Martin Farquhar Tupper - The Twins
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Martin Farquhar Tupper >> The Twins
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"CONSTANCE GREEN."
"Duly signed, sealed, and delivered! d----nation!" was Julian's brief
epilogue--"General, let's burn it."
"You can if you please, Mr. Julian," interposed the nurse, who had
secretly enjoyed all this, "and if you like to take the consequences;
but, as each of the three witnesses has the will sealed up in copy, and
the poor deceased there took pains to sign them all, perhaps--"
This settled the affair: and the discomfited expectants made a
precipitate retreat. As the general, however, got vastly more than he
expected, for his individual merits; and seeing that he loved Emily as
much as he hated both Julian and his wife, he really felt well-pleased
upon the whole, and took on him the duties of executor with
cheerfulness. So they buried Aunt Green as soon as might be.
CHAPTER XI.
PREPARATIONS AND DEPARTURE.
CHARLES'S pocket-book was full of clean bank notes, fifteen hundred
pounds' worth: it contained also a diamond ring, and a lock of silvery
hair; the latter a proof of affectionate sentiment in the kind old soul,
that touched him at the heart.
"And now, my Emmy, the way is clear to us; Providence has sent me this,
that I may right you, dearest: and it will be wise in us to say nothing
of our plans. Avoid inquiries--for I did not say conceal or falsify
facts: but, while none but you, love, heed of my departure, and while I
go for our sakes alone, we need not invite disappointment by
open-mouthed publicity. To those who love me, Emmy, I am frank and
free; but with those who love us not, there is a wisdom and a justice in
concealment. They do not deserve confidence, who will not extend to us
their sympathy. None but yourself must know whither I am bound; and,
after some little search for curiosity's sake, when a week is past and
gone, no soul will care for me of those at home. With you, I will manage
to communicate by post, directing my letters to Mrs. Sainsbury, at
Oxton: I will prepare her for it. She knows my love for you, and how
they try to thwart us; but even she, however trustworthy, need not be
told my destination yet awhile, until 'India' appears upon the
post-mark. How glad will you be, dearest one, how happy in our
secret--to read my heart's own thoughts, when I am far away--far away,
clearing up mine Emmy's cares, and telling her how blessed I feel in
ministering to her happiness!"
Such was the substance of their talk, while counting out the
pocket-book.
Charles's remaining preparations were simple enough, now his purse was
flush of money: he resolved upon taking from his home no luggage
whatever: preferring to order down, from an outfitting house in London,
a regular kit of cadet's necessaries, to wait for him at the Europe
Hotel, Plymouth, on a certain day in the ensuing week. So that, burdened
only with his Emmy's miniature, and his pocket-book of bank notes, he
might depart quietly some evening, get to Plymouth in a preconcerted
way, by chaise or coach, before the morrow morning; thence, a boat to
meet the ship off-shore, and then--hey, for the Indies!
It was as well-devised a scheme as could possibly be planned; though its
secresy, especially with a mother in the case, may be a moot point as to
the abstract moral thereof: nevertheless, concretely, the only heart his
so mysterious absence would have pained, was made aware of all: then,
again, secresy had been the atmosphere of his daily life, the breath of
his education; and he too sorely knew his mother would rejoice at the
departure, and Julian, too--all the more certainly, as both brothers
were now rivals professed for the hand of Emily Warren: as to the
general, he might, or he might not, smoke an extra cheroot in the
excitement of his wonder; and if he cared about it anyways more
tragically than tobacco might betray, Emily knew how to comfort him.
With respect to other arrangements, Emmy furnished Charles with letters
to certain useful people at Madras, and in particular to the "somebody"
who looked after Mrs. Mackie: so, the mystery was easy of access, and he
doubted not of overcoming, on the spot, every unseen difficulty. The
plan of leaving all luggage behind, a capital idea, would enable him to
go forth freely and unshackled, with an ordinary air, in hat and
great-coat, as for an evening's walk; and was quite in keeping with the
natural reserve of his whole character--a bad habit of secresy, which he
probably inherited from his father, the lieutenant of old times. And
yet, for all the wisdom, and mystery, and shrewd settling of the plan,
its accomplishment was as nearly as possible most fatally defeated.
The important evening arrived; for the Indiaman--it was our old friend
Sir William Elphinston--would be off Plymouth, next morning: the goods
had been, for a day or two, safely deposited at the Europe, as per
invoice, all paid: the lovers, in this last, this happiest, yet by far
the saddest of their stolen interviews, had exchanged vows and kisses,
and upon the beach, beneath those friendly cliffs, had commended one
another to their Father in heaven. They had returned to the unsocial
circle of home; all was fixed; the clock struck nine: and Charles,
accidentally squeezing Emily's hand, rose to leave the tea-table.
"Where are you going, Mr. Charles?"
"I am going out, Julian."
"Thank you, sir! I knew that, but whither? General, I say, here's
Charles going to serenade somebody by moonlight."
The brandy-sodden parent, scarcely conscious, said something about his
infernal majesty; and, "What then?--let him go, can't you?"
"Well, Julian dear, perhaps your brother will not mind your going with
him; particularly as Emily stays at home with me."
This Mrs. Tracy spoke archly, intended as a hint to induce Julian to
remain: but he had other thoughts--and simply said, in an ill-tempered
tone of voice, "Done, Charles."
It was a dilemma for our escaping hero; but glancing a last look at
Emily, he departed, and walked on some way as quietly as might be with
Julian by his side: thinking, perhaps, he would soon be tired; and
suffering him to fancy, if he would, that Charles was bound either on
some amorous pilgrimage, or some charitable mission. But they left
Burleigh behind them--and got upon the common--and passed it by, far out
of sight and out of hearing--and were skirting the high banks of the
darkly-flowing Mullet--and still there was Julian sullenly beside him.
In vain Charles had tried, by many gentle words, to draw him into common
conversation: Julian would not speak, or only gave utterance to some
hinted phrase of insult: his brow was even darker than usual, and night
was coming on apace, and he still tramped steadily along beside his
brother, digging his sturdy stick into the clay, for very spite's sake.
At length, as they yet walked along the river's side in that
unfrequented place, Julian said, on a sudden, in a low strange tone, as
if keeping down some rising rage within him,
"Mr. Charles, you love Emily Warren."
"Well, Julian, and who can help loving her?"
It was innocently said; but still a maddening answer, for he loved her
too.
"And, sirrah," the brother hoarsely added, "she--she does not--does
not--hate you, sir, as I do."
"My good Julian, pray do not be so violent; I cannot help it if the dear
girl loves me."
"But I can, though!" roared Julian, with an oath, and lifted up his
stick--it was nearer like a club--to strike his brother.
"Julian, Julian, what are you about? Good Heavens! you would not--you
dare not--give over--unhand me, brother; what have I done, that you
should strike me? Oh! leave me--leave me--pray."
"Leave you? I will leave you!" the villain almost shouted, and smote him
to the ground with his lead-loaded stick. It was a blow that must have
killed him, but for the interposing hat, now battered down upon his
bleeding head. Charles, at length thoroughly aroused, though his foe
must be a brother, struggled with unusual strength in self-preserving
instinct, wrested the club from Julian's hand, and stood on the
defensive.
Julian was staggered: and, after a moment's irresolution, drawing a
pistol from his pocket, said, in a terribly calm voice,
"Now, sir! I have looked for such a meeting many days--alone, by night,
with you! I would not willingly draw trigger, for the noise might bring
down other folks upon us, out of Oxton yonder: but, drop that stick, or
I fire."
Charles was noble enough, without another word, to fling the club into
the river: it was not fear of harm, but fear of sin, that made him trust
himself defenceless to a brother, a twin-brother, in the dark: he could
not be so base, a murderer, a fratricide! Oh! most unhallowed thought!
Save him from this crime, good God! Then, instantaneously reflecting,
and believing he decided for the best, when he saw the ruffian glaring
on him with exulting looks, as upon an unarmed rival at his mercy, with
no man near to stay the deed, and none but God to see it, Charles
resolved to seek safety from so terrible a death in flight.
Oxton was within one mile; and, clearly, this was not like flying from
danger as a coward, but fleeing from attempted crime, as a brother and
a Christian. Julian snatched at him to catch him as he passed: and,
failing in this, rushed after him. It was a race for life! and they went
like the wind, for two hundred yards, along that muddy high-banked walk.
Suddenly, Charles slipped upon the clay, that he fell; and Julian, with
a savage howl, leapt upon him heavily.
Poor youth, he knew that death was nigh, and only uttered, "God forgive
you, brother! oh, spare me--or, if not me, spare yourself--Julian,
Julian!"
But the monster was determined. Exerting the whole force of his
herculean frame, he seized his scarce-resisting victim as he lay, and,
lifting him up like a child, flung his own twin-brother head foremost
into that darkly-flowing current!
There was one piercing cry--a splash--a struggle; and again nothing
broke upon the silent night, but the murmur of that swingeing tide, as
the Mullet hurried eddying to the sea.
Julian listened a minute or two, flung some stones at random into the
river, and then hastily ran back to Burleigh, feeling like a Cain.
CHAPTER XII.
THE ESCAPE.
BUT the overruling hand of Him whose aid that victim had invoked, was
now stretched forth to save! and the strong-flowing tide, that ran too
rapidly for Charles to sink in it, was commissioned from on High to
carry him into an angle of that tortuous stream, where he clung by
instinct to the bushes. Silence was his wisdom, while the murderer was
near: and so long as Julian's footsteps echoed on the banks, Charles
stirred not, spoke not, but only silently thanked God for his wonderful
deliverance. However, the footsteps quickly died away, though heard far
off clattering amid the still and listening night; and Charles,
thankfully, no less than cautiously, drew himself out of the stream,
very little harmed beyond a drenching: for the waters had recovered him
at once from the effects of that desperate blow.
It was with a sense of exultation, freedom, independence, that he now
hastened scatheless on his way; dripping garments mattered nothing, nor
mud, nor the loss of his demolished hat: the pocket-book was safe, and
Emmy's portrait, (how he kissed it, then!) and luckily a travelling cap
was in his great-coat pocket: so with a most buoyant feeling of animal
delight, as well as of religious gratitude, he sped merrily once more
upon his secret expedition. Thank Heaven! Emmy could not know the peril
he had past: and wretched Julian would now have dreadful reason of his
own for this mysterious absence: and it was a pleasant thing to trudge
along so freely in the starlight, on the private embassy of love. Happy
Charles! I know not if ever more exhilarated feelings blessed the youth;
they made him trip along the silent road, in a gush of joyfulness, at
the rate of some six miles an hour; I know not if ever such delicious
thoughts of Emily's attachment, and those gorgeous mysteries in India,
of adventure, enterprise, escape, had heretofore caused his heart to
bound so lightsomely within him, like some elastic spring. I know not if
ever strong reliance upon Providential care, more earnest prayers,
praises, intercessions (for poor Julian, too,) were offered on the altar
of his soul. Happy Charles!
So he went on and on--long past Oxton, and Eyemouth, and Surbiton, and
over the ferry, and through the sleeping turnpikes, and past the bridge,
and along the broad high-road, until gray of morning's dawn revealed the
suburbs of Plymouth.
Of course he missed the mail by which he intended to have gone--for
Julian's dread act delayed him.
Long before his journey's end, his clothes were thoroughly dried, and
violent exercise had shaken off all possible rheumatic consequence of
that fearful plunge beneath the waters: five-and-twenty miles in four
hours and three-quarters, is a tolerable recipe for those who have
tumbled into rivers. We must recollect that he had gone as quick as he
could, for fear of being late, now the coach had passed. At a little
country inn, he brushed, and washed, and made toilet as well as he was
able, took a glass of good Cognac, both hot and strong; and felt more of
a man than ever.
Then, having loitered awhile, and well-remembered Emily in his prayers,
at about eight in the morning he presented himself among his luggage at
the Europe in gentlemanly trim, and soon got all on board the pilot
boat, to meet the Indiaman just outside the breakwater. We may safely
leave him there, happy, hopeful Charles! Sanguine for the future,
exulting in the present, and thankful for the past: already has he
poured out all his joys before that Friend who loves her too, and
invoked His blessing on a scheme so well designed, so providentially
accomplished.
I had almost forgotten Julian: wretched, hardened man, and how fared he?
The moment he had flung his brother into that dark stream, and the
waters closed above him greedily that he was gone--gone for ever, he
first threw in stones to make a noise like life upon the stream, but
that cheatery was only for an instant: he was alone--a murderer, alone!
the horrors of silence, solitude, and guilt, seized upon him like three
furies: so his quick retreating walk became a running; and the running
soon was wild and swift for fear; and ever as he ran, that piercing
scream came upon the wind behind, and hooted him: his head swam, his
eyes saw terrible sights, his ears heard terrible sounds--and he scoured
into quiet, sleeping Burleigh like a madman. However, by some strange
good luck, not even did the slumbering watchman see him: so he got
in-doors as usual with the latch-key (it was not the first time he had
been out at night), crept up quietly, and hid himself in his own
chamber.
And how did he spend those hours of guilty solitude? in terrors? in
remorse? in misery? Not he: Julian was too wise to sit and think, and in
the dark too; but he lit both reading lamps to keep away the gloom, and
smoked and drank till morning's dawn to stupify his conscience.
Then, to make it seem all right, he went down to breakfast as usual,
though any thing but sober, and met unflinchingly his mother's natural
question--
"Good morning, Julian--where's Charles?"
"How should I know, mother; isn't he up yet?"
"No, my dear; and what is more, I doubt if he came home last night."
"Hollo, Master Charles! pretty doings these, Mr. Sabbath-teacher! so he
slept out, eh, mother?"
"I don't know--but where did you leave him, Julian?"
"Who! I? did I go out with him? Oh! yes, now I recollect: let's see, we
strolled together midway to Oxton, and, as he was going somewhat
further, there I left him?"
How true the words, and yet how terribly false their meaning!
"Dear me, that's very odd--isn't it, general?"
"Not at all, ma'am--not at all; leave the lad alone, he'll be back by
dinner-time: I didn't think the boy had so much spirit."
Emily, to whom the general's hint was Greek, looked up cheerfully and in
her own glad mind chuckled at her Charles's bold adventure.
But the day passed, off, and they sent out men to seek for him: and
another--and all Burleigh was a-stir: and another--and the coast-guards
from Lyme to Plymouth Sound searched every hole and corner: and
another--when his mother wept five minutes: and another--when the wonder
was forgotten.
However, they did not put on mourning for the truant: he might turn up
yet: perhaps he was at Oxford.
Emily had not much to do in comforting the general for his dear son's
loss; it clearly was a gain to him, and he felt far freer than when
wisdom's eye was on him. Charles had been too keen for father, mother,
and brother; too good, too amiable: he saw their ill, condemned it by
his life, and showed their dark too black against his brightness. The
unnatural deficiency of mother's love had not been overrated: Julian had
all her heart; and she felt only obliged to the decamping Charles for
leaving Emily so free and clear to his delightful brother. She never
thought him dead: death was a repulsive notion at all times to her: no
doubt he would turn up again some day. And Julian joked with her about
that musty proverb "a bad penny."
As to our dear heroine, she never felt so happy in all her life before
as now, even when her Charles had been beside her; for within a day of
his departure he had written her a note full of affection, hope, and
gladness; assuring her of his health, and wealth, and safe arrival on
board the Indiaman. The noble-hearted youth never said one single word
about his brother's crime: but he did warn his Emmy to keep close beside
the general. This note she got through Mrs. Sainsbury; that invalid lady
at Oxton, who never troubled herself to ask or hear one word beyond her
own little world--a certain physic-corner cupboard.
And thou--poor miserable man--thou fratricide in mind--and to thy best
belief in act, how drags on now the burden of thy life? For a day or
two, spirits and segars muddled his brain, and so kept thoughts away:
but within a while they came on him too piercingly, and Julian writhed
beneath those scorpion stings of hot and keen remorse: and when the
coast-guards dragged the Mullet, how that caitiff trembled! and when
nothing could be found, how he wondered fearingly! The only thing the
wretched man could do, was to loiter, day after day, and all day long,
upon the same high path which skirts the tortuous stream. Fascinated
there by hideous recollections, he could not leave the spot for hours:
and his soft-headed, romantic mother, noticing these deep abstractions,
blessed him--for her Julian was now in love with Emily.
CHAPTER XIII.
NEWS OF CHARLES.
AY--in love with Emily! Fiercely now did Julian pour his thoughts that
way; if only hoping to forget murder in another strong excitement.
Julian listened to his mother's counsels; and that silly, cheated woman
playfully would lean upon his arm, like a huge, coy confidante, and fill
his greedy ears (that heard her gladly for very holiday's sake from
fearful apprehensions), with lover's hopes, lover's themes, his Emily's
perfection. Delighted mother--how proud and pleased was she! quite in
her own element, fanning dear Julian's most sentimental flame, and
scheming for him interviews with Emily.
It required all her skill--for the girl clung closely to her guardian:
he, unconscious Argus, never tired of her company; and she, remembering
dear Charles's hint, and dreading to be left alone with Julian, would
persist to sit day after day at her books, music, or needle-work in the
study, charming General Tracy by her pretty Hindoo songs. With him she
walked out, and with him she came in; she would read to him for hours,
whether he snored or listened; and, really, both mother and son were
several long weeks before their scheming could come to any thing. A
_tete-a-tete_ between Julian and Emily appeared as impossible to manage,
as collision between Jupiter and Vesta.
However, after some six weeks of this sort of mining and counter-mining
(for Emily divined their wishes), all on a sudden one morning the
general received a letter that demanded his immediate presence for a day
or two in town; something about prize-money at Puttymuddyfudgepoor.
Emily was too high-spirited, too delicate in mind, to tell her guardian
of fears which never might be realized; and so, with some forebodings,
but a cheerful trust, too, in a Providence above her, she saw the
general off without a word, though not without a tear; he too, that
stern, close man, was moved: it was strange to see them love each other
so.
The moment he was gone, she discreetly kept her chamber for the day, on
plea of sickness; she had cried very heartily to see him leave her--he
had never yet left her once since she could recollect--and thus she
really had a head-ache, and a bad one.
Julian Tracy gave such a start, that he knocked off a cheffonier of
rare china and glass standing at his elbow; and the smash of mandarins
and porcelain gods would have been enough, at any other time, to have
driven his mother crazy.
"Charles alive?" shouted he.
"Yes, Julian--why not? You saw him off, you know: cannot you remember?"
Now to that guilty wretch's mind the fearful notion instantaneously
occurred, that Emily Warren was in some strange, wild way bantering him;
she knew his dreadful secret--"he _had_ seen him off." He trembled like
an aspen as she looked on him.
"Oh yes, he remembered, certainly; but--but where was her letter?"
"Never mind that, Julian; you surely would not read another person's
letters, Monsieur le Chevalier Bayard?"
Emily was as gay at heart that morning as a sky-lark, and her innocent
pleasantry proved her strongest shield. Julian dared not ask to see the
letter--scarcely dared to hope she had one, and yet did not know what to
think. As to any love scene now, it was quite out of the question,
notwithstanding all his mother's hints and management; a new exciting
thought entirely filled him: was he a Cain, a fratricide, or not? was
Charles alive after all? And, for once in his life, Julian had some
repentant feelings; for thrilling hope was nigh to cheer his gloom.
It really seemed as if Emily, sweet innocent, could read his inmost
thoughts. "At any rate," observed she, playfully, "Bayard may take the
postman's privilege, and see the outside."
With that, she produced the ship-letter that had put her in such
spirits, legibly dated some twenty-two days ago. Yes, Charles's hand,
sure enough! Julian could swear to it among a thousand. And he fainted
dead away.
What an astonishing event! how Mrs. Tracy praised her noble-spirited
boy! How the bells rang! and hot water, and cold water, and salts, and
rubbings, and _eau de Cologne_, and all manner of delicate attentions,
long sustained, at length contributed to Julian's restoration. Moreover,
even Emily was agreeably surprised; she had never seen him in so amiable
a light before; this was all feeling, all affection for his brother--her
dear--dear Charles. And when Mrs. Tracy heard what Emily said of
Julian's feeling heart, she became positively triumphant; not half so
much at Charles's safety, and all that, as at Julian's burst of feeling.
She was quite right, after all; he was worthy to be her favourite, and
she felt both flattered and obliged to him for fainting dead away.
"Yes--yes, my dear Miss Warren, depend upon it Julian has fine feelings,
and a good heart." And Emily began to condemn both Charles and herself
for lack of charity, and to think so too.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE TETE-A-TETE.
NO sooner had "dear Julian" recovered, which he really had not quite
accomplished until the day had begun to wear away (so great a shock had
that intelligence of Charles been to his guilty mind), than the
gratified and prudent mother fancied this a famous opportunity to leave
the young couple to themselves. It was after dinner, when they had
retired to the drawing-room; and I will say that Emily had never seemed
so favourably disposed towards that rough, but generous, heart before.
So then, on some significant pretence, well satisfied her favourite was
himself again, as bold, and black, and boisterous as ever, the masculine
mother kissed her hand to them, as a fat fairy might be supposed to do,
and operatically tripped away, coyly bidding Emily "take care of Julian
till she should come back again."
The momentary gleam of good which glanced across that bad man's heart
has faded away hours ago; his repentant thoughts had been occasioned
more from the sudden relief he experienced at running now no risks for
having murdered, than for any better feeling towards his brother, or any
humbler notions of himself. Nay, a strong reaction occurred in his ideas
the moment he had seen his brother's writing; and when he fainted, he
fainted from the struggle in his mind of manifold exciting causes, such
as these:--hatred, jealousy, what he called love, though a lower name
befitted it, and vexation that his brother was--not dead. Oh mother,
mother! if your poor weak head had but been wise enough to read that
heart, would you still have loved it as you do? Alas--it is a deep
lesson in human nature this--she would! for Mrs. General Tracy was one
of those obstinate, yet superficial characters, whom no reason can
convince that they are wrong, no power can oblige to confess themselves
mistaken. She rejoiced to hear him called "her very image;" and
predominant vanity in the large coquette extended to herself at
second-hand; self was her idol substance, and its delightful shadow was
this mother's son.
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