being safe 
 in Scotland, without at all imagining that these 
 words had been spoken for the express purpose 
 of misleading; but the information that she 
 could or Vv'ould give in order to identify the 
 plunderers was very small. She described the 
 
206 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 phaeton generally, but as to the colour, or any 
 other distinctive mark, she could say nothing, 
 having only seen it in the night, and being too 
 much agitated and frightened to take any great 
 notice of it then. The forms and features of the 
 men had been so thoroughly concealed by the 
 smock frocks which they wore, and the crape 
 which was drawn over their faces, that Helen 
 said truly, she could tell nothing regarding 
 them in general by which they could be dis- 
 tinguished from any other men. 
 
 " But," exclaimed one of the magistrates, 
 " you saw one of them. Miss Barham ! Let us 
 have an account of him, at least. It very often 
 happens that one being known, his accomplices 
 are speedily traced." 
 
 " But I told you, sir," replied Helen, ap- 
 parently with some surprise at the request, " I 
 told you that I had promised most positively 
 never to say anything by which he could be re- 
 cognised." 
 
 " But of course," cried the magistrate, " you 
 do not intend to regard such a promise as 
 binding !" 
 
 " As much as any other promise I ever 
 made," answered Helen ; " he might have taken 
 my life if he had liked it, and " 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 207 
 
 " But listen to me, my dear young lady," said 
 the other magistrate, "promises made under 
 threats and intimidation are always held to be 
 invalid. Neither law, religion, nor justice, re- 
 cognise them for a moment." 
 
 " I really do not know," replied Helen — " I 
 am no great casuist in such matters. The man 
 did not threaten me in the least degree, but he 
 might have taken my life if he had thought 
 fit. If he had done so, the law would have 
 assigned to him no worse punishment than for 
 breaking into the house ; and on no consider- 
 ation whatsoever will I give the slightest indi- 
 cation by which he may be discovered." 
 
 The magistrates then took another turn, and 
 tried to alarm her, saying, they had power to 
 compel her to answer their questions, that she 
 might be treated as an accessory after the fact. 
 Helen, however, turned to Mr. Carr, asking — 
 " Do you suffer this, sir ? You are a magistrate 
 also, I think, and I must know if you wish me 
 to be treated in this manner." 
 
 "No, no, my dear young lady," said Mr. 
 Carr, moved by very different feelings from 
 those which either Helen or the magistrates at- 
 tributed to him, and, in fact, looking upon her 
 already as the heiress which he presumed her to 
 
208 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 be. " No, no, my dear young lady, this shall 
 not be done. Gentlemen, Miss Barham must 
 either be persuaded by fair means, or must be 
 silent at her will. I cannot have her bullied." 
 
 The two magistrates seemed somew^hat of- 
 fended at the term which Mr. Carr employed ; 
 but the ci-devant lawyer was quite chivalrous 
 in defence of iiis young friend, quoted all sorts 
 of law to prove that his brethren of the bench 
 were perfectly in the wrong, overwhelmed 
 them with a multitude of obsolete terms, and 
 would hear no argument in reply whatsoever. 
 The two magistrates took up their hats, morti- 
 jfied and annoyed, and, with the dogged stalk of 
 two British mastiffs, marched out of the. room 
 and the house, saying, " that Mr. Carr might 
 manage the affair as he liked best himself." 
 
 " I will tell you how I will manage it, my 
 dear Miss Barham," he said. " I will put two of 
 the Bow Street runners on the track, and pro- 
 mise them a per centage on every ounce of gold 
 and silver they recover. Much better is it for 
 me to lose a little and get back the money, than 
 to pay a great sum and hang them all. These 
 county magistrates, with one thing or another, 
 would let them go on till all the money was 
 spent, and all the plate melted ; but the Bow 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 209 
 
 Street officers will take care of that, if they hope 
 to have a share ; and so we will set out for 
 London to-morrow without fail." 
 
 The good gentleman's purpose was executed, 
 and he and Helen proceeded to Doncaster, 
 and thence to London, without pause or delay. 
 Mr. Carr himself had a strong objection to inns 
 and hotels, and he consequently drove at once 
 to Lady Malcolm's house, having a sort of claim 
 to the hospitality of that lady, as his wife's first 
 cousin, v/hich he did not fail to put forward on 
 all occasions w^hen he visited London. To his 
 surprise, and that of Helen's, however, a maid- 
 servant opened the door, and informed Mr. 
 Carr that her lady. Miss Juliet, and Sir Morley 
 Ernstein, had gone down together to spend a 
 few days at the little watering-place called 
 Sandgate. 
 
 Helen remarked that there was something in 
 this intelligence w^hich made a scowl, such as 
 she had seldom or ever seen there before, come 
 upon the face of Mr. Carr. 
 
 " Gone down to Sandgate with Sir Morley 
 Ernstein ?" he exclaimed, swearing a desperate 
 oath at the same time. " That is strange 
 enough !" 
 
 " Oh, but she will be up in a day or two, 
 sir," replied the maid, who knew Mr. Carr 
 
210 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 quite well, and attributed his anger to a wrong 
 cause ; " and I am sure she will be delighted if 
 you will stay here till she comes ; for she always 
 said that a bed was to be ready for you — and 
 Miss Helen, too, I am sure she will be glad to 
 see. I hope you are well, ma'am, and have 
 passed a pleasant time in the country, though 
 you look a little tired like— but I'll go and call 
 the housekeeper." 
 
 That functionary accordingly appeared, and 
 confirmed all the maid had said; and though 
 Helen had some hesitation as to remaining 
 at Lady Malcolm's house without an invita- 
 tion from its mistress, yet the assurances of the 
 housekeeper, who knew her lady well, were 
 so strong, and Mr. Carr insisted so vehemently, 
 that she yielded, and took up her abode in the 
 little room which she had tenanted before, close 
 to that of Juliet Carr. 
 
 No sooner was Mr. Carr installed, than he 
 wrote a note of the most pressing kind to his 
 daughter, telling her that he had come to Lon- 
 don on business of great moment, and begging 
 her to return instantly to meet him in the 
 capital. He entered into no explanations of 
 his views whatsoever, but requested Juliet, as 
 probably it would be inconvenient for Lady 
 Malcolm to come up with her, not to make any 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 211 
 
 delay on that account, but to set out at once, 
 immediately after receiving this letter. 
 
 This being done, and having taken some re- 
 freshment, he proceeded at once to the house 
 which Helen had formerly inhabited, where her 
 brother William, who had received her letter in 
 the morning, was waiting in a state of excite- 
 ment of joy and astonishment impossible to 
 describe. Helen, who accompanied Mr. Carr, 
 remarked one thing, however, which made her 
 fear that her brother had once more fallen 
 amongst bad associates ; he was extremely 
 anxious to go into the country, vowed that 
 though Lieberg was a liar, as he termed broadly 
 it, and he had never been seriously ill at all, 
 it would do his health good to be away from 
 London ; and added, that if Helen had only 
 given him time, he would have come down to 
 her in the country, without giving her the 
 trouble of coming up to him. 
 
 Like all weak persons, William Barham was 
 ever ready to attach himself to any one who 
 would flatter his hopes or his wishes, hating 
 unpalatable truth of all kinds, almost as much 
 when it regarded his own situation, as when 
 it affected his own conduct. With Mr. Carr 
 he was delighted, vowed that he was a very 
 
212 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 honest fellow — that he would put himself en- 
 tirely in his hands — and that there could be no 
 earthly doubt that he was quite right in regard 
 to the view he took of the case. Thus, after 
 a long conversation, they parted, and Mr. Carr 
 returned with Helen to Lady Malcolm's house, 
 enjoying the idea of having so soft a person to 
 deal with, almost as much as if he had still been 
 a solicitor in full practice. 
 
 Helen, however, was sad and dispirited, and 
 felt that the tone of her brother's conversation 
 altogether was painful and distressing. Some 
 time had now elapsed since she had seen him ; 
 the effect of the country on her mind had been 
 calm and refreshing ; and all that was dark and 
 bad, all that was weak and foolish in the cha- 
 racter of her brother, seemed to stand out the 
 more prominently from the state of her ov/n 
 mind. When we wish to see an object dis- 
 tinctly through a glass, we take care to wipe it 
 clean from all specks and dust; and there is 
 nothing that clears the mental vision so much of 
 all the dark and dimming things of earthly life, 
 as calm communion with the spirit of God's 
 works in scenes where man's handy-work has 
 wrought but little. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 213 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 In looking at one of the finest and most sun- 
 shiny pictures of Claude de Lorraine, and in 
 marking the calm and gentle brightness which 
 his pictures general^ display, it has often struck 
 me that they afforded a fine image of happiness — 
 of that pure dreamy happiness which is some- 
 times the portion of youth. The calm, refresh- 
 ing shades in the foreground — shades produced 
 not by clouds or by storms, or by the proximity 
 of night, but by some sweet object softening 
 the light, and mitigating the heat — the im- 
 mense boundless distance, blending into the 
 blue sky. Earth losing itself in Heaven — the 
 prospect embracing every sort of object that can 
 enchant the eye, fields, and plains, and hills, 
 and woods, and villages, bridges, and streams. 
 
214 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 and lakes, in gay confusion, and ruined temples 
 waking sweet associations of the past, and man's 
 living habitations giving the idea of dear domes- 
 tic peace, each catching the bright sunshine, and 
 each beautiful, though vague^ — the poet-painter 
 surely intended all this as the symbol of a happy 
 dream, where present enjoyment is calm though 
 full, and every object of desire and hope is 
 stretched out before the future, and hghted by 
 the sun of youth and fancy, till the remote end 
 mingles with heaven itself. 
 
 The three days that Morley Ernstein and 
 Juliet Carr had passed at Sandgate, had been, 
 like one of those pictures of Claude Lorraine, all 
 brightness, all hope. There seemed not to be a 
 cloud in the whole sky ; but those sweet days of 
 happiness are often like the glowing mornings 
 of tropical climes, where, in the midst of a hea- 
 ven previously without spot, a small, dark cloud 
 appears, no bigger than a man's hand, and ere 
 many hours are over, the hurricane sweepT'past, 
 and all is destruction, desolation, and sorrow. 
 
 The fourth day broke as brightly as any of 
 the former, and Morley Ernstein, who, for pro- 
 priety's sake — or for the sake of that which a 
 corrupted state of society believes to be pro- 
 priety — had been driven by Lady Malcolm to 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 215 
 
 sleep at another house, came in to breakfast as 
 usual, and to arrange with her he loved some 
 pleasant scheme for the passing of the coming 
 hours. They had sat up late on the preceding 
 night, enjoying the balmy summer air, as it 
 swept over the sea, and Juliet had not yet quit- 
 ted her room. At the place where she usually 
 sat, however, had been laid dowm a letter, and 
 Lady Malcolm, who entered the room first, 
 wondered from whom it could come. Juliet 
 herself soon appeared, and, without noticing 
 the epistle, talked to Morley for some time, 
 upon all those things which first interest lovers 
 when they meet, and might have gone on still 
 longer, had not Lady Malcolm — who was at an 
 age when small matters are great, and who, more- 
 over, had always been gifted with that peculiar 
 sort of irritability which never suffers one to 
 rest till the inside of a letter has been seen — 
 insisted upon Juliet opening hers, though Juliet 
 had said before that it was from her father, and 
 w^as only that which he wrote her every week. 
 
 To please her cousin, however, she broke the 
 seal ; but poor Juliet's countenance underwent 
 a sad change as she read the few lines that it 
 contained, and her voice faltered sadly, as she 
 said — 
 
216 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 " My father is in London ; he has come up in 
 great haste about various matters, and requires 
 my presence immediately^, without a moment's 
 delaj. He refers me to a letter from Helen, 
 which I have never received, and speaks of 
 Yelverly having been broken into by robbers. 
 I am afraid I must go directly, Harriet." 
 
 As one may suppose every thing was soon in 
 confusion. Lady Malcolm read the letter, and 
 saw^ that it was imperative. Juliet wished to go 
 alone, but her cousin would not hear of such a 
 thing, and said she was quite ready to return to 
 London : Morley Ernstein professed himself 
 rejoiced that Mr. Carr had come to town, and 
 spoke a few words for Juliet's ear alone, which 
 made the blood mount into her cheek.' Lady 
 Malcolm did not seem so well contented, how- 
 ever, and after breakfast she and Juliet consulted 
 together, sending Morley to see that everything 
 was ready for their immediate departure. Li 
 five minutes after, however, Lady Malcolm des- 
 patched her maid to call him back again, and 
 when he entered the little sitting-room of the 
 inn, he found that good lady standing ready to 
 speak with him, and bearing very much the air 
 of one who has something unpleasant to commu- 
 nicate, and does not well know how to do it. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 217 
 
 " My dear Morley," she said, " I have just 
 been talking to Juliet about you and her father ; 
 for on hearing that he had come suddenlj^ to 
 town, I began to be in a fright lest something 
 unpleasant might take place, if he saw you at 
 once as the acknowledged lover of his daughter, 
 before he is a little prepared " 
 
 "But, why — why ?" demanded Morley, with 
 some surprise. " If he had not come, I should 
 have gone down, as soon as Juliet herself left 
 town, to ask her hand at once. She is well 
 aware that such was my intention. Why should 
 anytliing unpleasant happen, my dear lady ?" 
 
 " That is what I was explaining to Juliet," 
 said Lady Malcolm. " A long time ago, there 
 was a sad quarrel between your father and 
 Mr. Carr — all about me, too, unfortunately — 
 and though the thing is passed by and gone, 
 my dear Morley, yet I think it would be very 
 much better if you would let us go up first, 
 and follow to-morrow, when I have seen Mr. 
 Carr, and explained the whole matter tq him. 
 Now do not look sad and discomposed; it is 
 only a precaution, but, depend upon it, it is a 
 wise one. He is an irritable, and a passionate 
 man, Mr. Carr, and, in the haste of the mo- 
 ment, he might say something v\4iich he vv^ould 
 
 VOL II. L 
 
218 MORLEY ERNSTETN. 
 
 never retract. But as I will manage it, all will 
 go right, depend upon it." 
 
 " But w^hat says Juliet ?" demanded Morley, 
 while that small dark cloud which we have 
 spoken of as announcing the tempests of tropi- 
 cal skies, now first appeared upon the horizon 
 of his owai happiness. " What says Juliet, Lady 
 Malcolm? I would fain speak wdth her. You 
 alarm and surprise me." 
 
 Lady Malcolm immediately called Juliet from 
 her room ; but she came in with so cheerful a 
 countenance, that the fears which had suddenly 
 taken possession of Morley's heart, disappeared 
 before its sunshine. 
 
 " What is this, Juliet," he asked, " that Lady 
 Malcolm tells me ? It seems," he continued, 
 " that she and you have determined to cut me 
 off from a day's happiness, dear Juliet ; and wish 
 me to stay here till you have seen your father ?" 
 
 " You are not angry with me for washing it ?" 
 said Juliet, giving him her hand, for he had 
 spoken in a tone of vexation. " If you are, you 
 shall come, Morley. But I thought what dear 
 Lady Malcolm proposed was much better. She 
 has explained to me the cause of my father's 
 crossness on that day w^hen first w^e met you, 
 which I never knew before. But I am sure that 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 219 
 
 if we have an opportunity of speaking with him 
 calml}'- and quietly, he will not oppose us in an}^ 
 degree. He never does thwart me, and the only 
 danger lies in taking him by surprise, and pro- 
 voking him to utter something harsh. When he 
 has said a thing, he adheres to it inflexibly, and, 
 therefore, I thought it much better not to risk 
 anything. — I tell you the whole truth, Morley, 
 as I ever will, and now, having done so, you 
 shall act as you like." 
 
 " Then I will stay here, Juliet," replied Mor- 
 ley ; " for as my whole happiness, depends upon 
 obtaining you, it shall never be said that any 
 rashness of mine whatsoever cast away the cup 
 of happiness when it was so near my lips. I 
 will not set off for London, then, until to- 
 morrow morning, for I fear, Juliet, I could not 
 keep myself awa}^, if I were in the same town 
 with you, and then I should never cease to re- 
 proach myself, if anything went wrong." 
 
 " Nothing will — nothing can !" said Juliet, 
 with a smile. 
 
 Lady Malcolm, finding that their plan was 
 settled, quitted the room for a moment; and 
 Juliet Carr, seeing that a slight shade of appre- 
 hension still hung upon her lover's countenance, 
 added — " Nothing will go wrong, Morley, de- 
 L 2 
 
220 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 pend upon it; and though I dare not make 
 any other promises, this, at least, I may ven- 
 ture to say ; the hand you have sought, Mor- 
 ley, shall never be given to any one else — 
 believe me, on my honour." 
 
 " I do believe you, dear Juliet," cried Morley, 
 enthusiastically — " I do believe you, from what 
 I feel myself; for I cannot think that those 
 who have loved as we have, could ever forget 
 that love so far, as, under any circumstances 
 or for any consideration, to enter into an 
 union with another than the person who first 
 possessed their heart. — I do not know why I am 
 apprehensive, Juliet, or of what ; but certainly 
 it is not lest you should give your hand to 
 another." 
 
 The half-hour that was to intervene before 
 the departure of Lady Malcolm and Juliet Carr 
 passed as rapidly as the half-hours of happiness 
 usually do ; and Morley Ernstein was soon left 
 alone to while away the time, amidst scenes 
 which had seemed full of joy and beauty. 
 
 There is a fine paper in the Spectator, from 
 the hand of Addison himself, upon the effect 
 which would be produced in the physical world 
 by the absence of the coloured rays of light, 
 showing the dull greyness that would spread 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 221 
 
 over the whole universe ; and certainly in the 
 moral world, the absence of those we love 
 produces the same effect. • How instantly does 
 all around us become changed? — how rapidly 
 does everything lose its brightness and its 
 glow? — how grey, how leaden, how heavy, 
 falls upon the eye every object in which w^e 
 took pleasure while the beloved were with us 
 when the light of love is gone. Morley had fan- 
 cied the scenery around him beautiful — he had 
 thought everything full of loveliness and bright- 
 ness ; but it was in truth Juliet Carr that he saw 
 reflected from all on which his eye rested ; it was 
 her beauty, her beaming countenance that he 
 beheld on the sunshiny sea, in the bright land- 
 scape, in every ride or drive around ; and now 
 that she was gone, all, things seemed, indeed 
 " flat, stale, and unprofitable." 
 
 In vain he sought for occupation or for amuse- 
 ment; his spirit was impatient, his heart was 
 apprehensive. Twenty times in the course of 
 the day, he felt angry with himself for not 
 accompanying Juliet to London — twenty times 
 he felt tempted to send for horses, and follow 
 her as fast as possible. 
 
 The day ended at length, notwithstanding all 
 its tediousness, and gladly did he see the follow- 
 
222 3IORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 ing morning break, and the horses brought to the 
 door. The coach went wondrous slow for his 
 impatience, and every stoppage seemed to him 
 an unpardonable crime on the part of the coach- 
 man. But the journey, as the tedious waiting 
 of the preceding day had done, and as everything 
 else, whether pleasant or unpleasant, must do, 
 passed away in the end ; and towards seven 
 o'clock, he found himself at the door of the 
 hotel. 
 
 On his table was a note from Lady Malcolm, 
 very brief, and evidently written in haste. The 
 few words which it contained were as follows: — 
 "My dear Morley, Pray come here directly. I 
 have a great deal to talk to you about ; Helen 
 Barham too is here, and has promised to stay 
 with and console me." 
 
 Morley Ernstein let the note drop out of his 
 hand, " To stay with and console her ! — Console 
 her, for what ?" he exclaimed. " In the name 
 of Heaven what has happened ?" and snatching 
 up his hat, he darted away to Lady Malcolm's, 
 with the speed of lightning, making no answer 
 to the waiter's demand of, " Dine at home to- 
 day, sir ?" 
 
 At Lady Malcolm's, the quiet appearance of 
 everything provoked him. The footman who 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 223 
 
 opened the door presented as calm a face, 
 answered with as easy a tone, and moved with 
 as slow a step, as if everything had gone on 
 in peace and happiness since Noah and his 
 train issued forth from the ark. Morley Em- 
 stein could not affect a tranquillity he did not 
 feel, and while the man was walking up the 
 stairs before him, as if his joints were becoming 
 ossified, the young gentleman suddenly pushed 
 past him, and entered the drawing-room un- 
 announced. 
 
 Lady Malcolm was seated quietly at work, 
 and Helen Barham was reading ; but, though 
 Morley looked round for the bright angelic face 
 of Juliet, and the less prepossessing one of Mr. 
 Carr, no such objects presented themselves ; and 
 the grieved, anxious expression of Helen's 
 countenance, as she raised her eyes and beheld 
 him, told at once that something painful had 
 happened, something which she knew would 
 distress him much. 
 
 " Oh, dear, I am so glad you are come !" ex- 
 claimed Lady Malcolm, " though I am sure I 
 do not know^ what is to be done — but you must 
 judge yourself" 
 
 "Where is Juliet?" demanded Morley, eagerly 
 interrupting Lady Malcolm — " where is Juliet, 
 dear Lady Malcolm ?" 
 
224 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 " She is gone," replied Ladj Malcolm; '^ Mr. 
 Carr would take her home with him, in spite of 
 all I could say. I explained the whole to him ; 
 and Juliet herself, I am sure, told him all ; but 
 he said nothing but 'hum,' and/ ha !' and in re- 
 ply, when I told him you would be here to-night, 
 he only grumbled that he was sorry, but could 
 not stay." 
 
 Morley was agitated far more than Lady Mal- 
 colm had expected. Love is blind in some 
 respects, and in moments of joy is very dull of 
 sight indeed ; but at the first touch of sorrow, 
 comes upon it a prophetic spirit which teaches 
 it to see the evil afar off, and shrink at the 
 anguish that too often besets its path. Morley 
 stood still in the middle of the room, without 
 attempting to take a seat, and looked steadfastly 
 down upon the ground, asking himself what he 
 should do next. 
 
 " My dear Lady Malcolm," he said, at length, 
 "you must forgive me for making my visit a 
 very hurried one. I can bear anything but un- 
 certainty, and I must set off immediately for 
 Yelverly." 
 
 " Not to-night !" exclaimed Lady Malcolm. 
 
 " Yes, this very night, dear lady !" replied Mor- 
 ley ; " I should not sleep five minutes if my head 
 
3I0RLEY ERNSTEIN. 225 
 
 were on the softest pillow in England ; so I may 
 as well pass the hours of darkness in my carriage 
 as anywhere else. I shall be at Morley Court 
 about mid-day to-morrow, and can see Juliet 
 and her father, and know my fate before another 
 night pass over my head." 
 
 " Oh ! it will all go very well," said Lady 
 Malcolm ; " do not be afraid, my dear Morle}^ 
 If you but consider, you will sec that Mr. Carr 
 will never be so foolish as to make any difficulty. 
 He thinks of nothing on earth but money, you 
 know, and in that point he certainly cannot ob- 
 ject to you." 
 
 Morley smiled sadly, but still with some re- 
 newal of hopes, and he answered : " Well, we 
 shall see; but at all events I cannot bear uncer- 
 tainty, and will go away at once." 
 
 " Nay, nay," rejoined Lady Malcolm — " stay 
 a little ; here is your young friend Helen Bar- 
 ham, to whom you have not said a word." 
 
 Morley felt that he had been unkind, and 
 going round, he took Helen's hand. It was as 
 cold as marble ; and, as she looked up in his 
 face, it was with an expression that struck him 
 much, and carried him away for a moment from 
 the selfishness of his own sorrow. The look was 
 not a grave one ; on the contrary, it was intended 
 L 3 
 
226 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 to be cheerful ; but the forced smile, the eyes 
 that were full of sadness, the quivering of the 
 lip and nostril, betraying a struggle against tears, 
 all spoke of grief at heart ; and Morley, after 
 conversing with her for some little time, went 
 away from Lady Malcolm's house, saying to 
 himself — as I have had occasion to say more 
 than once — although he saw nothing of the 
 feelings that he commiserated, except that they 
 were sorrowful — " Alas, poor Helen Barham !" 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 227 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 It was at Yelverly, on a summer's evening, but 
 not upon one of those bright evenings which I 
 have described in another place. The weather 
 had sadly changed, with all the mutability of 
 temperature which manifests itself so strangely 
 in England, as if for the purpose of affording a 
 contrast to the firm and constant character of 
 the people. The sky was covered with grey 
 clouds, the wind was from the cold north-east, 
 sweeping sorrowfully over the fields and through 
 the hedge-rows round Yelverly; and that which 
 had seemed sunshiny, rich, and beautiful, was 
 now to the eye all cold, sad, and desolate. The 
 cattle gathered themselves under the shelter of 
 the hedges, the sheep drew close together, the 
 birds sat motionless upon the boughs, and some 
 
228 WORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 wheeling flights of crows, high up in the sky, 
 added to the autumnal-look which had so sud- 
 denly come over the world. 
 
 Notwithstanding the inauspicious aspect of 
 the afternoon, Jnliet Carr had wandered forth 
 with a shawl wrapped close over her fair bosom 
 to keep out the rude touch of the blast, and 
 her veil thrown over her head and face. Her 
 heart was somewhat sad, as may well be sup- 
 posed, for she had been suddenly separated, 
 without the slightest expectation of being so, 
 from him that she loved best on earth. But 
 still, though her mind was not of a very sanguine 
 or hopeful nature, and her feelings were as 
 deep and keen as ever dwelt in woman's heart, 
 yet she was no more than sad, for not one word 
 had passed her father's lips to make her think 
 he would absolutely disapprove of her union 
 with Morley Ernstein. He had remained per- 
 fectly silent upon the subject: somewhat gloomy, 
 indeed, but nothing more ; and that gloominess 
 Juliet thought might, perhaps, proceed from a 
 feeling of indisposition, for the fatigues of the 
 journey had brought on an attack of illness, 
 which, though not alarming, was severe. 
 
 To see him suffer, of course, had not lightened 
 the load upon his daughter's heart ; more espe- 
 
MOtlLEY ERNSTEIN. 229 
 
 cially as, at such moments^ he repelled every 
 effort to soothe and comfort him. Indeed, it 
 was clear that, in sickness^ he preferred being 
 attended by any one else than Juliet; and 
 the sight of her, whose appearance was hailed 
 in the cottage of the poor as the visit of a 
 consoling: ansel, seemed rather to affect Mr. 
 Carr, in his hours of illness, with painful and 
 unpleasant feelings. It was not that he was 
 cross or morose with her, for it was scarcely 
 possible for any human being to be so ; and, 
 on the contrary, he was usually much more 
 gentle with her than with any other person, 
 seeming to pay a sort of deferential respect to 
 her opinion, which sometimes sui^rised even 
 Juliet herself. But when he was ill, he had 
 always some excuse ready for sending her awa}^, 
 and this was so marked that she perceived it, 
 and perceived it with sorrow. 
 
 Such had been the case on the present occa- 
 sion. Juliet and her father had arrived the 
 day before, at Yelverly, Mr. Carr feeling him- 
 self at the time extremely unwell. His illness 
 had increased considerably during the night ; 
 and Juliet, though evidently not much to 
 his satisfaction, had remained attending upon 
 him during the whole day. Towards evening, 
 
230 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 however, he became more impatient ; and upon 
 pretence that it was better for her health to take 
 exercise, he insisted upon her going out — re- 
 minding her, that the cottagers on different parts 
 of the estate had not seen her for some weeks. 
 
 Juhet, at the time I have brought her before 
 the reader's eyes again, had strolled out to 
 one of the distant hamlets which belonged 
 to her father, had called at two or three of the 
 houses, where no slight joy and satisfaction had 
 greeted her arrival, had seen that all which 
 could be done to promote the happiness and 
 comfort of the poor had been executed during 
 her absence, and was walking home again, with 
 a heart somewhat sorrowful, when she heard the 
 sound of a horse's feet proceeding at a rapid pace 
 along the highway hard by. She was at this 
 time in one of the small green fields that I have 
 mentioned, about a mile and a half from Yel- 
 verly house, and was crossing the meadow by a 
 foot-path running from one corner to another, 
 which was terminated by a gate and stile leading 
 to the main road. 
 
 Juliet's heart beat at the sound of that horse's 
 feet, she knew not well why, for manifold were 
 the horsemen who rode along that road, and not 
 a few of them went at the same rapid and im- 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 231 
 
 patient pace which those footfalls indicated; 
 but yet her heart beat with the thought that it 
 might be Morley Ernstein ; and, though it was 
 very natural that she should so think, for love is 
 as full of hopes as fears — rapid, causeless, wild — 
 yet she scolded herself for entertaining idle ex- 
 pectations, when she had no right whatever to 
 suppose that Morley could have followed her 
 so soon. 
 
 Juliet looked eagerly forward as she approached 
 the stile, before which the horseman must pass, 
 and in a moment after, the figure of Morley 
 Ernstein himself flitted across like lightning, 
 mounted on the same splendid horse which 
 he was riding when they met under the walls of 
 his own park. He turned not his head to the 
 right or to the left, little dreaming that Juliet 
 was so near; and though she would have 
 given a world to call to him, knowing right well 
 that Yelverly was the object of his ride, and 
 that he would be sadly disappointed at not find- 
 ing her there, yet a feeling of modest shame 
 withheld her till it was too late. 
 
 Quickening her pace to look after him, how- 
 ever, Juliet approached the stile rapidly ; but 
 just as she reached it the clatter of the horse's 
 feet for a moment incj^'cascd, then ceased alto- 
 
232 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 gether — it seemed to her very strangely ; and 
 when, throwing open the gate, with a beating 
 heart, she looked down the road in the direc- 
 tion which Morley had taken, she saw the horse 
 just struggling up from the ground, and her lover 
 lying motionless beside it. 
 
 Juliet screamed not, she paused not, she 
 uttered not a word, but darted on like light- 
 ning. The horse was all cut and bleeding, 
 shewing with what a shock he had fallen ; but 
 the poor animal, as if with generous forgetful- 
 ness of his own suifering, after the first trembling 
 gaze around him, bent down his head to the 
 prostrate body of his master, seeming to en- 
 quire why he lay there so still and silent. 
 
 Oh, how cold was the heart of Juliet C^rr, 
 when coming up she looked upon the motionless 
 form of him she loved best on earth, and asked 
 herself— "Is he dead!" She knelt down, she 
 raised his head, she gazed upon his face. It was 
 covered with dust from the road, but there was 
 no blood. The fine expressive eyes were closed, 
 the teeth were hard set ; but as she looked upon 
 him he drew a deep breath. There was still 
 life! and her first words were — "Praise be to 
 God !" 
 
 Just at that moment, clear and gay, came the 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 233 
 
 merry note of some peasant boy, as he whistled 
 across the lea. Sad, sad were those merry 
 somids to the ear of Juliet Carr, and yet they 
 brought the hope of relief, for the place was at 
 the distance of half a mile to any dwelling- 
 house, and she feared to leave Morley lying 
 there while she ran to procure help. Advanc- 
 ing to a gate a little further on, she looked into 
 the field, and saw the boy whose wild nmsic she 
 had heard, coming slowly and heavily along, 
 with some instrument of husbandry upon his 
 shoulder, and beckoning him eagerly to her, 
 she sent him away to the nearest cottages to 
 procure all the assistance that he could. 
 
 In the meanwhile she remained by the side of 
 him she loved, gazing down upon him with eyes 
 from which the te«rs now began to drop fast, and 
 watching with faint hope for some sign of re- 
 tiu-ning consciousness. She made some efforts, 
 too, to call him to life herself: she untied the 
 handkerchief that was round his neck, she 
 opened the collar of his shirt, she brought some 
 water in her fair hands from a neighbouring 
 stream; and, kneeling down beside him, sprinkled 
 his brow ; and, as she did so, Juliet looked ti- 
 midly around to see if any one was near, and 
 then pressed her lips upon his forehead and 
 dewed it with her tears. 
 
234 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 Morley moved not, however, even at the 
 touch of love, though he still breathed ; nnd 
 in about a quarter of an hour four men came 
 down, bringing a hurdle from one of the 
 neighbouring fields. Upon it Morley Ernstein 
 was laid, and the men, lifting him up, under 
 Juliet's direction, carried him to Yelverly, the 
 boy leading the horse, which had never at- 
 tempted to stir from the spot. 
 
 Arrived at the house, Morley Ernstein was 
 carried up stairs and laid in the room which 
 had been inhabited by Lieberg, Juliet accom- 
 panying the people who bore him thither, and 
 casting aside the consideration of everything 
 else but the one great object of doing all in her 
 power to restore him to life. A man was 
 instantly despatched on horseback for a surgeon, 
 and Juliet hastened to tell her father what had 
 happened, and to seek his approval of her 
 conduct. 
 
 She found, however, that the news had been 
 already communicated, but what surprised her 
 more was to find a stranger seated by her 
 father^s bedside. He was a sickly-looking young 
 man — but to spare further description, I may 
 add, that though a stranger to Juliet, he is not so 
 to the reader, being no other than the brother of 
 Helen Barham. The young man started up 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 235 
 
 somewhat awkwardly, for he had been little 
 used to the society of ladies, and had not those 
 qualities in his own character which enable men 
 of fine minds to assimilate themselves rapidly to 
 what is higher, nobler, and more graceful in the 
 mind and demeanour of others. 
 
 Juliet's pale face and haggard look, while she 
 told her father of the accident which had oc- 
 curred, did not escape the old man's eyes, and 
 he fixed a keen and searching look upon his 
 daughter's countenance which pained Juliet, and 
 added other apprehensions to those which she 
 already entertained. 
 
 '* I think, Juliet," he said, as she concluded, 
 " that you might have taken him to some cot- 
 tage nearer than this house, and not have put 
 me to all the expense and trouble of having 
 him here." 
 
 "Oh, my dear father!" exclaimed Juliet, 
 turning away with a sad and reproachful look ; 
 but Mr. Carr, who displayed in general a de- 
 ference for her opinion, which he did not evince 
 for that of any one else, cried out quickly, "Well, 
 well, Juliet, the thing is done now and cannot 
 be helped ; we uuist make the best of it." 
 
 At that moment one of the maids entered 
 the room with a quick step, saying, " Miss 
 Carr — Miss Carr ! there's Mr. Langley, the 
 
236 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 surgeon, up at the rectory, with Mrs. Lee the 
 rector's wife." 
 
 " Send for him directly," cried Juhet, follow- 
 ing the maid out of the room — "lose not a 
 minute, Jane." 
 
 The girl hastened away herself, and in about 
 ten minutes more the surgeon was in the house. 
 Juliet accompanied him to the room where 
 Morley Ernstein lay, and watched with anxiety — 
 which may have been deeply felt by those who 
 love, but can never be described even by those 
 who have felt it — the long, the terribly long ex- 
 amination on which hung the hopes of life and 
 death. She uttered not a word ; she breathed 
 not a sigh ; she was so still in that intense 
 anxiety, that she not only felt but could hear 
 her heart beating. 
 
 The surgeon turned round, at length, and 
 looked at her, seeing then, for the first time, 
 that some deep feeling was busy in her bosom. 
 He spoke not to her, but bowed his head gently, 
 with a look of encouragement ; and then the 
 tears burst forth in floods from her eyes, and she 
 turned away towards the window. At the same 
 moment the surgeon drew from his pocket that 
 little case of instruments, the sight of which has 
 so often produced the shudder of mortal antipa- 
 thy on the manly frame — the operation of which 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 237 
 
 has with equal frequency plunged hearts full of 
 affection and tenderness into the bitterest agony 
 of earthly sorrow, or restored smiles and sun- 
 shine to the bright domestic hearth. 
 
 The lancet and the bandage were soon pro- 
 duced, and the red blood spouted freely from 
 the arm of the injured man. A minute or two 
 after, while Juliet w^as still looking forth from 
 the window, she heard a voice which made her 
 whole frame thrill. It was the rich melodious 
 tone of the lips of him she loved, but low and 
 softened ; and darting to the bedside, she cast 
 herself upon her knees, exclaiming, " Thank 
 God !— thank God 1" 
 
 Great indeed w^as the change which the flow- 
 ing of that blood produced. The dull heavy 
 aspect of life without intelligence was gone. 
 The clear bright soul had resumed its sway in 
 the mortal tenement, and looked out from the 
 window of the eye. 
 
 " Juliet, Juliet !" said Morley Ernstein, 
 " where am I ? Something has happened !" 
 
 But the surgeon held up his hand, saying, ^'Do 
 not speak. You must be kept perfectly quiet, 
 especially till the blood has flowed freely. This 
 will all pass away, but we must guard against 
 any fever. — Do not be agitated, my dear Miss 
 
238 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 Carr, all will go well^ I assure you. The only 
 thing that is necessary is quiet: and there- 
 fore I must now have the room cleared. Two 
 or three days of perfect tranquillity and con- 
 finement will remove all evil, except aches 
 and bruises. So you may rest satisfied, and 
 leave this gentleman to my care without any 
 apprehension." 
 
 "I will leave him for the present," replied 
 Juliet ; " but I must be his nurse, Mr. Langley. 
 I have known this gentleman from childhood, 
 and I am sure that Sir Morley Ernstein will 
 like my tending as well as that of any other." 
 
 " Better — far better — than any on the 
 earth," replied Morley, holding out his hand to 
 her, while the surgeon was busy binding the 
 bandage round his other arm. " To see you 
 near me, Juliet, is enough of itself to make me 
 well. — I remember now that my horse fell, but 
 how I came hither I do not recollect," 
 
 " We will tell you all that afterwards," re- 
 plied the surgeon ; " and if, in order to make 
 you well. Miss Carr must come back again," he 
 added, with a meaning smile, " I can have 
 nothing to say ; only she must leave you for the 
 present — for two or three hours at least. During 
 that time I must stay and watch you ; but 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 239 
 
 when I am sure that all is going on right, she 
 shall take her turn." 
 
 On leaving the room of Morley Ernstein, 
 Juliet proceeded at once to the chamber of her 
 father, to report the state of their young guest ; 
 for although she was almost sure to find, in any 
 communication with Mr. Carr, something to 
 shock and pain her, yet she struggled against 
 the repugnance naturally engendered by his 
 words and demeanour, and overcame, from a 
 sense of duty, every inclination to conceal from 
 the eyes of her parent the feelings of her own 
 heart. 
 
 Had she found her father alone on the present 
 occasion, all that she felt towards Morley Ern- 
 stein would undoubtedly have been poured forth ; 
 but William Barham was still with him, and 
 Juliet saw with some apprehension that Mr. 
 Carr s face was flushed and feverish. He was 
 irritable too, and spoke angrily of her having 
 been so long awa}^ She listened with patience, 
 and made no reply, but informed him of the 
 state of Sir Morley Emstein, and told him the 
 surgeon's opinion, that the young baronet would 
 soon be well. 
 
 " I wish, my dear father," she added, in the 
 end, " that you would see Mr. Langley your- 
 
240 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 self. You do not seem at all better, and as he 
 is now in the house, it would be wiser to con- 
 sult him." 
 
 *^ If he will not charge it as a visit to me," 
 said Mr. Carr, " I shall have no objection. But 
 I am not going to pay him for doctoring me 
 when he is getting paid for his time by this 
 young Baronet." • 
 
 " Then I will send him, sir," said Juhet, and 
 mucli reason had she to be glad that she had 
 persuaded her father to see the surgeon ; for 
 it proved that Mr. Carr was more seriously ill 
 than he imagined, and the recovery of Morley 
 Ernstein was much more rapid than his own. 
 Nevertheless, more than one week passed before 
 the young Baronet was suffered to quit his room ; 
 and the situation of Juliet Carr, it must be owned, 
 was somewhat strange, not only in "relation to 
 Morley, but also in relation to WiUiam Barham, 
 who, at Mr. Carr*s request, continued to reside 
 in the house. 
 
 All the cold proprieties of society — the icy 
 fetters with which the evil acts of the bad have 
 contrived to chain the warmest affections of the 
 generous and the good — did certainly from time 
 to time present themselves to the mind ol 
 Juliet Carr, and acted, in some degree, as a 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 241 
 
 check upon her. But that degree was a 
 very small one. Her heart ^Yas too pure, her 
 mind too candid, all her intentions and all her 
 thoughts too high and holy for evil in any 
 shape to present itself to her imagination ; 
 and that which she herself knew not to be 
 wrong, she could with difficult}^ believe would 
 be represented as wrong even by a harsh world. 
 
 Many hours of the da}'^, then, did she t;pend 
 with Morley Ernstein, cheering him, soothing 
 him; and the onW restraint that she did put upon 
 herself was to ensure that those hours were not 
 passed with him alone — so long, at least, as he 
 was confined to his own chamber. There was 
 always some servant in the room with her — not 
 a little to Morley's annoyance, if we may say 
 the truth — but two or three gentle words from 
 Juliet, explaining to him her reason?, convinced 
 him that she was rio-ht. lie loved her too well 
 to wish that, for his sake, she should do anything 
 which might bring one reproach upon his future 
 wife. 
 
 Still those hours were most sweet to both 
 of them — perhaps not the less sweet for tlie 
 slight restraint under which they laboured ; for 
 there are times, as every one must have felt, 
 when the partial indulgence of our feelings 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
242 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 gives greater delight than even the full enjoy- 
 ment, as the slight airy haze which sometimes 
 covers a landscape makes it seem more beau- 
 tiful than it would appear, unveiled and distinct. 
 The time soon came, however, when he could 
 come down to the drawing-room, and sit with her 
 there alone, but it was only during one day that 
 " he enjoyed that privilege, for William Barham, 
 Vv'ho had previously remained almost entirely 
 in Mr. Carr's room, except in those hours when 
 he was rambling over the country round, now 
 contrived to intrude his society continually 
 upon Morley Ernstein and Juliet, although 
 it must have been very evident to him that his 
 company was anything but pleasant to them, 
 and although he himself always seemed ill at 
 ease in the presence of the 3'oung Baronet. 
 
 On their first interview, as may be well sup- 
 posed, Morle}^ was not a little surprised to find 
 him in England, and at Yelverl}^ ; but the ac- 
 count of his shipwreck was soon given, and his 
 appearance there was explained by the old 
 friendship of Mr. Carr for several members of 
 his family. After some questions on these sub- 
 jects, Morley paid little or no attention to him, 
 except as an annoying restraint upon Juliet and 
 himself In order to free himself from such a 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 243 
 
 check, Morley urged the surgeon vehemently 
 to let him go out .sooner than the man of 
 healing was inclined to permit. At length, 
 however, the prohibition was taken off; and 
 that very day the lover accompanied Juliet Carr 
 upon her morning walk. But of the walk 
 itself, and of all that followed, we must speak 
 in another chapter. 
 
 m2 
 
244 MORLEY ERNSTEIX. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Love is certainly a strange and wonderful power, 
 affecting all things, within us and without us, 
 by its own magical influence, brightening all 
 things, calling forth beauty from all things, 
 bringing out infinite variety from objects that 
 would otherwise be tame and full of sameness, 
 and impressing with the stamp of immortal 
 memor}", feelings, thoughts, and words that 
 seem the most evanescent, light, and transitory. 
 Morley and Juliet walked on with love for 
 their sole companion ; but, oh ! how that sweet 
 comrade of the way enriched with marvellous 
 splendour the calm fields of Yelverly. But not 
 only for them did he produce changes, but in 
 them also were wonderfid alterations effected. 
 The lovely countenance of Juliet Carr, always 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 245 
 
 full of deep and high expression, now became 
 the mirror of all the thousand emotions that 
 trembled in her bosom. It was like a beautifid 
 lake, rippled by the gentle wind of an April day, 
 which wafted over it innumerable bright gleams 
 and soft shadow^s, rendering it not only lovely 
 in itself, but lovely in its varieties. The sun- 
 shine was predominant, though there were still 
 some clouds, as I have said, for where can there 
 be vast hopes without light fears ? and though 
 Juliet knew not what it was she apprehended, 
 yet, from time to time, there was a doubt came 
 over her to soften the feeling of joy, like the 
 flattened third, which will often throw into a gay 
 piece of music a tone of melancholy, which 
 renders the whole far more touching. 
 
 She knew not, as I have said, what she 
 doubted or what she feared ; and perhaps such 
 fears as she did entertain might arise only from 
 that uncertainty of the stability of any human 
 enjoyment which is implanted in the deepest 
 depths of man's heart — a voice, as it were, from 
 the tomb, telling him that all in this unstable 
 world must perish and })ass away — the brightest 
 hopes, the warmest feelings, the fondest affec- 
 tions, purposes, desires, enjoyments, must know 
 decay as well as every other earthly thing, as 
 
246 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 well as every leaf, and flower, and bright 
 form, and beautiful conception, and give place 
 to things of other unknown worlds, which, we 
 may fondly trust, are more stable than any of 
 the joys of this. It might be that impression of 
 the mortality of all this earth's beings that 
 made Juliet Carr, even in the midst of love 
 and joy, feel the faint shadow of some undefined 
 apprehensions cross the sunshine of her mind 
 from time to time. Nevertheless, the summer 
 of love was not less bright, the harvest of joy 
 not less abundant. 
 
 With Morley Ernstein that bright dream of 
 youth was warmer and more glowing still, and 
 he would have called himself completely happy, 
 had it not been that fate still left that something 
 to be wished for which accompanies us from the 
 cradle to the grave — which is an absolute ingre- 
 dient in all the happiness of this earth where 
 fruition is but a point, and which leads us on to 
 that grand state of being where everything is 
 eternal, whether it be joy, and hope, and love, 
 or pain, remorse, and despair, — that something 
 to be wished for, the great main-spring of 
 human action and endeavour, without which 
 the senses, and the heart, and the brain would 
 all stand still, like a clock run down, — that 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 247 
 
 something to be wished for, which leads us 
 sweetly on from the soft days of infancy, when 
 we clutch with feeble efforts the daisy in the 
 grass, through the flowery paths of love, through 
 the noble but more laborious ways of a high 
 ambition, unto the bed of death itself, where, 
 still beyond the tomb, the higher, holier object 
 stands, and the something to be wished for is 
 seen, at length, in the infinite promises of 
 Heaven ! 
 
 That there was something to be wished for, 
 that the hand of Juliet Carr was not yet his, 
 that it was still the object of hope and expecta- 
 tion, could scarcely be said to diminish the en- 
 joyment of Morley Ernstein ; but yet his eager 
 nature, the fiery and impetuous spirit, of which 
 I have so often spoken, was at that time in full 
 ascendancy, and did not suffer the calmer, the 
 more placid spirit of the soul, to rest satisfied 
 with that tranquil happiness which he possessed, 
 and which might have lasted for many a day 
 longer, had he not grasped at more. He was 
 anxious to know his fate, he was anxious to call 
 Juliet his own, and he pressed her vehemently 
 to communicate at once to her father the love 
 that existed between them, and to beg his sanc- 
 tion of their immediate union. 
 
248 MORLEY ERNSTEm. 
 
 There were contending emotions in Juliet's 
 breast, there was a timid shrinking from the 
 task of avowing her love to any one but him 
 who possessed it, and yet a reluctance to with- 
 hold any part of her confidence from her father, 
 even for an hour. Had it not been for this latter 
 feeling she would have urged Morley to wait 
 patiently for some time, to stay till Mr. Carr 
 was no longer oppressed and irritated by sick- 
 ness, to enjoy the bright present, and not to 
 rush too rashly into the dim future; but the 
 thought of duty intervened, though she did 
 hesitate in some degree, saying — 
 
 " My fother is still very unwell, Morley, and 
 I really do not know whether I shall have any 
 opportunity to day ; for that youth is now con- 
 tinually with him, and not only that, Morley, 
 but when he is sick he seems so impatient of 
 my society, and, in spite of all that I can do to 
 soothe and please him, sends me so soon away, 
 that whatever I have to say to him I am gene- 
 rally compelled to say abruptly. Now, dear 
 Morley, I could not enter upon this subject 
 abruptly — at least, it would be v^^ith very great 
 pain that I did so." 
 
 Nevertheless, Morley Ernstcin still pressed his 
 request, and Juliet, not grieved but agitated, 
 
MORLEY EilNSTElN. 249 
 
 consented to do what he wished, and returned 
 with him to the house, thoughtful, silent, and 
 with steps somewhat wavering and uncertain. 
 
 " It must be done, some time, dear Juliet," 
 said Morley, after they had entered the man- 
 sion, " and it were better done at once, my be- 
 loved. I will wait for you here ; and, oh ! come 
 back to me, Juliet, with bright looks and happy 
 tidings." 
 
 Morley Ernstein remained alone in the draw- 
 ing-room, and he had not been there five 
 minutes before he began to think that Juliet 
 was long in returning. He then walked up and 
 down the room, and looked out of the wdndow^ ; 
 and then there was the sound of a closino; door, 
 and Morley Ernstein listened for Juliet's step. 
 A step, indeed, was heard, but it was not that of 
 her he loved ; and, in a minute or two after, 
 he saw William Barham issue forth from the 
 porch, walk slowly up between the yew^ trees, 
 and, passing through the iron gate, stop to 
 speak, for a moment, with one of his (Morley's) 
 grooms, wdio had brought a horse over for him 
 from his own house. After that the young man 
 walked on, and Morley Ernstein sat down and 
 tried to look at a book. He neither saw one 
 letter of the printed page, nor one line of the 
 m3 
 
250 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 engraving that illustrated it, and he soon closed 
 the volume again, and resumed his impatient 
 pacing up and down the room. 
 
 A quarter of an horn' went by — half an hour 
 came to an end, and, muttering, " Surely some- 
 thing must be the matter," Morley opened the 
 drawing-room door. There came a low mur- 
 muring sound from the chamber of Mr. Carr, 
 as if two persons were conversing eagerly, and 
 in the tone of one of them Morley recognised, 
 at once, the voice of Juliet. Although the door 
 between Mr. Carr's room and the passage pre- 
 vented what was said from being heard, Morley 
 instantly drew back, lest even a word should 
 catch his ear ; but he was not destined to remain 
 long in supense. A moment after, the door of 
 Mr. Carr's room opened and closed, and the 
 step of Juliet Carr was heard in the passage. 
 But where was its elastic lightness ? Where the 
 quick and bounding tread with which she used 
 to seek the room where Morley Ernstein waited 
 her. 
 
 She came slowly, seemingly sadly. He could 
 bear the doubt no more, and once more going 
 forth, he looked up the passage in the direction 
 of Mr. Carr's chamber. Juliet was there, but 
 she was pale, trembling, supporting her half- 
 
3I0RLEY ERNSTEIN. 251 
 
 fainting steps by laying her hand upon the 
 cornice of the old wainscot, and with her bright 
 eyes deluged in tears. As soon as she saw him, 
 she made an effort and came forward more 
 quickly, and Morley, throwing his arm around 
 her, drew her into the drawing-room and closed 
 the door. He pressed her to his bosom, he 
 asked her again and again, in a tone of wild 
 anxiety, what it was that grieved her ; but Juliet 
 continued to hide her face upon his breast, and 
 weep in silence for several minutes, speech, and 
 almost thought, seeming for the time denied to 
 her. 
 
 At length, however, she sobbed forth a few 
 inarticulate words. They were merely — " It is 
 all in vain, Morley — it is all in vain ! I can 
 never be yours. I have promised not to stay 
 with you either — I must leave you, to see you 
 no more ;" and again her face, which she had 
 raised for a moment to speak, fell upon his 
 bosom, and her eyes deluged it with tears. 
 
 " God of Heaven !" cried Morley Ernstein, 
 " what is the meaning of this, Juliet ? I must 
 not — I cannot — I will not, lose you so ! To what 
 can your father object ? With what can he find 
 fault, in myself, my fortune, and my station ?" 
 
 *^ It is not that — it is not that !" cried Juliet. 
 
25'2 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 '' It is ancient hatred, Moiiey — it is other 
 plans, other designs. Oh, Heaven ! that my 
 father should ever have a share in causing you 
 such grief!' 
 
 " Grief, indeed !" cried Morley Ernstein. 
 " But will you, Juliet — will you suffer yourself 
 to be the means of inflicting such grief upon 
 me. Juliet, you must not, you cannot act so. 
 You are pledged and plighted to me. You are 
 mine, my beloved, and I w^ill never forego my 
 claim upon your hand. Oh, Juliet ! if you love 
 me, if you have ever loved mc, you will not fail 
 me now in this hour of terrible trial. Juliet, 
 you must consent to be mine at all risks, and 
 without the consent of any one, if that consent 
 is withheld upon such unworthy grounds- .If 
 one word can be brought against my character 
 and reputation, if it can be shewn that I have 
 done anything in life base, dishonourable, or 
 wrong, I will submit, not without agony, but 
 without a murmur. But, Juliet, if such is not 
 tlie case, and if you have no reason to believe 
 that I am unworthy of you, you have a duty to 
 perform to me as well as to others, and, dear 
 Juliet, I call upon you, by every tie of love 
 and affection, to perform it at once. You have 
 no right, Juliet, to be the means of trampling 
 
MORLEY EP.NSTEIN. 253 
 
 upon my heart ; to doom all my future years to 
 misery and solitary despair, to take away all the 
 brightness of my youth, and but to bless me for 
 a moment in order to make me miserable for 
 ever. Fly with me, Juliet — fly with me ! Once 
 united, your father will readily forgive a step to 
 Avhich he himself drove us. Fly with me, and 
 
 be mine at once ." 
 
 As he spoke he pressed her closer to his 
 bosom, but Juliet drew back and disengaged 
 herself from his arms, still leaving her hand in 
 his, however. "Morley, it must not, and it 
 cannot be," she said. " What ! would you have 
 Juliet Carr fly from the house of her sick father, 
 for the purpose of Adolating his express com- 
 mands ? Oh, no, Morley ! — no, that can never 
 be. You would despise me if I did it. But 
 that is not the only obstacle, Morley ; there are 
 a thousand things that you will learn too soon, 
 which would render it impossible for me to give 
 you my hand now, even were I willing to forget 
 my duty to my parent. Oh, no, no," she con- 
 tinued, while the tears which had ceased for a 
 moment again burst forth from her eyes — " the 
 time will come when you will hate me, Morley, 
 when you will abhor the day that you first 
 knew anything of me or mine. That — that is 
 
254 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 worse than anything to bear — to think that you 
 should ever have cause to look upon the day 
 that you met Juliet Carr, as the most unfortu- 
 nate of your life." 
 
 Morley Ernstein gazed upon her for a 
 moment in silence, puzzled by the words she 
 uttered ; but at length he said — " What is it 
 you mean, Juliet ? — You are going to give your 
 hand to another ! Oh, Juliet Carr ! beware, 
 beware ! Think upon the responsibility you 
 draw upon your own head. Remember, you 
 not only blast my happiness and peace for ever, 
 but you take from me all confidence in virtue — 
 all belief in honour — all trust in human love ! 
 You drive me to vice, to wickedness, perhaps to 
 crime ; you plunge me into that whirl of dissi- 
 pation and folly, which is the only resource for 
 reckless, hopeless, trustless despair. — Juliet, you 
 are going to wed another, and ruin both your- 
 self and me !" 
 
 " Never, never, never !" cried Juliet, vehe- 
 mently. " Morley, you do me wrong ; indeed, 
 indeed you do ! I call that God to witness, 
 whose will I believe I am obeying in sacrificing 
 my own happiness to the commands of my 
 parent, that no consideration upon earth shall 
 ever induce me to give my hand to any other 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 255 
 
 man ; that I will love you ever, dear Morley, to 
 the last hour of my life, that I will pray for you 
 as for a brother dearest to my heart, and that, 
 when death shall free me from a world where 
 there is nothing but sorrow before me, you shall 
 have a token to know that my affection was 
 unchanged even to the last hour. I ask nothing 
 of you, Morley, in return," she continued, after 
 a moment's pause — " I ask nothing in return, 
 but that you should try never to think harshly 
 of poor Juliet Carr ; to separate her acts in 
 your mind from the acts of others, and, if you 
 have ever loved her and esteemed her truly, to 
 remember her but for the purpose of keeping 
 yourself firm and steadfast in all those high and 
 noble principles that shed around you a glory 
 in her eyes which shall never pass away from 
 the picture that memory will supply of the only 
 man she ever loved. Let me ever hear of you 
 with pride and pleasure, Morley. Let me hear, 
 too, of your being happy — as happy as the cir- 
 cumstances will ])ermit. Yes, Morley," she 
 added, laying both her hands gently upon his 
 arm, " happy with another, who may love you, 
 perhaps, nearly as well as I do, and who may 
 render your future life brighter than I can do. 
 Oh, yes Morley! yes, you were not formed 
 
256 MOHLEY ERNSTEIN, 
 
 for solitary existence. You were formed for 
 giving and receiving happiness, and night and 
 day will I pray that it may be your lot, and that, 
 whatever course of life you pursue, you may 
 ever be remembered amongst the great, and 
 good, and happy." 
 
 Morley cast himself down in a seat, and hid 
 his eyes with his hands ; not that they con- 
 tained a tear, for they burned in his head like 
 living coals, but to shut out, as it were, the ter- 
 rible and confused images that flitted before his 
 sight as a vision of the future. 
 
 "Farewell, Morley," said the voice of Juliet, 
 sadly and solemnly, as if she was speaking on 
 the bed of death — " farewell, Morle}^ — farewell 
 for ever !" 
 
 Morley Ernstein started up and caught her 
 again to his bosom. Tears came then to his 
 relief, he kissed her again and again with agony 
 which those only can conceive who have known 
 what it is to part for ever with those that they 
 loved best on earth. Juliet wept, too, in silence 
 for a moment, and then again murmuring — 
 " Farewell !" she tore herself from him, and 
 darted away. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The chilly wind that sighed in long heavy 
 gusts over moor and fell and wild grass-covered 
 mountain, the damp rawness of the air, the 
 heavy clouds that lay detached in strange- 
 shaped masses upon the edge of the distant 
 horizon, all told that the sweet season of the 
 summer was come to a close, and that the world 
 was dropping into the old age of the ^^car. 
 
 In the northern parts of England, the sum- 
 mer often seems to go out, as it were, at once, 
 and autumn, especially towards sunset, puts on 
 the chilling aspect of the winter. But the 
 moment at which I choose to open this chapter 
 was hcyond that of sunset by some hours, and 
 the traveller who rode alone through a wild, 
 bleak part of Northumberland, appeared, by the 
 
258 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 rapidity of his pace, to be eager to arrive at 
 some place of shelter for the night. Such, 
 however, was not the case ; and hltle did that 
 traveller care at what hour he reached the home 
 to which his steps were bent, for despair was in 
 his heart, and all was barren. The cheerful 
 hall, the blazing hearth, the gay banquet, the 
 familiar faces, were all to him cold, and lifeless, 
 and not less desert than the wild hill-side over 
 which he now took his impetuous way. 
 
 The fresh and beaming countenance of Morley 
 Ernstein, which but a few short months before, 
 when he was first introduced to the reader, 
 breathed health, and strength, and energy, was 
 now pale, and anxious, and depressed. The 
 air, the bland expression of youth, was gone, 
 sorrow and disappointment, and strong pas- 
 sionate thought, had set the seal of mature life 
 upon his brow. Every touch of early years and 
 fresh inexperience was done away, and any 
 one who could have looked upon his counte- 
 nance would have said that six or seven-and- 
 twenty years must have passed over his head, 
 rather than the shorter, brighter count of one- 
 and-twcnty. 
 
 Though the night was chilly and raw, as I 
 have stated, it was not dark ; a grey film indeed 
 
MORLEY ERN9TEIN. 259 
 
 covered the sky, composed of cold damp 
 vapours, driven hastily along by the keen wind. 
 But beneath was the moon, which was now near 
 the edge of the horizon, and which not only 
 afforded a considerable portion of light, even 
 when her broad disk was not seen, but from 
 time to time glanced through the hurrying 
 clouds, and glared, large, and cold, and wan 
 upon the traveller's eye. 
 
 Still he rode forward along the sandy road, 
 now having nothing before him but the dim 
 forms of the hills over which his way lay, cut- 
 ting upon the sky, now catching a glimpse 
 of some distant tower or village steeple, rising 
 black and sad above the horizon for a moment, 
 and then sinking into the confused darkness of 
 all around, as he dashed onward. At length 
 the light-coloured sand, which had marked out 
 the road, became mingled with some darker 
 substance, and the path he was following was 
 thenceforth scarcely to be distinguished. The 
 speed of the traveller, however, was not relaxed, 
 and with that sort of recklessness which bitter 
 disappointment brings with it, instead of striv- 
 ing to guide his horse he let the rein float loose 
 upon the animal's neck, thinking — " He will 
 find his way — and if not, it matters little." 
 
260 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 He was thus crossing an open moor at a rapid 
 rate, when a faint cry of some kind struck his 
 ear. He paid no attention to it, hoAvever, think- 
 ing that it proceeded from some wild bird of 
 night, startled from its marshy nest by the 
 sounding feet of his horse ; and rode quickly 
 on, still plunged in his own thoughts, when 
 suddenly the beast that bore him shied wildly 
 from some object at the side of the road, and 
 Morley Ernstein, catching up the rein, drew the 
 animal in, and turned his head towards the thing 
 that had frightened him. He then heard the 
 voice of a child, apparently crying bitterly, and 
 although he had become by this time reckless 
 and careless of himself, the better part of his 
 heart's feelings was still untouched, and, spring- 
 ing to the ground, he approached the spot where 
 the little wanderer sat. 
 
 Morley found there a boy of about four years 
 old, who at first made no answer to his mani- 
 fold questions but by tears. At length, however, 
 he made out that the poor child was crying for 
 some one whom he had lost, and whom he 
 called " Annie ;" but difficult indeed was it to 
 discover where or how this person was to be 
 found. All that the boy could tell was, that he 
 had left her " by the fire," and Morley in vain 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 261 
 
 Giicleavoured to discover v.liere the cottage lay 
 to the fire in wliicli he iiincied the poor child 
 alluded; the urchin still replying to all en- 
 quiries that he had left Annie by the fire. 
 
 " Well, my boy," said Morley, in a kindly 
 tone, ''shall I take you to seek for Annie?" 
 and the child, instantl}^ starting up, held out his 
 hand. " I will take you up before me on the 
 horse," continued the gentleman, and the boy 
 shewed anything but unwillingness, exclaiming 
 — " Harry did that." 
 
 The young gentleman accordingly remounted, 
 takmg the little fellow up on the pommel of the 
 saddle. " Now, which wa}^ shall I turn, my 
 man ?" he said. But the boy could give him 
 no information ; and he rode on, determined to 
 place the child in safety at the next village, 
 and then to send out different persons to en- 
 quire for his parents. Proceeding more slowly 
 than he had hitherto done, Morley advanced 
 across the moor, the undulations of the ground 
 preventing him from seeing beyond a few hun- 
 dred yards around him. At length a bright 
 glare suddenly burst upon his sight, rising over 
 the slope before him, and a moment or two 
 after he came in sight of one of those immense 
 fires of waste coal, which mark out the edges of 
 
262 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 pits in the North. The flame rose up many 
 yards in height, waving to and fro, as the keen 
 wind drove it, and canopying itself with a 
 cloud of lurid smoke, while below appeared the 
 intense glow of the fire, spreading over some 
 twenty or thirty feet of ground. 
 
 " There — there's the fire !" cried the boy ; 
 " Annie's by the fire — Annie's by the five !" 
 and Morley, beginning to comprehend what the 
 poor baby meant, pushed his horse onwards 
 towards the glare, though it was not without great 
 difficulty that he forced the animal to approach 
 it. No human form, however, appeared by the 
 light, and the boy, after seeming somewhat 
 bewildered, exclaimed — " No, it is not there — 
 no, it is not there. — It is the other fire." 
 
 At the same time he pointed with his hand 
 towards the east, and Morley, following that in- 
 dication, turned his horse once more upon the 
 road. As soon as he had issued forth from the 
 bright red light that spread around, he perceived 
 a faint glow at some distance, in the direction 
 towards which the boy had pointed ; and, as he 
 rode onward, he found that he was approaching 
 another of the pit-mouths, where a still larger 
 pile of waste coal than that which he had before 
 seen was blazing up into the sky. Before he 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 263 
 
 reached it, however, the road dipped down 
 into a little ravine, and as he followed its course, 
 losing sight of the fire for a moment, he heard 
 the voice of lamentation, and a moment or two 
 afterwards some one from the top of the bank 
 exclaimed, in a tone of agony — " Have you 
 found him, Harry ? — have you found him ?" 
 
 Morley drew in his horse. " If it be of a 
 child you are speaking," he cried, raising his 
 voice, " I have just found one on the moor. 
 He is quite safe, and I will bring him round to 
 the fire in a minute." 
 
 The voice which had spoken made no reply, 
 but in a moment or two after, Morley's horse 
 carried him again within sight of the pit-mouth, 
 which was still at the distance of three or four 
 hundred yards. B}^ the light of the burning 
 coal, he beheld a female figure walking about 
 with gesticulations which he easil}^ conceived to 
 be those of grief; but it was evident that the 
 person whom he there saw could not be the 
 woman whose voice he had heard from above, 
 when he was in the ravine. He rode on, how- 
 ever, towards the fire, and was again saluted by 
 the name of Harry as he came up, though, the 
 moment after, the mistake was perceived, and 
 the old woman, for such she was, who stood by 
 
264 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 the blaze, drew back a step or two, as if in- 
 clined to avoid him. No sooner did she behold 
 the child, however, than she darted forward, 
 and held ont her arms, exclaiming, with a wild 
 cry of joy — " He's saved ! — he's sav^ed !" 
 
 The young gentleman lifted the boy gently 
 down to her, and then dismounted himself, not 
 a little interested in all that he saw ; and, to say 
 the truth, at that moment Morley Ernstein was 
 not a litde glad to find that any subject upon 
 eardi could afford him matter of interest even 
 for a moment ; for the dull and heav}^ load of 
 despair was upon his heart, and, not an hour 
 before, all the things of life had seemed in his 
 eyes to have become light and valueless when 
 put in the balance against that ponderous 
 weight. 
 
 The woman's first impulse led her to kiss the 
 child again and again, even before she offered 
 any thanks to his restorer. The boy also 
 shewed not a little joy at finding himself again 
 in the arms of the old woman, and by the terms 
 of endearment which he applied to her, Morley 
 discovered that it was herself he had wished to 
 designate by the name of Annie — by which, 
 probably, he meant Granny. While he stood 
 and gazed, however, at the joyful meeting. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 265 
 
 between old age and infancy, the group was 
 joined by another person, who seemed more 
 deeply affected than even the old dame. It 
 was a young woman of some three or four- 
 and-twenty years of age, who noAv came running 
 at full speed from the bank above the ravine, 
 and she, too, without noticing Morley, caught 
 the child to her bosom, pressing it close, and 
 kissing it a thousand times. The young Baronet 
 did not doubt for a moment that she was the 
 boy's mother, for only a mother's heart could 
 prompt such emotions as he there beheld. 
 
 When she had given vent to her feelings for 
 a moment or two, however, she set the child 
 down beside her, still holding it tight by the 
 hand, and turned to gaze in silence upon Morley 
 Ernstein, in which occupation the old woman 
 was already deeply busy. 
 
 Morley returned the enquiring looks of both; 
 for, to say the truth, he was somewhat surprised 
 at the reception which he met with, and that not 
 the slightest word of thanks or gratitude was 
 proffered by either of the women for that which 
 they evidently conceived to be a very great 
 service. He could understand, indeed, that the 
 elder woman might, either from natural rude- 
 ness or from timidity, be unwilling or unable to 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
266 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 express her thanks, for she was plain and homely 
 in her attire, and in her appearance altogether, 
 and was evidently a person of the lower orders. 
 The younger woman, however, was not only 
 pretty, graceful, and dressed in a style very 
 much superior to her companion, but was dis- 
 tinguished by a lady-like and intelligent look, 
 which seemed to promise a mind capable of 
 comprehending what was due to her child's 
 deliverer, and of expressing it easily and well. 
 Both, however, gazed for more than a minute at 
 Morley Ernstein without speaking, and then 
 turned their looks enquiringly towards each other, 
 as if doubtful what to say or how to act, and at 
 length the younger drew the elder aside, and 
 spoke to her for a moment or two in a whisper, 
 while Morley Ernstein looked around him, not 
 a little surprised at everything that he beheld. 
 
 Morle}^ was imacquainted with that part of the 
 country, having never visited his northern estates; 
 and the sight of those immense fires, blazing in 
 the midst of the night, surrounded b}^ wild moors 
 and naked hills, was calculated in itself to excite 
 an imagination unusually rich and active, while 
 the meeting with those two women in the midst 
 of so desolate a scene, with not a trace of human 
 habitation, except a low, miserable shed of turf. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 267 
 
 which he saw not far from the mouth of the pit, 
 and some of the machinery for raising coal, 
 which lay at no great distance, supplied plenty 
 of materials for fancy to work upon. Their 
 strange manner, too ; the contrast between the 
 appearance of the one and that of the other; 
 their deep emotions at recovering the child, and 
 yet their seeming ingratitude to him who re- 
 stored it; were all matters of curious speculation, 
 and for the time diverted Morley's mind from 
 the thought of himself. 
 
 " I will stay and see what comes of all this," 
 he said to himself " Occupation must now be 
 my great object in life, the deadening of re- 
 membrance and regret, the striving for forget- 
 fulness. I may as well take the matter for fresh 
 thoughts wherever I find it. — I will pass the 
 night here, it will be better than the dull soli- 
 tude of Warmstone, where I should have nothing 
 but bitter memory for my companion." 
 
 As he thus communed with himself, the mur- 
 mured conversation between the two women 
 was brought to an end, and the younger one 
 advanced towards him, still speaking a word or 
 two more to the other, " No, no, mother," she 
 said, " he is not one of those ; I know such sort 
 of people better than you do. They may put on 
 n2 
 
268 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 the clothes of a gentleman, but they never look 
 like him. This is not one of them, depend upon 
 it. See how he stands ; you never saw a thief- 
 taker stand like that." 
 
 The old woman made no reply, and the 
 young one continued addressing herself now to 
 Morley Ernstein. " I am ver^' much obliged to 
 you, sir," she said, " and thank you a thousand 
 times for saving my child, and bringing him 
 back to me. He strajed away from his grand- 
 mother while she fell asleep by the fire, and we 
 feared that he might have fallen into some old 
 pit. I am very much obliged to you, sir, 
 indeed, and thank you with my whole heart !" 
 
 As she spoke, she made Morley a low and 
 graceful courtesy ; but he replied, " Is iiot 
 your husband looking for the child? — What 
 you said to me from the top of the bank, when 
 you first heard my horse's feet, made me think 
 so, at least." 
 
 " He is looking for the boy, sir," answered the 
 younger woman, " but he will soon be back 
 again. — I am very much obliged to you, sir ;" 
 and again she made a low courtesy, as if to 
 intimate that she wished the conference to come 
 to an end. But Morley did not choose that such 
 should be the case, and he exclaimed — ^'1 will go 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 269 
 
 and seek for him. He is doubtless anxious about 
 the child, and may very likely not return for 
 long, unless he knows that the boy is found." 
 
 " Oh, he will return — he will return ! — there is 
 no fear, sir," replied the younger woman. " He 
 is anxious enough, poor fellow, no doubt ; but 
 he will soon return, I am sure." 
 
 " You had better go away, young gentleman — 
 you had better go away," cried the old woman, 
 chiming in, with a more peremptory tone ; 
 " they are wild people in these parts, and you 
 can do no good by staying here, and may do 
 harm. You had better go awa}', I say, for this 
 is no place for ^-ou — nor for me either," she 
 added, in a lower tone. " I was never born for 
 all this." 
 
 I have attempted to shew before, that the 
 mind of Morley Ernstein was not very suscep- 
 tible of fear; and though there was certainly a 
 sort of menace in the tone of the old woman, 
 his curiosity was but the more excited, and he 
 replied, without hesitation — " Oh, dear, no ! 
 You had better let mc go and look for him. It 
 is the way of this world, where a man who 
 hay lost one thing nmst always go and help his 
 neighbour who has lost something else." 
 
 " I think you are laughing at us," said the 
 
270 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 younger woman, gravely ; " and I tell you, too, I 
 wish you would go, sir. It may be better for you 
 if you do. If you have really lost anything, and 
 any one here has found it, it shall be sent back 
 to you." 
 
 " I am not laughing at you, my good lady," 
 replied Morley ; " what I have lost is my way, and 
 I meant that I was going to call your husband 
 back to his, when I have lost my own. Thus 
 it was myself I was laughing at, if at any one. 
 But the truth is, having, as I said, lost my 
 way, I am about to ask you for shelter here 
 during the night, as I must have, by the best 
 calculation I can make, some sixteen or 
 seventeen miles, if not more, to ride to my 
 own home." 
 
 " Shelter here !" cried the old woman, look- 
 ing at him eagerly, and even sternly — "what 
 sort of shelter do you expect here, young man ? 
 Is this a place to seek shelter, or are we people 
 that can give it ?" 
 
 " I really do not know," answered Morley 
 Ernstein. " I certainly thought that such a 
 thing was possible, or I should not have asked 
 it ; there seems a cottage there " 
 
 Before the old woman could reply, there 
 came the sound of a horse's feet approaching at 
 
 I 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 271 
 
 a quick pace, and the boy's mother, catching him 
 up in her arms, darted away hke lightning to- 
 wards the spot where she had first been stand- 
 ing when met by Morley Ernstein. She seemed 
 to reach it before the horseman, and Morley 
 could just hear her exclaim — '*He is safe, 
 Harry — he is safe ! — Wait till I come down to 
 you! — Do not come on, I have something to 
 say." 
 
 The horse apparently paused ; for two or three 
 minutes no other sound was heard from that 
 quarter; and Morley would have been left to 
 pursue, uninterrupted, his meditations upon the 
 somewhat peculiar position in which he found 
 himself placed, had not the old woman who 
 stood beside him urged him somewhat eagerly 
 to mount his horse and ride away. 
 
 " You don't look like a bad man," she said, 
 " and you are certainly a young one, and it's a 
 pity to risk a fresh and happy life for an idle 
 whim. If you had seen as much sorrow as I 
 have, you might very well sport with danger ; 
 but now, I tell you fairly, you are hazarding 
 your life for nothing." 
 
 " I have seen sorrow enough, my good 
 dame," replied Morley, " to care very little 
 about life ; but I believe, as you say, it were 
 
272 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 better not to risk it. We have no right to do so 
 in this world ; God gave it to us for others, as 
 much, if not more, than for ourselves. I will 
 take your advice, then, and go." 
 
 Thus saying, he put his foot in the stirrup, 
 mounted, and turned the rein to ride away ; 
 but he could not make up his mind to go fast, 
 for the idea of flight from any sort of danger 
 was unpleasant to him. Before he had gone 
 two yards, then, the sound of the other horse's 
 feet was renewed, and a moment after he saw a 
 stout man, mounted on a powerful grey, come 
 round by the road which he himself had fol- 
 lowed, and approach at a quick pace towards 
 the fire. 
 
 The young Baronet felt that a struggle 
 might be approaching of a somewhat desperate 
 character, and he grasped his riding-whip by. 
 the middle, without any sensation of fear, cer- 
 tainly, but with that degree of emotion which 
 every one must experience at the prospect of 
 coming strife. Without taking any apparent 
 notice of the new comer, however, he pursued 
 his way in the direct course, which he had at 
 first taken, and which brought him within about 
 ten yards of the path along which the other was 
 now approaching. 
 
HORLLY ERNSTEIN. 273 
 
 Morley rode on, but as they crossed each 
 other, the child's father drew up his horse, and 
 seemed to gaze at the young Baronet atten- 
 tively. He then said, " Good night !" to which 
 Morley replied by exactly the same salutation, 
 still riding on. The next instant, however, 
 the other exclaimed — " Holloa ! Sir Morley 
 Ernstein ! You must give a word to an old 
 acquaintance, after bringing us back the babe !" 
 
 n3 
 
274 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The old and vulgar proverb — that misfortune 
 makes us acquainted w^ith strange bedfellows, is 
 true in more senses than in one ; for it not only 
 brings us into contact with persons that we 
 should never otherwise have met, but it makes 
 us seek companionships which nothing else, 
 perhaps, could have produced. To be reco- 
 gnised in such a tone, in such a place, might at 
 any other time have made Morley Ernstein start 
 •with some surprise; but now he drew in his 
 horse calmly and deliberately, and turned to- 
 wards the man who addressed him, very little 
 caring, to say the truth, who was the person, or 
 what was his trade. In the meanwhile the 
 other approached, and the light of the fire was 
 sufficiently strong where they stood to shew 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 275 
 
 Morley a countenance that was familiar to him, 
 but which, for a moment, he could not connect 
 in memory with any particular circumstance or 
 situation. 
 
 ^ '* Ay, you don't recollect me, sir," said the 
 man ; " and you saw me only in a place which I 
 should not think of mentioning anywhere else 
 than where we now stand — nor, indeed, for that 
 matter, should I take the liberty of claiming 
 acquaintance with you here, only it can do you 
 no harm, and 1 wish to thank you for bringing 
 back the babe." 
 
 While he had been speaking, the man's voice led 
 Morley's mind back, by the paths of remembrance, 
 to the point in the past which referred to their 
 first meeting. " I recollect you now, Mr. Mar- 
 tin," he said ; " but, to say the truth, we are at 
 such a distance from the spot where we last saw 
 each other, that you took me by surprise. So 
 this was your child I found upon the common. 
 How did it happen to stray so? The poor 
 thing might have perished in such a night as 
 this." 
 
 " True, sir — true !" replied Harry Martin, for it 
 was that bold, and somewhat unscrupulous per- 
 sonage with whom Morley now stood face to 
 face, " True, sir — true, the boy might have 
 
276 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 perished, and with him my only tie to life. No, 
 not my only tie either, for there is my poor 
 girl, Mary, I must think of her a bit, too, though 
 I often fancy she would be better off if I were 
 gone. She would have been better off, sure 
 enough, if she had never known me ; but, how- 
 ever, she loves me, and I love her, dear little 
 soul ; and though I know you gentle people and 
 others think that we in our way of life have 
 little or no feelings of any kind, but just to 
 drink and smoke, and fight a main of cocks, or 
 something of that sort, yet it is not altogether 
 so either, and we can love our wife, or our 
 sweetheart, or our child, just as much as the 
 best in the land. I know one thing, that if we 
 had lost the babe, it would have broke my heait 
 outright, though I can remember very well 
 the time when I did not care anything about 
 children, and thought they would only be a 
 bother to one ; but, somehow, since I had one 
 of my own, I have got very fond of it, and I 
 don't know how it is that fondness has made 
 me think very differently of many other things 
 too. So you see, sir, I am very much obliged 
 to you, — only there is one favour I'll ask of you, 
 which is not just to mention that you have seen 
 me here ; for the beaks are after me for a little 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 2^7 
 
 job 1 did some time ago, and I think of taking 
 a swim over the herring-pond as a volunteer, 
 for fear, as they say on board the ships, they 
 should make me work my passage to Heaven by 
 pulhng at a rope's-end." 
 
 "I will certainly not mention it, Martin," 
 replied Morley ; " but I should like to hear 
 something more of you. I asked that young 
 woman, who is, I suppose, your wife, and her 
 companion, to give me shelter in the cottage for 
 this night, having got somewhat out of my w^ay, 
 and being, I fancy, some sixteen or seventeen 
 miles from Warmstone Castle." 
 
 " Not so far as that, sir — not so far as that," 
 said Harry Martin ; " but, nevertheless, you 
 shall be welcome to stay if you like it. I know 
 I can trust you ; but the women did not know 
 who you were, and they are in a sad fright 
 about me, poor things ! I had left them, for an 
 hour or two, to go and look out for news ; but 
 my poor wife could not be satisfied, and as I 
 did not come so soon as she expected, went 
 away to meet me, leaving the boy with his 
 grandmother. The poor old woman was so 
 tired with all our dodging about for the last 
 two or three days, that she fell asleep by the 
 fire, and the boy strayed away after a will-o-thc- 
 
278 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 wisp, or something of that kind, I suppose. 
 But come. Sir Morley, if you Hke to stay with 
 us, we will do the best we can for you, though 
 what you call a cottage is but a hovel, and that 
 the two women must have. There are some 
 pitmen's cottages, however, two miles further 
 up on the moor ; but between you and I, bad 
 as they call me, you may rest more safely with 
 me than with them." 
 
 " I will stay by your fire, Martin," said Mor- 
 ley, dismounting and leading his horse back; 
 and in a few minutes more, after some formali- 
 ties and introductions of a particular kind, he 
 was seated in what may be called Harry Martin's 
 domestic circle, and in full conversation with 
 him, his wife, and mother-in-law. 
 
 He perceived that the elder woman looked at 
 him hard from time to time, and at length she 
 said — "I was stupid not to know you. Sir Mor- 
 ley, for you are so like your father. There is 
 something of your mother, too, about the eyes, 
 but you are more like your father." 
 
 ** I suppose you knew my father well, then ?" 
 answered Morley, looking at her steadfastly, in 
 order to see whethei: he could trace in her worn, 
 but still fine features, the countenance of any of 
 the dependents of his family whom he had known 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 279 
 
 in youth. It was in vain that he did so, however ; 
 the face of the old woman was quite unknown 
 to him, as her reply soon shewed him that it 
 must be. 
 
 ** Ay, I did know him well," replied the old 
 woman, "and a good man he was. I wish I 
 had always followed what he told me. It is 
 now about eighteen years since I saw him, and 
 then he said, very truly, that those who seek 
 riches by wrong means, are sure to find poverty 
 straight on their road." 
 
 " I certainly am sorry that you did not take 
 his advice," said Morley ; " but I trust you 
 were led to do nothing very wrong in opposi- 
 tion to his counsel." 
 
 " Tut, nonsense, granny !" cried Harry Mar- 
 tin ; *' you are doting with 3 our old stories. 
 What wrong did you ever do, if it was not 
 letting me marry your daughter ? You were as 
 good an old body as ever lived, and as thriving 
 a one, too, after you came back from India, till 
 both mother and daughter, I believe, fell in love 
 with a scapegrace like myself" 
 
 " I did not fall in love with you, Harry," re- 
 plied the old woman ; ^' but I thought you 
 better than you seemed, and, to say the truth, 
 better than you are. You were frank and free; 
 
S80 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 I believed you would be kind to my poor girl, 
 and, to do you but justice, you have been so. 
 But what I am talking about is many years 
 ago ; she was then a babe, not so big as little 
 Harry here, and I was the wife of Serjeant 
 More, a good man and a kind, but somewhat too 
 fond of money withal. Ay, it was a bad busi- 
 ness, that; but it is of no use thinking of it now. 
 I have not been in those parts, sir," she con- 
 tinued, " since I came back to England, and I 
 should like much to hear of all the people there. 
 Your father is dead', sir, I know ; pray, how is 
 your mother ? She was a beautiful creature !" 
 
 " Alas !" replied Morley, " she has been long 
 dead, too." 
 
 " Well-a-day !" exclaimed the old woman, and 
 then, after a pause, she asked — " and Mr. San- 
 derstead's family, sir — how are they? He was 
 just married then." 
 
 " He has now eight or . nine daughters, I 
 believe," answered Morley ; " I know the room 
 was full of them when I called there one 
 morning." 
 
 " Ay," said the old woman, abstractedly, 
 " and what has become of Lawyer Carr and his 
 wife ?" 
 
 Morley shrank, as if a rude hand had been 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 281 
 
 laid upon a fresh wound, but he replied, after a 
 moment's hesitation — " The old man is still 
 living, but his wife has been dead, I find, for 
 some years," 
 
 " Dead !— dead !" cried the old woman ; " and 
 is the child living — the daughter ?" 
 
 " Yes, she is," replied Morley, rising — " she 
 is living — Martin, I think I shall go on." 
 
 " Why, what's the matter, sir ?" said Harry 
 Martin, gazing on the young Baronet's face ; "a 
 minute ago you were all for staying, and now 
 you must be gone." 
 
 ** I am, perhaps, whimsical," replied Morley 
 Ernstein ; " I have become so lately. How- 
 ever, before I go, let me speak a word or two 
 with you on your own affairs. You talk of 
 going to America, if I understood you rightly. 
 I do not wish to hear why, or anything about it — 
 I can guess, perhaps ; but two women and a child 
 must be a burden to you under such circum- 
 stances. If they like to come up to Warmstonc, 
 while you make your escape, there is a vacant 
 cottage, I hear, from my agent, which they can 
 have, till they go to join you. Some furniture 
 can be sent down from the Castle, and if you 
 think fit, I will give full orders before I leave 
 
282 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 Warmstone, for I shall not be there more than a 
 day." 
 
 Harry Martin had risen while Morley was 
 speaking, and was gazing in his face, with an 
 expression in which doubt and suspicion seemed 
 to mingle with satisfaction. " I don't think you 
 would play me a trick, sir," he said, as Morley 
 concluded, " and yet it's strange enough, your 
 starting up in that way the moment the old 
 woman mentioned Lawyer Carr !" 
 
 Morley returned his gaze with a look of un- 
 mixed surprise. " I don't understand what you 
 mean," he answered; ''what have you to do with 
 Lawyer Carr? or Lawyer Carr to do with 
 you ?" 
 
 " Everything in the world," cried Harry Mar- 
 tin, knitting his brows, and stamping his foot — 
 " everything in the world — don't you know 
 that?" 
 
 It was the old woman who now replied, for 
 she seemed now the most astonished of the 
 party, and catching Martin by the arm, she 
 asked — " Is it old Carr, then, that you are afraid 
 of? He had better not touch a hair of your 
 head !" 
 
 " Nonsense — nonsense, granny !" said the 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 283 
 
 man ; " you don't understand what you are 
 talking about. But I see Sir Morley has not 
 heard of the job. Sir, I'm very much obhged 
 to you for your offer, and wont say No, but 
 will just talk to my wife about it after you are 
 gone, if it w^ould not be too much trouble for 
 you to give the orders upon the chance." 
 
 " 1 will not fail to have the place put in order," 
 replied Morley ; " and you may be sure that if 
 they do come, they shall be well taken care of. 
 As for yourself, Martin, I can offer you nothing, 
 for your own words have, of course, given me to 
 suspect that you have placed 3'ourself in a 
 situation which precludes me from affording 
 you shelter, or any sort of aid, except of a 
 pecuniary kind. I^ however, you are in want 
 of money, all that I have about me is at your 
 service." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Martin, with a light 
 laugh at the double meaning of that which 
 was about to spring from his lips ; " I am very 
 much obliged to you, but I do not want your 
 money, or I would have taken it, I can assure 
 you. — Though that is not true either," he 
 added; "I might have taken a stranger's, but 
 not yours. Sir Morley ; but the fact is, I don't 
 want money." 
 
284 MORLEY ERNSTEIX. 
 
 " Of that I am very happy," answered Morley ; 
 " but I cannot help expressing a regret, Mar- 
 tin, that you should adhere to a course so dan- 
 gerous as well as so evil. I thought, when first 
 I saw you, and think still, that you were in- 
 tended for better things, and might distinguish 
 yourself, and raise yourself high in a good and 
 honourable course." 
 
 The man he spoke to cast down his eyes, and 
 gazed musingly upon the ground for several 
 minutes, but he then replied — " Thank you, sir, 
 for your good opinion; but it's all nonsense 
 talking or thinking of such things now — it's too 
 late in the day to mend. The worst of the laws 
 of this country, and of what people call society, 
 is, that they never allow any man to get better. 
 A man may get worse in this world every day, 
 if he likes it ; the bad road is always open 
 before him, and plenty there are to drive him 
 on upon it. But if he tries to go back again, 
 sir, to the good road that he has left, there is 
 sure to be some one to bang the turnpike in his 
 face, and stop him ere he has got half a mile. 
 I cannot help thinking, sir, that it is a pity those 
 men who set about making laws and customs, 
 do not recollect that there is such a thing as 
 amending as well as punishing. I believe it 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 285 
 
 would be better for all of us if they did ; for 
 now, even a hardened scoundrel like myself, as 
 they would call me if I were in a prison to- 
 morrow, why, a very little thing would have 
 made me a better man at one time, and I don't 
 believe it would take very much even now. It 
 may be an odd thing to say, for a man who does 
 something wrong every day, that he never does 
 anything that is wrong without being sorry for 
 it very soon after it's done ; but ^^et it is true ; 
 and, even now, a word or two of encouragement, 
 such as you spoke to me just this minute, makes 
 me feel quite vexed with myself that I have not 
 gone in the right way instead of the wrong." 
 
 " There is some truth in what you say," re- 
 plied Morle}^, " that our laws and our customs, 
 in dealing both with man and woman, seem to 
 lose sight altogether of the great object of re- 
 formation. Terror is the only instrument we 
 use, and terror never yet reclaimed. Never- 
 theless, though the path back, Martin, nuist 
 always be more difficult and laborious than the 
 path onward, still I believe it may be trodden, 
 if a man have a strong heart and a good reso- 
 lution ; and I trust that, when you have made 
 your escape to another country, and are out of 
 danger altogether, you will think of what we 
 
286 MORLEY ERNSTEIN, 
 
 have been saying to-night, and will see whether, 
 in a new world, you cannot live a new life." 
 
 " On my soul and honour I will, sir !" replied 
 the man, eagerly. " I'll do my best, at all events. 
 I'll tell you w^hat it is. Sir Morley Ernstein — the 
 thing that ruins half of us is want of hope. 
 The least little bit of hope would very often 
 lead on a man to do much better, but we don't 
 get it, sir. Once we have done amiss, as the 
 world goes now, there's no object in stopping. 
 However, sir, I have had some encouragment, 
 and, as I said just now, I'll do my best, if I can 
 contrive to get off this time." 
 
 " I trust you may do both," replied Morley — 
 " I trust you may do both, my good friend, for 
 I believe that you are not without good feelings, 
 if they were well directed. But I will now go 
 on, and before to-morrow night the cottage shall 
 be all ready for your wife and her mother." 
 
 " Stay a bit, sir," said Harry Martin ; " I'll 
 walk up with you beyond the pitmen's hovels. 
 They are somewhat of a wild set, and some of 
 them may be stirring yet." 
 
 Morley threw the rein of his horse over his 
 arm, and walked on with Harry Martin by his 
 side. Most men would have considered it not 
 the safest sort of companionship in the world ; 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 287 
 
 but no idea of danger to himself crossed the 
 young Baronef s mind, and his thoughts, to say 
 the truth, were busy in a struggle which every 
 one must have endured who has felt for his 
 fellow-creatures. 
 
 Amongst all the pieces of casuistry which 
 man puts to his own heart, there is none 
 more difficult, I might say more painful, to 
 resolve, than the question of where lenity 
 should stop and just severity begin ; how far, 
 in short, compassion for an offender may be ex- 
 tended, without injustice to the innocent and to 
 society. I must not say that Morley felt a 
 strong inclination to aid the man, Martin, in 
 making his escape, for that was not altogether 
 the sensation which affected him ; but he did 
 regret sincerely, that what he owed to the laws 
 of his country, prevented him from aiding, in 
 the least degree, the flight of one whom he be- 
 lieved to be formed for better things, and in 
 whom he saw, or thought he saw, a tendency to 
 repentance, which would certainly lead to a 
 new course of life. Nevertheless, he felt that 
 he had no right to place his individual opinion, 
 his hopes or expectations, of the man's re- 
 formation in direct opposition to the law of the 
 land, and, consequently, he felt anxious to turn 
 
288 MORLEY ErxNSTEIN. 
 
 from the subject as soon as possible, though he 
 felt some difficult}^ m so doing. 
 
 Harry Martin himself, however, soon relieved 
 him by speaking first — " Pray, Sir Morley," he 
 said — " can you tell me what has become of 
 that young scamp, William Barham ? I saw him 
 after he escaped from being drowned — which he 
 never will be, if there's truth in the old proverb 
 — for he is as bad a youth as ever lived or 
 died unhanged. He partly put me up to this 
 last job, and then, when it was done, sneaked 
 out of the way somewhere, and I never could 
 get sight of him afterwards." 
 
 The recollection of the last time he had seen 
 William Barham was, as the reader may sup- 
 pose, agitating to Morley Ernstein ; but he 'was 
 more upon his guard upon the present occasion, 
 than when all the painful circumstances of his 
 fate had been suddenly recalled to his mind, a 
 few minutes before, by the questions of the old 
 woman. He paused for a moment, indeed, ere 
 he replied ; but he then answered calmly enough 
 — " Not many days ago, he was staying at the 
 house of Mr. Carr, at Yelverly." 
 
 " Ha !" replied his companion ; " the young 
 villain's betraying me ; he is fit to sell his own 
 soul, though it is not worth buying if he did ; 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. . 289 
 
 but he had better take care what he is about, 
 or I will break his neck for him." 
 
 " Do nothing rashly, Martin," replied Morley 
 Ernstein ; " he is, I believe, bad enough ; but 
 I have a faint recollection of having heard that 
 some connexion or other has been discovered 
 between him and Mr. Oarr — some relationship 
 or friendship between their parents — I forget 
 what; but, certainly, it had no reference to 
 you." 
 
 " I trust it has not," replied Martin, in the 
 same stern tone with w^hich he had before spoken; 
 but he still seemed dissatisfied, and continued 
 to walk by Morley 's side in silence, till they had 
 passed a long row^ of low^built cottages, and had 
 gone on for about half a mile on the moor. At 
 length he paused, and pointing on the road be- 
 fore him, he said — " That is your w^ay, sir. About 
 a mile on you wdll find a finger-post, Avith two 
 roads separating to the right and left ; take the 
 left-hand road, and follow it till you come to a 
 village, w^iere you must get further directions. 
 Good night, sir !" 
 
 Morley wished him good night, and was about 
 to proceed, but he thought he perceived a 
 degree of hesitation in the man's manner, which 
 made him pause for a moment. "You seem 
 
 VOL. II. o 
 
290 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 to liave something more to tell me, Martin," he 
 said; " speak without reserve, if you have." 
 
 " Why, there is a word or two, sir," replied 
 Harry Martin, approaching close to his horse's 
 side, and speaking in a low tone. " If things go 
 right with me, and I get away, it's all well and 
 good ; but you know, sir, matters may go ano- 
 ther way, and then the game's up. As for 
 dying, I declare, I care no more about it, than 
 about going to sleep ; but you see, sir, there's 
 my poor wife — she is as good a girl as ever 
 lived, and I don't know how or why it is, but 
 since we were married it has made a great 
 difference in me. I am not half so wild as I 
 was before ; and I have got a sort of tenderness, 
 if I may call it so, towards all women for her 
 sake. I believe it is, that I did not rightly 
 know what a good woman was before I married 
 her ; but it is very different now, and that is 
 the only thing that rests upon my mind. You 
 see, sir, she has never been used to hard work, 
 but has been brought up as a sort of a lady, 
 and if I were gone, what would come of her ? 
 I think, if I knew she would be well taken care 
 of, I should not care for anything in life." 
 
 *^Make your mind easy," said Morley, "though 
 I cannot exactly say what I should be able to 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 291 
 
 do for her under such circumstances; I will 
 promise you to see her estabUshed in some 
 honest way of hfe — some small school, or other 
 thing, that does not imply any severe exertion." 
 The man made no answer, but he grasped the 
 young Baronet's hand tight, in a way that was 
 not to be mistaken, and thus they parted. 
 
 o2 
 
292 MORLEY ERNSTEIN'. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MoRLEY Ernstein rocle on more slowly than 
 during the former part of his journey. His 
 mood was changed, another spirit had come over 
 him. It was no longer the rash, and reckless 
 vehemence of bitter, perhaps we might call' it 
 angry, disappointment, that tenanted his bosom ; 
 but it was the dark, sad, listlessness of a heart 
 which has given up all expectation for itself, and 
 only lives faintly in its sympathies with others. 
 If ever the poet's words w^ere made true, it was 
 in his case, for " black care did, indeed, sit be- 
 hind the horseman," and was his only companion 
 by the way. His mind rested frequently, it is 
 true, upon the fate and character of the man he 
 had just left, but it was with a vague, careless, 
 indistinctness of thought, veiy, very different 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 293 
 
 from the keen and eager scrutiny which he gave 
 to every phase of human life, in former times. 
 He thought too, occasionally, of himself — of the 
 change which he felt had come upon him — of 
 the lifelessness of the »world around — of the 
 painful memories of the past — of the dull and 
 cheerless prospects of the future. He asked 
 himself, what he should do to fill up existence ? 
 and he answered himself, with a bitter smile — 
 " It will pass somehow, I suppose ; and the space 
 which now seems long, wall probably then seem 
 short. Man's eye in youth is at the wrong end 
 of the telescope. It is in age that we see 
 clearly how short are the spaces over which we 
 have passed." 
 
 Thus musing, he wended on his way, his 
 journey being much like the life he con- 
 templated — dull, gloomy, dark, and long; but 
 yet, mile after mile, slipping away he scarcely 
 knew how. At length, he saw a faint redness 
 in the sky before him, but took little notice, 
 thinking that it was occasioned by another of 
 the waste coal-fires. It grew redder and redder, 
 however, and touches of warm yellow began to 
 brighten the edges of the clouds — 
 
 " Can it be morning already ?" he said ; but 
 
294 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 the clear grey which took place of the blackness 
 of night;, soon shewed him, that another day had 
 indeed begun. 
 
 A little more than an hour after dawn brought 
 him to a bridge over a small stream, but he 
 made his horse pass through the water, and 
 suffered it to pause to drink. As he did so he 
 gazed around him, and his eyes rested upon 
 a scene strongly characteristic of that part of 
 the country. 
 
 From the edge of the river stretched up a 
 small field full of ripe corn, which, notwith- 
 standing the advanced period of the year, had 
 not yet felt the sickle. Beyond, tlie land rose, 
 swelling gradually into a considerable hill, 
 about half way up which appeared an old grey 
 stone mansion, with a wide sort of park before 
 it, spreading down to the edge of the corn- 
 field, and covered with short grass. On either 
 side of the house, stretching half way down the 
 hill, with somewhat prim regularity of outline, 
 was seen a large, dark mass of wood, leaving 
 the open space of park lawn between, unencum- 
 bered by a single tree of any kind. The only 
 object that broke the calm, still regularity of the 
 scene was a group of fine deer, which trotted at 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 295 
 
 an easy pace across the park, as if seeking for 
 some other spot, where the herbage was richer, or 
 the sheltering fern more abundant. 
 
 The house itself was of a castellated form, 
 and a part of it had evidently been built at that 
 period when each man was obliged to hold his 
 own with a strong hand, and the sword of justice 
 was impotent to protect those who could not find 
 shelter within walls and battlements. Various 
 plans had been adopted to give modern comforts 
 to the ancient habitation ; windows had super- 
 seded loop-holes, and gardens had been laid out 
 where the spears once bristled and the cannon 
 roared. Morley did not in the least recollect 
 the mansion, for he had not seen it since he was 
 an infant; but, nevertheless, from the descrip- 
 tions which he had heard, he instantly recognised 
 the house he was in search of; and, finding his 
 way to a gate, he entered the park, and was soon 
 in the court-yard of his own dwelling. 
 
 Servants had gone down before him ; every- 
 thing had been prepared for his reception ; the 
 place looked as gay and bright as it was possible 
 to make it; and the time had been, not long 
 before, when Morley would have walked well 
 pleased through the long, wainscoted corridors 
 and quaint old rooms, — would have enjoyed that 
 
296 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 calm look of the past which ancient houses have 
 about them ; and might have compared it to the 
 tranquil aspect of a good old man at the end of 
 a happy life, and wished that his own latter day 
 might come with as little decay and as much 
 quiet cheerfulness. Now, however, he walked 
 straight to the old drawing-room, without look- 
 ing either to the right or left, and cast himself 
 down in a chair, each new thing which the 
 hopes of the past had linked to happiness in 
 the future, producing nothing but bitter pain, 
 now that the golden chain was broken by the 
 hand of disappointment. The first sight of the 
 old dwelling had instantly brought back the 
 bitterness to his heart, and the entrance into 
 his home only made him recollect that that home 
 was to be for ever companionless. 
 
 His old servant, Adam Gray, had followed 
 him, and marked his haggard eye and faded 
 cheek with pain. He sought for no explanation, 
 however — he w^anted none ; for, with the in- 
 stinct of old affection, he had divined the grand 
 cause of the sorrow he beheld, and cared little 
 for the minor particulars. It was wonderful, 
 too, how accurately the old man guessed the 
 course which grief and disappointment would 
 take with his master's mind. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 297 
 
 " I am afraid, sir," he said, " that you have 
 been up all night. Had you not better lie 
 down for an hour or two ? Your room is 
 quite ready, for we expected you last night, and 
 I waited up till two o'clock, thinking you might 
 come." 
 
 " I should not sleep, Adam," replied Morley ; 
 " and it is as well to remain awake where I am — 
 where there are things to employ the eyes upon 
 — as to shut out everything but thought, which 
 is not pleasant to me just now, good Adam. Let 
 me have some coffee, my good friend, and after- 
 wards I will walk round the place with you, for 
 I have something to give you in charge, Adam. 
 You must see to it yourself, after I am gone 
 away." 
 
 " Gone away, sir !" exclaimed the old man ; 
 *^ I hope you don't intend to go very soon. 
 There is a great deal to be done here, sir — a 
 great deal that would amuse and please you, I 
 am sure." 
 
 " It must be done by others,"answered Morley, 
 sadly; "I shall return to Morley Court to- 
 morrow morning. There I shall stay but a day 
 or two ere I set out for London. From London 
 I shall most likely go to the Continent ; but I 
 o3 
 
298 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 have not fixed upon any plan yet. Get me the 
 coffee, Adam." 
 
 It is a sad sign when, in youth — the period of 
 innumerable plans, when everything is to be 
 attempted, and nothing seems impossible — the 
 scheme of the future is left vague and unde- 
 fined. The prospects, the views, the purposes 
 may change every hour, and afford no indication 
 of anything but youth's bright eagerness ; but 
 still each hour must have its plan for the next, 
 or you may well pronounce the heart to be 
 vacant, desolate, or broken. It is my firm belief, 
 that the history of a man's past life, as far, at 
 least, as its happiness or unhappiness is con- 
 cerned, may almost always be told distinctly from 
 the plans he can form for the future. It is the 
 burden of disappointment that weighs down 
 the butterfl}^ wings of expectation that carry us 
 insects on from flower to flower. 
 
 The old man well understood that such is the 
 case ; and he grieved more at seeing his master 
 without plans and purposes, than at any of the 
 other signs of listlessness and sorrow which his 
 whole conduct displayed. He brought him the 
 coffee, then, in silence ; he laid out the breakfast 
 table with care ; he found a thousand little excuses 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 299 
 
 for lingering in the room ; and he watched his 
 master's countenance, with that sort of anxious 
 but humble attachment, which is rarely to be 
 found anywhere but in an old servant or a 
 faithful dog. For, alas ! truth and honour, and 
 true^ deep love, are jewels more frequently to be 
 found in the plain oak coffer than the gilded 
 casket. At length, he ventured to say, in a low 
 tone, as if it were more an involuntary obser- 
 vation he was making for his own relief, than in- 
 tended for the ear of the young Baronet — "Well, 
 I did not think Miss Juliet would have done so I" 
 
 Morley raised his finger sternly, with a knitted 
 brow, but he only said — " Leave me !" and the 
 old man, seeing that a touch upon the wound 
 was agony, quitted the drawing-room, sorry for 
 the words that he had uttered. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, Morley Ernstein 
 rose from his seat, and, with his hands clasped 
 together, and his eyes cast down, strode up 
 and down for several minutes, in bitter 
 meditations. Hitherto the feelings of heart- 
 broken disappointment — disappointment of the 
 best and brightest hopes of his existence — the 
 crushing of the sweetest, the tenderest, the most 
 elevating sensations of his heart, had been un- 
 mingled with any other passion. It had been 
 
300 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 alone deep sorrow — despair, if one will — but now 
 the w ords of the old servant threw in a new in- 
 gredient. 
 
 I have not represented the character of 
 Morlej Ernstein as a perfect one, for he was 
 anything but perfect, and now — to use what may 
 be considered a strange expression — one of the 
 most powerful weaknesses of man's nature was 
 called into action by finding that he was an 
 object of commiseration to others. Vanity, oh, 
 reader! — vanity, which lurks in some shape or in 
 some disguise in every human breast, perhaps 
 without exception — vanity, which is the spring of 
 more actions, good as well as bad, noble as well 
 as base, than have ever been catalogued to any 
 other author — vanity, which has made kings and 
 conquerors, prelates and statesmen, saints and 
 hermits — vanity, which has led men to the height 
 of pomp, and the low^est acts of humiliation, was 
 roused in the breast of Morley Ernstein by the 
 one sentence that old Adam Gray had spoken, 
 and took its course according to the peculiarities 
 of his character. He felt himself an object of 
 compassion, and he loved not to be so. There 
 was a feeling of being lowered, degraded, in 
 knowing that his misery had been observed 
 and pitied ; and he muttered to himself — 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 30 1 
 
 *^ This must not be : I shall have my tale of 
 disappointment sent over all the world. I shall 
 be called love-sick, broken-hearted ; I shall be 
 laughed at by unfeeling puppies, commiserated 
 by sentimental girls, and scorned by the cold and 
 calculating, who know nothing of life but its ma- 
 terial things. Though she has contrived to make 
 my existence desolate, and to chill the warm 
 fountain of my heart's blood into ice, yet I must 
 not suffer myself to become an object of con- 
 tempt or neglect. I must move and act in this 
 world as if it still had matters of interest for me. 
 1 must taste of pleasure, since I cannot taste of 
 happiness ; and I must have occupation, amuse- 
 ment, gaiety, as I cannot have calm tranquillity 
 and domestic joy. T, too, will do as others do — 
 make my face a mask for my heart, teach my 
 voice to become but as an instrument of music, 
 to give forth what sounds art may make me 
 seek to produce, and shut up my spirit with all 
 the fetters of disappointment heavy upon it, as 
 an unseen captive within the prison of this 
 earthly frame. Such shall be my scheme of 
 life ; and, come what may, I will follow it with 
 the stern determination of one who can find for 
 the future no obstacle in all the things of a 
 world, which is now become a place of emptiness 
 
302 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 and vanity in his eyes, no guiding channels for 
 his conduct in those customs and usages which 
 have lost their importance for ever. I am afraid, 
 however," he continued, "that I spoke some- 
 what harshly to that poor old man. Heaven 
 forbid that I should give him pain ! — There is 
 nothing upon earth of sufficient value to justify 
 us in making even a worm writhe." 
 
 Morley Ernstein sat down, drank some of the 
 coffee, more to shew that he had used the 
 breakfast things set down before him than from 
 appetite, and then rang for his old servant. 
 It was another, however, who now appeared, 
 and Morley had to send for Adam Gray, not 
 indeed with the intention of referring at all to 
 the stern answer he had given, or to anything 
 which had passed, but merely to evince towards 
 him that kindness and confidence which he knew 
 would be the best atonement for any harshness. 
 
 " Now, Adam," he said, in a tone not cheer- 
 ful indeed, but less gloomy than before, " shew 
 me which is my dressing-room, and while I 
 shave and change my clothes, you shall give me 
 some account of all the wonders of Warmstone. 
 Then you shall take a walk with me round the 
 place, and we will talk of the disposal of one or 
 two of the cottages that are vacant." 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 303 
 
 The old man was well pleased ; and, standing 
 bj his master's side, while he dressed and re- 
 freshed himself after his long night's ride, Adam 
 Gray, with some degree of loquacity, which, 
 though not inseparable from age, is its very fre- 
 quent companion, proceeded to relate and com- 
 ment upon a thousand little particulars which 
 he had remarked since his arrival at Warmstone 
 three or four days before. He believed firmly that 
 he was driving from his master's mind some 
 painful remembrances, though, to say the truth, 
 ere he had pronounced a dozen sentences, Mor- 
 ley's mind was far away, and the words were 
 gathered by his ear, bearing but a small part of 
 their meaning with them, like over-ripe corn 
 which drops the grain ere it be garnered. 
 Occasionally, indeed, he saw that the old man 
 paused for an answer, and to satisfy him he re- 
 plied at random, sometimes successfully as far 
 as sense went, but sometimes with words totally 
 inapplicable to what had gone before, and then 
 Adam Gray explained again, and Morley was 
 obliged to listen more attentively. 
 
 At length his toilet was concluded, and, 
 taking his hat and gloves, he sauntered forth, 
 followed by the old servant, half a step behind. 
 It was a pleasant, but somewhat cold day, for the 
 
304 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 time of year, and strange were the sensations of 
 the young gentleman as he strolled forward 
 over the short turf, gilded by the autumnal 
 sunshine, with the woods just beginning to 
 grow brown upon their edges, resting calm in 
 the tranquil noontide, and an antique soli- 
 tude of aspect spread over the whole place. 
 Guided through the tall oaks and beeches on 
 the right, Adam Gray led him to the old plea- 
 sure grounds of the castle, where high walls of 
 thick black yew, trimmed with the utmost 
 neatness, flanked broad gravel walks, and pro- 
 tected from the wind various formal beds of 
 flowers, which, though well kept, and not se- 
 lected amiss, were shewing a good deal the 
 hand of autumn. Half way down the principal 
 walk was a small grassy mound with a sun-dial, 
 on one side of which was inscribed the name of 
 some former proprietor of the castle, who had 
 erected it, and thus thought to save himself 
 for a little from oblivion, while on the other side 
 was inscribed a quaint old rhyme, shewing the 
 vanity of all temporal things, as if intended as 
 a curious comment on the vain memento of the 
 opposite face. 
 
 A few yards beyond the time-teller appeared 
 the first living thing which Morlcy had seen 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 305 
 
 since he issued forth from the house. It was 
 an old gardener, who seemed in shape to have 
 imitated the sun-dial, with the erection of which, 
 it is probable, his birth was coeval. He was habited 
 in a longwaisted coat, with broad flaps and 
 large pockets, and his breeches, which scarcely 
 covered his knees and mounted no farther than 
 his hips, displayed a portion of a coarse, but very 
 white shirt about his stomach, and were fast- 
 ened with large silver buckles just above the 
 calves of his legs. Similar buckles of still 
 vaster dimensions appeared on his shoes, and 
 the costume was completed by a pigtail and a 
 low-crowned broad- brimmed hat. He was hale 
 and hearty, though upwards of eighty-five, and 
 his profession was marked by the spade on 
 which he leant, and which had been familiar 
 with his hand for more than two-thirds of a 
 century. 
 
 Reader, will you forgive me when I acknow- 
 ledge, that this antique gardener has nothing to do 
 with our history ; but yet I could not forbear giv- 
 ing you this little picture of a sort of being which 
 has passed away for ever. Morley advanced to 
 the old man and spoke a few words to him, the 
 answers to which were as quaint as his attire ; 
 and when his young master had passed on, the 
 
306 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 gardener continued to rest upon his spade, and 
 look after him with an expression of cahn, specu- 
 lative thought, evidently regarding him merely 
 as a new sort of plant, and wondering, perhaps, 
 what sort of flower or fruit he would bear. 
 
 From the garden, Morley and his old servant 
 proceeded across the park to the little village 
 which lay upon the property at the distance of 
 about a mile from the house. Morley walked 
 through it, spoke to the different cottagers, en- 
 quired into their situation, gave some directions 
 regarding them, and then told Adam Gray to 
 take him to the two small houses which he had 
 said were untenanted. The old man then led 
 him back upon the road towards Warmstone 
 Castle, but turning, soon after, up a broad well- 
 kept path by the side of a stream, he conducted 
 his master into a little glen, at the end of which 
 might be seen a small water-mill. Some way 
 further down, however, between the mouth of 
 the glen and the mill, were two pretty stone 
 cottages joined together, with a little sweep of 
 the hill behind them, and a garden in the front 
 coming down to the path. 
 
 " You seem to know this place well, Adam," 
 said Morley, " though you cannot have been 
 much here." 
 
MORLEY ERN STEIN. 307 
 
 " Oh, bless you ! yes, sir," replied the man. 
 ^^In your father's time we used to spend four 
 or five months at Warmstone every year, and as 
 it was his particular wish that it should be well 
 kept up, Mr. Hamilton has sent me over once or 
 twice a year since." 
 
 Morley made no reply, but walked on with 
 the melancholy feeling of the passing away of 
 all things more strong upon him than ever ; 
 and he could not help thinking that the linger- 
 ing of earthly affection, which teaches us in the 
 hour of death to care for even inanimate things, 
 and provide for their preservation after we our- 
 selves have fallen into the ruin of the tomb, is 
 like the clinging love which the human heart 
 will sometimes feel towards a fellow-being, the 
 thoughtful tenderness, the longing aspiration 
 for the happiness of another, which will continue 
 to exist throughout our being, long after the 
 despair of ever uniting our fate with hers, has 
 trampled out the selfishness of passion. He 
 felt that such was the case with himself; and 
 that, though from some unexplained causes, 
 Juliet Carr had left him hopeless and miserable, 
 with a heart dead to all the fond expectations 
 of love, yet for her, and for her happiness, he 
 would always pray, would think of her when 
 
308 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 he was careless of himself, and feel an in- 
 terest in her when all the rest of the world was 
 nothing but an empty show. 
 
 He stopped opposite the gate of the cottage 
 garden, while the old man went in and opened 
 the doors and windows. Morley then shook 
 off the load of thought, and looked round the 
 place, examining the different rooms, and seeing 
 that all was in a state of good repair. Although 
 a place destined to be the scene of busy life 
 always looks somewhat melancholy when vacant, 
 there was an air of comfort about the cottage 
 which satisfied the young Baronet, and turning 
 to Adam Gray, he said — " You must stay here 
 a day or two, iYdam, after I have gone to town. 
 Have a sufficient quantity of furniture, of a 
 suitable kind, brought down here from the 
 castle, and let the garden be put in somewhat 
 better order. Probably to-morrow, or the next 
 day, you will have an application about the 
 cottage from some people whom I have pro- 
 mised to let it to rent free — a respectable-look- 
 ing old woman and her daughter, a younger 
 one, with a little boy, her child. The younger 
 woman — and, indeed, both — have been in a 
 better situation. You will therefore do every- 
 thing to make them comfortable." 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEm. 309 
 
 The old man gazed in his master's face for a 
 moment, without reply ; but then enquired — 
 " May I ask what is the old lady's name. Sir 
 Morley? for a great many old ladies might 
 come, you know." 
 
 " That is not hkely," replied Morley ; " but 
 I have almost forgotten her name, my good 
 Adam, though it is one, I believe, you ought 
 to know, for she lived near Morley Court, in 
 my father's time. Oh, I remember now ! — her 
 name is More, the wddow of Serjeant More." 
 
 The old man's face changed in a moment — 
 " The wife of Serjeant More come back again !" 
 he exclaimed. " We all heard that she had died 
 in India. Ha ! I shall like to have a chat with 
 her, of old times. Every one said she was a 
 very good woman — too good a woman to do a 
 wicked thing — but yet people did suspect that 
 she did one thing which was not quite right 
 
 " Well, my good Adam," said Morley, inter- 
 rupting him, "the scandals of the past have, 
 doubtless, more interest for you than for me. You 
 will have plenty of time to hold any conversa- 
 tion you like with the old lady, for I shall not 
 want you in town till to-morrow week. In the 
 meantime, how^ever, you must give directions for 
 
310 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 taking care of the horses, and see that every- 
 thing be put in good order, both at Morley 
 Court and here, for I am going to the (^Jonti- 
 nent, good Adam, and shall most likely be 
 absent many months." 
 
 " I hope you are not going without me, sir," 
 exclaimed the old man. " I would fain go with 
 you, if you please ; for if you leave me behind, I 
 shall take a sad fancy that I shall never see you 
 again." 
 
 "It shall be as you like, Adam," replied 
 Morley. '^ It is the custom, my good old 
 friend, on these occasions, to take with one a 
 personage, who, according to the law of fashion, 
 must not be one's own countryman, nor have 
 one single tie to the master whom he serves. 
 His business is, to pay postmasters and pos- 
 tilions more than they ought to have, to aid the 
 landlords of inns, and the officers of Custom- 
 houses, the cicerone and the waiter in plun- 
 dering his employer to the best of his abilities, 
 to run away from him in case of danger, and to 
 appropriate such parts of his goods and chattels, 
 in case of sickness or death, as ma}^ be most 
 easily secreted. This personage is called a 
 courier ; and as I go, you know, in the quality 
 of an English gentleman of fashion, such a 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 311 
 
 piece of roguery is, of course, a necessary ap- 
 pendage to my travelling carriage. You may 
 go with me too, however, if you like ; but there 
 is one bargain which I must make with you. — 
 no complaints or representations in regard to 
 the courier ! You must even let him cheat me 
 according to the best esteemed mode, till I find 
 him out myself in something too gross, and 
 then " 
 
 " What will you do then, sir ?" demanded 
 Adam Gray, in a quiet tone. 
 
 " Throw him out of the window," answered 
 Morley. 
 
312 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 We must pass over the space of two days, and 
 then return to the cottage, of which we have 
 spoken in the last chapter, having now to dwell 
 for some time upon the fate and history of 
 persons in a very different station of life, and of 
 a very different character from Sir Morley 
 Ernstein. Yet let not the reader think that we 
 thus go from scene to scene, and from person 
 to person — leaving those for whom we have just 
 created an interest, almost as soon as that in- 
 terest is excited, and turning to others whom 
 the reader cares little about — from any wanton- 
 ness of imagination, or carelessness of plan. On 
 the contrar}^ it is done deliberately and de- 
 signedly ; not only because it is in the ordinary 
 course of nature, and because the fates of the 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 313 
 
 great and the small, the good and the bad, the 
 wise and the foolish, are linked together in such 
 a manner throughout the whole scheme of human 
 life, that they all affect each other in the most 
 intimate manner, but also because it is abso- 
 lutely necessary to pursue such a course, in 
 order that the reader may, in the least degree, 
 comprehend the story of this book. Let him 
 be forewarned, then, that if he misses one chap- 
 ter, one page, or perhaps one sentence, he ma}^ 
 very probably lose the key to the whole, and 
 understand no more at the end than he did at 
 the beginning; for the destiny of each person 
 herein spoken of, was so twined and inter- 
 twisted with that of the others, by the decree of 
 fate, that the life, property, and happiness of 
 the greatest and the best amongst them, was 
 often entirely dependent upon the actions of 
 the least and the worst, and the ultimate result 
 of all was brought about by circumstances that 
 seemed the most trivial. 
 
 To the cottage, then, we must turn, on the 
 evening of the second day after that on which 
 Sir Morley Ernstein had visited it ; premising, 
 that the young Baronet had set off for London 
 on the day after we last saw him. The little 
 tenement had undergone a considerable change, 
 
 VOL. II. p 
 
314 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 and though it may seem strange to attribute 
 anything Hke poetry to tables and chairs, yet I 
 must say there was the poetry of comfort about 
 it — ay, dear reader, there is a poetrj'^ in anything 
 which calls up before the eye of imagination all 
 the sweet relationships of domestic life ; the 
 household joys, the bright hearth's happy circle, 
 parental fondness, the husband's protecting care, 
 the wife's devoted love. There is a poetry in it 
 all, the blandest, the most soothing to the human 
 heart ; for it is the poetry of the purest happi- 
 ness that man is permitted to know on earth. 
 That sort of poetry had been produced in the 
 cottage I have spoken of, by the change from the 
 vacant rooms, and dull uncovered walls, to the 
 cheerful, furnished cottage-kitchen, with the 
 bright fire blazing on the hearth, the long row 
 of shelves loaded with various articles for daily 
 use, all clean and shining ; the polished oaken 
 table in the midst, the stools and seats around, 
 the large chair by the fire, and a thousand httle 
 objects, not of absolute necessity, perhaps, but 
 which all more or less contribute to comfort ; 
 for good old Adam Gray had taken an interest 
 in the orders his master gave him, and had 
 forgotten nothing — no^ not even a small crib 
 for the child. 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 315 
 
 At the moment that we speak of, the elder 
 woman, whom the little boy himself has intro- 
 duced to us by the name of Granny, was seated 
 in the arm-chair by the fire, and looking round 
 with a feeling of relief and satisfaction, though 
 her face was somewhat worn with the anxiety 
 and watching which she had undergone during 
 the last week, and with being hunted, as she ex- 
 pressed it, like a wild beast, over the moors. 
 The boy, her grandson, was on the floor near 
 her feet, rolling to and fro a large round mass 
 of wood, which was used to keep the cottage- 
 door open in fine weather; while his mother 
 was gazing down upon him with a look of sor- 
 rowful affection ; and in her eyes might be read 
 deep and sad comments upon the fate of her 
 child, upon human love, and human errors. 
 Oh ! could one have seen into her heart at that 
 moment, how touching — how strangely touch- 
 ing — would have Deen the terrible blending of 
 intense affection, and strong anxiety, and pro- 
 found sorrow, which would have been found 
 there as she gazed upon her boy ! 
 
 The two women had been in the house for 
 
 several hours, but had been busily engaged in 
 
 arranging all things in their future abode, so 
 
 that this was the first moment that leisure had 
 
 p2 
 
316 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 been found for calm contemplation. Neither 
 mother nor daughter spoke for some time, and 
 nothing was heard but the ticking of the clock 
 behind the door, and the rolHng to and fro of 
 the wooden ball by the little bo}^ Suddenly, 
 however, there was a footfall in the garden, and 
 the younger woman started and listened, but the 
 moment after she shook her head, saying — " It 
 is not he." 
 
 The well-known music of the step we love, 
 the sweetest of all sounds to those who have 
 been long absent from the arms of affection, was 
 not there. It was the slow and heavy tread 
 of an old man, and in another minute, after 
 tapping at the door, good Adam Gray entered 
 the cottage and approached the fire. He had 
 not thought fit to be present when the little 
 party took possession of their new dwelling; 
 but he now came, both to see that his young 
 master's orders had been executed, and to sa- 
 tisfy, in some degree, his own curiosity upon 
 more than one point. 
 
 The younger woman had said — " Come in !" 
 and her mother had turned round to see who it 
 was that entered, but the eye of the latter 
 rested upon the form of the old butler without 
 the slightest sign of recognition. He gazed 
 
3I0RLEY ERNSTEIN. 317 
 
 upon her in return as he advanced ; but whe- 
 ther it was that his memory was better, or that 
 she was less changed by time than he was, it was 
 very evident, from the expression of his coun- 
 tenance, that he saw in her an old acquaintance. 
 
 ^' Good evening," he said — " good evening. I 
 hope you find everything comfortable here. It 
 was my young master's strict orders that I 
 should do everything to make you so." 
 
 " I thank you, sir," replied the younger 
 woman, with a tone and manner that would not 
 have disgraced any society, "we are deeply 
 indebted to Sir Morley Ernstein, and have 
 found everything far more comfortable than 
 we could even hope, certainly far more than we 
 had any right to expect." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it— I am glad to hear it," 
 said good Adam Gray. " But by your leave, 
 ma'am, I will take a chair. I have come here 
 as an old friend, Mrs. More ; do you not recol- 
 lect me ? Do you not recollect Adam Gray ?" 
 
 The old woman looked in his face with some 
 surprise — " And are you Mr. Gray, the butler ?" 
 she asked. " Why, your hair used to be as black 
 as jet, and you seemed to me taller by a couple 
 of inches." 
 
 " Ay," answered old Adam, " 'tis very true. 
 
318 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 good dame — 'tis very true indeed ; but time, you 
 know, will whiten the hair and bow the body, 
 and I do not stand near so tall as I once did. 
 Good lack ! when I look in the looking-glass, I 
 can scarcel}^ recollect what I was like twenty 
 years ago. You are much changed, too, Dame 
 More, though not so much as I am, I think. 
 You were a buxom woman in those days, and 
 we were all sorry when you left the village, 
 though some said it was for your own good ; but 
 others shook the head, you know, Dame More." 
 
 " Well they might," said the old woman, in 
 a low, sad tone, fixing her eyes upon the fire — 
 " well they might, indeed !" 
 
 Adam Gray and his old acquaintance sat 
 silent for several minutes, evidently engaged in 
 meditations over the past; and the younger 
 woman, feeling, perhaps, that their thoughts 
 were busy about things which were not familiar 
 to her own mind, laid hold of the arm of her 
 little boy, who was staring inquisitively in the 
 face of the stranger, saying — " Come, Dick, it 
 is time for you to go to bed, boy, and rest your 
 young limbs," 
 
 The child went away willingly enough, and 
 the old man and woman were left alone. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. More," said Adam Gray, *^I 
 
MORLEY ERN3TEIN. 319 
 
 am glad that we have met once again in Hfe, 
 though I suppose you will be as silent about all 
 the stories of those days as you were when last 
 I saw you." 
 
 " I don't know that," answered the old woman, 
 musing ; " times have changed, Mr. Gray, and 
 I may not care to talk about things now that I 
 did not choose to talk about then. Sir Morley 
 Ernstein has been kind to me, too " 
 
 *' And I am sure so was his father," said the 
 butler. 
 
 '^Yes," replied she, "so he was; but, as I 
 have said, times have changed, and those who 
 were then befriending me and mine, may now 
 be persecuting us. "However, I shall say nothing 
 till I see what comes of it." 
 
 " I should like very much, however, to hear 
 all that story," rejoined Adam Gray, "and I 
 am sure I would not say a word to any one. It 
 is only for my own satisfaction I speak, and to 
 know if my good master was right or wrong in 
 what he said." 
 
 The old woman gazed for an instant down 
 upon the ground, then turned her eyes upon 
 the old man with a very strange expression, 
 saying — "lie was wrong, Mr. Gray; and I 
 told him what was true. Yet, odd as it may 
 
320 MORLEY ERNSTElN. 
 
 seem, he was right too, and I deceived him. I 
 will tell you what, you were always a good- 
 hearted man, and a sensible one, and some day 
 or another I'll tell you the whole story, but it 
 sha'n't be now." 
 
 " It must be very soon, then," said Adam 
 Gray, " for I am going to London in two days, 
 and to the Continent immediately after." 
 
 " That will do !" cried the old woman — " that 
 will do quite well." 
 
 " Do you mean when I come back again ?" 
 demanded Adam Gray. " Who can tell, good 
 dame, when that may be? Who can tell 
 whether it ever will be ?" 
 
 " I don't mean that," said the old woman, 
 somewhat peevishly, " but I mean that you are 
 not likely to tell it again till I am dead and 
 buried, and then you may tell it if you like ; so 
 you shall hear all before you go, if you will 
 promise to keep it a secret, as I have done, till 
 I be gone to join my husband and my son." 
 
 " Why, where are they ?" asked Acjam Gray. 
 "I thought you were a widow. Dame More. 
 Did you leave your husband and your son in 
 India?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the old woman, fixing her 
 eyes upon the fire — " I left them in the grave." 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 321 
 
 The good old servant seemed somewhat 
 shocked that he had called up such painful 
 memories, and after remaining silent for a short 
 time, Dame More, as he called her, went on — 
 " There is many a thing, Mr. Gray,'' she said, 
 " that I may weep for, and many a thing that I 
 wish had gone otherwise ; but there is only one 
 thing that I repent, and that is what we are 
 now talking about. If you will come to me to- 
 morrow, however, I will tell you all about it, 
 for I do wish some one person to know the 
 thing besides myself. Your master is too young, 
 or I would have told him ; and Harry, my girl's 
 husband, is too wild and not to be trusted ; and 
 if I told Jane herself, she would never keep it 
 from her husband ; so I will tell you, because I 
 believe you have always been an honest man — 
 I should like to know that Harry gets safe away 
 first, however, for if that man persecutes him, 
 1 will stop him, or have vengeance." 
 
 "Vengeance!" observed the old man — '' ven- 
 geance, my good dame, is like a sword without a 
 hilt, sure to cut the hands of those that use it." 
 
 ** It may be so, Mr. Gray," replied the old 
 woman — " it may be so, indeed, but I must 
 save him, for my poor girl's sake." 
 
 " I do not exactly understand what you 
 p3 
 
322 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 mean," said Adam Gray. But the old woman 
 shook her head, replying, " You had better not. 
 However, I will tell you at all events, for it is 
 fit that some one should know. Life is uncer- 
 tain at the best, and at my years it's but like the 
 dying flame of a candle, flickering up and down 
 before it goes out for ever. — Come, you shall 
 hear the story now," she continued ; " but first 
 let me go and tell the girl not to come down. 
 Poor Jane ! she has enough sad secrets of her 
 own without having to bear mine too." 
 
 The old woman rose from her chair, support- 
 ing herself by the arm, for she seemed some- 
 what stiff*, and was turning towards the door 
 which led to the staircase, when her daughter's 
 step was heard descending quickly, and Jane 
 Martin entered with an eager look, saying — 
 " He is there — he is there ! I heard his step 
 in the garden. I am sure he is there !" and as 
 she spoke, she turned her eyes with an appre- 
 hensive glance from the countenance of her 
 mother to that of Adam Gray. 
 
 " You may trust him — you may trust him !" 
 cried the old woman. " Open the door, Jane, 
 and sec. Do not be afraid, girl — you may trust 
 him, I say." 
 
 The younger woman approached the door 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 323 
 
 with a quiet and noiseless step, and lifting the 
 latch, looked out. A quick and eager respira- 
 tion was all that was heard, but the moment 
 she had opened the door, she darted out, and 
 returned the instant after, with her fair slight 
 form clasped round by the powerful arm of her 
 husband. 
 
 The eyes of Harry Martin rested at once 
 upon Adam Gray, as he sat by the fire, but it 
 was with no expression of apprehension, and 
 he answered some words which his wife whis- 
 pered rapidly to him, by saying — " I under- 
 stand — I understand, Jane." 
 
 Adam Gray, however, saw at once that there 
 was something more in the situation of the par- 
 ties than had been communicated to him by 
 his master ; and, being a prudent and sagacious 
 man, though not without his share of curiosity, 
 he rose after a few brief words had passed be- 
 tween him and the rest, and took his leave, 
 promising to return on the following day, and 
 have a further chat with Mrs. More. 
 
 The night was somewhat dark as the old 
 butler issued forth, and, accustomed as his eyes 
 had lately been to the light within the cottage, 
 he could scarcely see his way along the narrow 
 gravel foot-path which led from the door to the 
 
324 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 end of the little garden. When he reached the 
 low gate, however, a sudden light, proceeding 
 from some object which he could not distin- 
 guish, came in his face and nearly blinded him, 
 but the moment after, it ceased, and he caught 
 the faint outline of a man standing close by the 
 palings. 
 
 The appearance of this personage, who seemed 
 to have a dark lantern with him, was not at all 
 satisfactory to good Adam Gray, but judging 
 that civility would be the best policy, he merely 
 said, " Good night," and passed through the 
 gate. His friend with a lantern made no reply, 
 and Adam hurried down the little path which 
 led towards the mansion house, not by any 
 means sure that certain notes, together with 
 sundry round pieces of gold and silver, which 
 at that moment tenanted his breeches pocket, 
 would be permitted to remain in occupation till 
 he reached Warmstone Castle. 
 
 On arriving at the high road, however, he 
 saw another man advancing rapidly towards 
 him, but bearing in no degree the aspect of a 
 person of that neighbourhood. The stranger 
 stopped exactly opposite to him, but seemed 
 more inchned to examine than to annoy him, 
 and suffered him to pass on, replying, " Good 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 325 
 
 night," to Adam's salutation, in a civil tone, but 
 without any Northumbrian accent. The sight 
 of a post-chaise, standing in the road at some 
 distance, put an end to the good old man's ap- 
 prehensions, though it did not clear up the 
 myster}'^ ; but wisely judging that the affair was 
 no business of his, he made the best of his way 
 back to the castle, without taking any farther 
 notice, or enquiring into things that did not 
 concern him. 
 
S26 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 It was nearly twelve o'clock at night, and 
 Harry Martin stood with his wife, gazing down 
 upon their sleeping child. Curious as are all 
 the contrasts which life presents, there are few 
 more extraordinary, more full of deep and 
 strange interest, than the contrast between the 
 vices and strong passions of unbridled manhood, 
 and the calm reproachful innocence of infancy. 
 Oh ! what a mirror it holds up to shew man, 
 hardened by sin, and strife, and selfishness, 
 what he once was, what he might still have 
 been ; and yet, how seldom do we take the re- 
 proof to our hearts, how rarely do we apply to 
 ourselves the comment which is secretly made 
 within us. The bold, reckless man who stood 
 there and gazed, felt a deep strain of solemn 
 
MORLEY ERN STEIN. 327 
 
 sensations, mingling with the feeUngs of pa- 
 ternal love, which the sight of his child called 
 forth. But he asked himself not why or how 
 it was that he experienced a sorrowful emotion 
 totally distinct from the idea of parting from 
 the beloved, as he gazed down upon the sleep- 
 ing boy — an emotion which, if he had investi- 
 gated all the causes, he would have found to be 
 the voice of memory reproaching him for the 
 innocence he had cast away. 
 
 ** Well, Jane," he said, at length, ** it is no 
 use lingering — I must go. It would have been 
 wiser, perhaps, not to come, but I could not go 
 without seeing you again, my dear girl. Six 
 hours now will bring me to the coast, and then 
 the lugger the man talked of will soon take 
 me to Liverpool, and the ' Mary Anne ' sails 
 on Saturday morning; so I shall soon be on 
 my way to another far country, and you must 
 follow as soon as may be — Hark ! I thought 
 your mother was gone to bed !" 
 
 "It is only the kitchen window," said his 
 wife ; " it makes that noise when the wind 
 shakes it." 
 
 " You are sure that you have money enough 
 for all that you want ?" continued her husband. 
 
 ** Quite sure," she answered ; " more than 
 
328 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 enough, Hariy. You know I have not been 
 accustomed to such extravagance as you have 
 taught me. I can do upon very Httle, and the 
 passage-money I will put by and keep, with- 
 out " 
 
 " Hark !" he exclaimed, grasping her arm, 
 and looking with a wild and eager gaze to- 
 wards the door. ^* There is certainly some one 
 below." 
 
 Jane turned as pale as death, for she dis- 
 tinctly heard a step, but she lost not her courage 
 — her husband's life was at stake, and the reso- 
 lute spirit of deep love rose up within her. 
 
 " Out, through that room behind," she said ; 
 " the window is not high ; then up the side of 
 the hill, there are woods and moors. I will go 
 down and stop them. Away, Harry, away !*' 
 and printing one kiss upon his cheek, she darted 
 towards the staircase, and ran down, exclaiming, 
 in a tone of alarm that needed no affectation to 
 assume — " Who is there ? — There is surely some 
 one in the house ! Mother, mother !" she was 
 heard to exclaim aloud ; " here are strange men 
 in the house ! Who are you ? — what do you 
 want here ?" 
 
 " It's no use talking, ma'am," said a voice the 
 moment after, proceeding from a stout, thickset 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 329 
 
 personage, who stood in the middle of the 
 kitchen floor, while another man was thrusting 
 himself through the lattice window. " We want 
 just to say a word or two to Mr. Martin, and 
 we must say it, too. He knows that the game's 
 up well enough, so it's no use dodging about in 
 this way." 
 
 The wife, however, continued to stand in the 
 doorway that led to the stairs, calling out aloud, 
 *' Mother! mother!" 
 
 Even as she spoke, there were the sounds of 
 a window thrown open above, a leap, and steps 
 running over the greensward ; and Jane, giving 
 a wild scream, fell forward upon the floor. 
 
 The officer, for such the person was whom she 
 found in the occupation of the kitchen below, 
 sprang over her, and rushed up stairs ; old Mrs. 
 More came down in her night-gear, and raised 
 her daughter fainting from the floor; and the 
 other officer, who had been scrambling in by 
 the window, made his exit by the door, and 
 ran round to the back of the house. Numerous 
 cries, shouts, and directions, were then heard, 
 vociferated by the man above, who at length 
 leaped out of the window himself, and seem- 
 ingly took his way over the hill. Comparative 
 silence succeeded, though voices, shouting to 
 
330 MORLEY ERNSTEIN, 
 
 each other, were still heard faintly, and Jane 
 was raising her head in her mother's arms, and 
 enquiring — " Is he safe ?" when the distant re- 
 port of a pistol came upon the wind, then some 
 fresh calling ; and then all was silent. Jane and 
 the old woman listened with eager and beating 
 hearts, but not a sound more reached them to 
 give them any satisfaction. At length, the child 
 in the room above, disturbed in its sleep by all 
 that had taken place, began to cry aloud, and 
 the half-distracted mother ran up to soothe it. 
 
 Still no further sound broke upon the anxious 
 ear from the hill side, and hour after hour passed 
 by without tale or tidings. Jane lay down upon 
 her bed towards the morning, and wept with 
 fear and agitation, but she slept not. At 
 length the grey dawn appeared, and she rose to 
 go forth and see if she could gather anything to 
 calm her anxiety, from the appearance of the 
 footsteps on the hill side. At the door, how- 
 ever, she was met by one of the men whom 
 she had seen the night before. He had a dog- 
 ged, sullen look, which she thought might 
 proceed from disappointment, and that itself 
 was a relief to her; but when he said, in a 
 civil tone — " Good morning, ma'am, I have 
 come to search the house," the poor girl could 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 331 
 
 have embraced him, for she misconstrued his 
 words, and imagined that he was still in pursuit 
 of her husband. 
 
 *' You may search as much as you please," 
 she said, with a lightened heart ; " you will find 
 nobody here." 
 
 "" As to nobody," replied the officer, *' I 
 suppose you are right, ma'am ; but it's not body, 
 but thing I'm looking for. We've got his body 
 safe enough." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" exclaimed Jane, 
 nearly sinking to the earth, while a new terror 
 took possession of her heart. " His body ! — 
 you have not killed him ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, no !" cried the officer ; " he's safe 
 and hearty, ma'am, don't be afraid. I was only 
 speaking as the lawyers do. We caught him in 
 the wood over the hill there, and we shall soon 
 have his body into court, for the assizes are just 
 coming on, you know, and he's gone over to 
 Doncaster in a shay, which we had all ready for 
 him, quite like a gentleman, I can assure you. 
 These foolish country constables would never 
 have caught him. They can deal with a stray 
 thief, or a horse-stealer, or any of your petty- 
 larceny rogues, as the gentleman says in the 
 play ; but they don't know how* to manage a 
 
332 JMOIILEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 regular professional man at all. So it is lucky 
 for Mr. Martin, too, that they had us down 
 from London, for he'll be treated quite politely, 
 you may be sure. Howsoever, I must just go 
 in and search the house, ma'am, for some of the 
 things may be here, you know." 
 
 This long oration had fallen upon the ears of 
 Jane like her husband's knell of death, and re- 
 treating into the cottage kitchen, she sank down 
 on a chair, letting the man proceed with his 
 search as he would. That search disturbed, as a 
 natural consequence, the mother of the unfor- 
 tunate wife ; and while the poor girl sat by her- 
 self, with her head drooping and her hands 
 clasped on her knee, the image of disconsolate 
 bereavement, she heard Dame More's voice in 
 eager conversation with the officer, and at 
 length distinguished the words — ** I will prove 
 him innocent. Do not you be so confident, for 
 you shall hear another story at the trial." 
 
 " What, you will prove an alibi, my good 
 woman ?" said the officer, in a sneering tone ; 
 " but that's an old go — it wont do this time. 
 Juries are getting accustomed to alibis; they 
 don't answer now ; — or, mayhap, you committed 
 the burglary yourself, and, if so, you had better 
 come along with me to Doncaster." 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 333 
 
 '^ I did not commit it myself," replied the 
 old woman, in a stern tone — " I did not commit 
 it myself, nor can you prove that he committed 
 it." 
 
 " Come, come," said the officer — " this is 
 all gammon. What's in this box, old lady? 
 that's what we want to see at present." 
 
 ^^ Search, and you will see," answered Mrs. 
 More. " We have nothing to conceal from you 
 here !" 
 
 ^' That's coming it strong, howsoever," re- 
 plied the man ; and, leaving him to pursue his 
 search as he pleased, the old lady descended to 
 comfort her daughter. 
 
 " Don't be afraid, Jane," she said — " don't 
 be afraid ; they shall do nothing to him. It 
 were worth as much as that old miser's life, to 
 hurt a hair of his head. Don't be afraid, Jane, 
 but put on your bonnet, my girl, run up to the 
 castle, and tell the old man Gray to come down 
 and speak to me. I might die, or some accident 
 might happen, so I had better see him before I 
 set out." 
 
 With trembling hands — but little reassured 
 by what her mother said, and, unfortunately, 
 but too certain of her husband's guilt — the poor 
 girl put on her bonnet, and hastened, as fast as 
 
334 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 her limbs would carry her, up to Warmstone 
 Castle. Before she returned again with Adam 
 Gray, after about half an hour's absence, the 
 officer had completed his search, and had left 
 the house, swearing, with an oath, that it was 
 very strange he had been able to discover 
 nothing bearing in the least degree upon the 
 robbery which had been committed. Jane 
 found her mother putting on the boy's clothes, 
 and, taking him out of the old lady's hands, she 
 left her to speak with Adam Gray alone. On 
 coming down again, both the child and herself 
 were completely dressed, as if to go upon a 
 journey ; and the eagerness of her look amounted 
 almost to wildness, as, in answer to her mother's 
 question of where she was going, she replied — 
 " You know I must get to Doncaster as fast as 
 I can, that I may be with him. Think of his 
 being in prison, mother, and alone !" 
 
 " Nay, nay, Jane," replied her mother — 
 "^ sta}^ a bit, my girl — they would not let you 
 be with him even if you were there ; but this 
 good gentleman, Mr. Gray, says he will take us 
 all over in the chaise, with which he is going 
 to drive back to Morley Court to-morrow. It 
 will be a sad thing for me to see all those 
 places again ; but never mind, I will go." 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 335 
 
 " I cannot stay till to-morrow," cried the 
 younger woman. " I would rather walk, mother — 
 indeed I would. My heart will break if I do 
 not go to him directly;" and she burst into 
 tears. 
 
 Adam Gray, in the meanwhile, had stood 
 with his eyes fixed upon the floor, musing 
 deeply, as if some subject of extraordinary in- 
 terest occupied him altogether. It very often 
 happens, however, that the mere corporeal 
 senses, like servants afraid of disturbing their 
 master whe;i he is busy, receive and retain im- 
 pressions, which they do not communicate to 
 the intellectual soul, till after she has fully dis- 
 cussed and dismissed some particular subject 
 with which she is occupied, or till the urgency 
 of external applications compel them to break in 
 upon her meditations. It was so in the present 
 instance ; the ear of Adam Gray had heard all 
 that had passed, but his mind was so fully en- 
 gaged with the conversation which had taken 
 place between him and Mrs. More, that he had 
 not given any attention to what was passing, till 
 the tears of the young woman roused him from 
 his reverie, and then the ear conveyed to his 
 mind all that it had collected. 
 
 " There is no use," he said, addressing Jane, 
 
336 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 " of your trying to go on foot. You do not 
 know what a distance it is, and you will be 
 there twice as soon by going with me. Besides, 
 if it comes to that, and you are so very anxious, 
 I could set out to-day, about three o'clock. We 
 shall get to Greta Bridge by ten, and then there 
 will be the coach to-morrow, which will land 
 you at Doncaster in the evening. If you were 
 to set off on foot this minute, it would take you 
 four days, or more, do what you would." 
 
 " Oh, the shortest — the shortest !" cried Jane. 
 " But will they not let me be with him, mother ? 
 Did you say they will not let me be with 
 him ?" 
 
 *^ No, indeed, my dear child," replied her 
 mother, " that will they not ; but he shall soon 
 be with you. Be comforted, Jane — be com- 
 forted." 
 
 The poor girl, however, could receive no 
 comfort ; and, to say the truth, she trusted not 
 to her mother's promises, for she believed them 
 to be solely intended to soothe and tranquillize 
 her. Her whole thoughts, however, were 
 bent upon setting off as soon as possible, and 
 she wandered about without occupation, till at 
 length, about half-past two, for the good old 
 man was earlier than his hour, a boy ran up 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 337 
 
 the little glen from the high load, to say that 
 Mr. Gray was waiting, and to carry down any- 
 thing that was to go. 
 
 Never did journey seem so long as the drive 
 from Warmstone to Greta Bridge, to poor Jane ; 
 and to say sooth, the horse, though strong and 
 well fitted for such a journey, was not the swiftest 
 that was ever put in harness, nor was Mr. Gray 
 the most dashing of charioteers. At length, 
 however, they reached the borders of Yorkshire, 
 and put up at the little inn at Greta, where 
 Adam Gray's well-known face procured them 
 instantly a warm reception from the shrewd 
 Yorkshire landlord. 
 
 The good butler took care that the two 
 women under his charge should be well treated 
 in all respects ; but Jane and her boy retired to 
 rest almost immediately, leaving old Dame 
 More once more alone with her ancient ac- 
 quaintance. They remained together, in 
 earnest conversation, for two or three hours, 
 and Mr. Gray, in the course of the evening, 
 called for pen, and ink, and paper, so that it 
 was evident to the landlord some business of 
 importance was being transacted between his 
 two guests. 
 
 On the following morning the tax cart was 
 
 VOL. II. Q 
 
338 MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 
 
 sent back to Northumberland, and, proceeding 
 in the coach, which at that day was not alto- 
 gether so rapid a conveyance as at present, 
 the whole party were, ere long, set dowti at 
 Doncaster, where the old servant of Sir Morley 
 Ernstein passed the night, for the kindly purpose 
 of putting his two companions into what he 
 called the way of doing for themselves at Don- 
 caster. He was up early on the following 
 morning, and was enjoying the sunshine for five 
 minutes before breakfast at the door of the inn, 
 when the landlord himself sauntered out, with 
 a — " Good morning, Mr. Gray ! So Sir Morley 
 is gone to London, I hear ; an odd time of the 
 year to go to London, too !" 
 
 " He has some business there," replied Adam 
 Gray,^ laconically. " Pray what is doing in 
 Doncaster, Mr. Beilby ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing much to talk of," answered the 
 landlord. '^Yesterday there was a great piece 
 of work, for they brought in the man who robbed 
 Mr. Carr's house at Yelverly, not long ago. 
 They have been looking after him for the last 
 fortnight, or more, but he always managed to 
 give them the slip till the other day, when they 
 caught him in Northumberland, up somewhere 
 in your parts, I believe ; and a prodigious num- 
 
MORLEY ERNSTEIN. 339 
 
 ber of people there were to see him. — A fine- 
 looking fellow he is, too, and set them all at 
 defiance. He would not say a word before 
 the magistrates ; and, indeed, as Mr. Carr was 
 too ill to attend, little Jeremy Sharpset, the 
 lawyer, who appeared for the prisoner, insisted 
 that they should discharge him, or, at the worst, 
 remand him." 
 
 " And did they remand him ?" exclaimed 
 Adam Gray. 
 
 '' Oh ! not they," replied Mr. Beilby ; " they 
 would not hear any nonsense, but committed 
 him to York Castle, at once." 
 
 Adam Gray heard the tidings in silence, and 
 turned into the inn to communicate the news 
 he had obtained to those who were more in- 
 terested in the matter than himself. 
 
 END OF VOL. II. 
 
 T. C. Savill, Printer, 107, St. Martin's Lane. 
 
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