The Chronicle of Sir H. Earlsleigh, Bart

Front matter

rt Amidst its dark tombs I sought for the mysterious figure." Chapter xx. THE CHRONICLE OF SIR HARRY EARLSLEIGH, BART. BY Frederick 'iLastwoo^ AUTHOR OF "Calumny," " Humorous Papers," &c. LONDON : James Black wood and Co., Lovell's Court, PATERNOSTER ROW. (All rights reserved.) CONTENTS Chapter. Page Prologue. 9 I. An Invitation 13 II. An Adventure 17 III. A Morning's Walk 26 IV. Mangerton - - . - - - -38 V. Sketching from Nature 50 VI. Jack Tilbury 61 VII. Soft Weather 71 VIII. The Old Weir Bridge .... 80 IX. The Bower 91 X. Fern Gathering 99 XI. My Nurse 108 XII. Peace or War ? - - - - . -118 XIII. Love - - 125 XIV. The Banshee VI contents. Chapter. page XV. Explanations J42 XVI. The Last Ride - - - - • -148 XVII. The Storm - - 159 XVIII. After the Storm .... - 170 XIX. Dinner 177 XX. Evening J88 XXI.

Night 201 XXII. The Baton Sinister - - - . - 211 XXIII. Home 221 XXIV. Letters 233 XXV. Law - - - - - - - - 240 XXVI. A Strange Visitor 250 XXVII. Befouled 258 XXVIII. Crazed 266 XXIX. Another Visitor 274 XXX. Indigestion ------- 284 XXXI. The Strangers' Gallery - 297 XXXII. Found Drowned ---.-- 305 XXXIII. A Letter and a Newspaper - - - 317 XXXIV. Hyde Park ------- 324 XXXV. Midnight 332 XXXVI. The Break of Day - 337 XXXVII. A Country Inn 347 XXXVIII. The Old Church 360 XXXIX. My Mother's Grave 372 XL. A Foul Deed 377 XLI. Discovered 387 XLII. A Legal Shave ------ CONTENTS. VII Chapter. PAGE XLIII. Clara - 405 XLIV. The Felon - - 415 XLV. Luncheon 428 XLVI. The Volcano 437 XLVII. My Las^ Cause ------ 443 XLVIII. The Day of my Life ----- 454 XLIX. Remorse 463 L. Conclusion - - - - - - -

Prologue

. In a richly furnished apartment, upon a bed of down, there lies a woman. Beside the bed, her face hidden in its coverings, there kneels another woman. Opposite to her, with an arm around the neck of her upon the bed, there stands a man. You can but just make out the forms ; you cannot see their faces, for the blinds of the room are drawn, and it is very dark — so dark, indeed, that the first shadows of the grave seem to be already upon the place, and the gloom which Death so often sends before him is already here, heralding his advent. Approach the bed, and you may see more plainly. Look upon the pallid features of the reclining woman, look into her eyes, and you will see that Death has got his hand upon the handle of the door, and soon will lay it on the woman — will clutch her with his icy fingers, and bear her spirit from them.

A mere girl — and yet a wife ; for he who stands beside her and holds her wasted form to his, as if he hoped by show of love to keep the monster back, is husband to her. She is a mother, too, for yonder in the gloom you may see an infant upon its couch, sleeping peacefully and happily, as if it would have a mother when it wakes. It is but a few weeks old. God help it when the mother dies ! B X prologue. A ray of light has broken through the blinds : it rests upon the kneeling woman. See how it lights up her golden hair — makes it to glitter strangely in the gloom, as though it were a holy halo set there to mark the purity of her who kneels. Look upon her upturned face as she raises it from the clasped hands on which it has just laid ; look upon it as the light shines on its soft features, and shows you all their beauty; look upon it as the tears roll down the cheeks, and the lines of sorrow, deep and terrible — sorrow for a dying sister — cut themselves into that face ; look upon the depth of love that shines through all that sorrow, and say — Is that an angel's face ?

She is not an angel; but if chastity, if virtue, if intense affection, go for aught, she is not far from being an angel. And very shortly she will perform an act of self-devotion which, placed in her place, an archangel could not excel. The deep silence, the knell of passing life, is broken now. The dying girl has motioned them to draw closer to her, and now she is speaking in fearfully earnest voice, but so low that the listeners bend their heads to catch her words. See how fondly she has put the wasted arms around her sister's neck, and has laid her dying face upon her sister's breast ; see how lovingly she who has been kneeling clasps the other to her heart ; see how fondly their eyes meet, as soul drinks from soul its last draught of love this side eternity. Mark the awful solemnity with which the dying girl regards them now ; mark the terrible anxiety with which they strain their every nerve to catch her words ; mark the troubled countenance of the man — there is something more than grief in that.

Look you at her who stands holding that faintly beating heart to hers ; see how she trembles from head to foot ; see the deadly pallor that has come upon her face — 'tis blanched as that which lies prologue. XI upon her bosom ; see the look of anguish which has come upon her face, and hear, oh hear, the agony of her voice ! " Dear, dear sister, you know not what you ask ! " What can the dying girl have asked to cause such cruel suffering as this ? What can one, who loves so dearly, hesitate to give at such a time as this ? What were those low words you could not hear? A request as natural as woman can make to woman — a sacrifice as great as soul can ask of soul. She has asked her presently to be a mother to the motherless child— to be a wife to the wifeless husband. It is a simple enough request, and yet 'tis one that requires love almost angelic, devotion almost Christ-like.

She asks a life of dishonour — she asks a sister's fame. No wonder that the young girl hesitates ; no wonder that the deadly pallor of her face changes to a burning flush of shame ; no wonder that she lays that face upon the dying bosom, and tries to hide her misery ; no wonder that she sobs in anguish ! The shortening breath is gasping forth some words. You can only hear, " My poor motherless lamb ! my little orphan child ! " But heed the intensity of grief with which she speaks those words, as though the senseless infant and its welfare were the world, and Heaven besides, to her — as though her all-engrossing love for the babe had deadened her affection for all else. The voice is getting feebler now — the breathing is more laboured ; the monster has opened the door ; stealthily he is gliding nearer and nearer to the bed.

The face of her who weeps is still concealed upon the other's bosom ; she dares not raise it, lest the eyes of him who is beside them should behold her shame. Needless alarm ! His gaze is rivetted upon the dying features that he loves. A fearful struggle must have passed in that young heart of hers — but it is over now ; B prologue. and, with her face still hidden, she murmurs something, so low that only the dying girl can hear it ; but, low though it be, it is enough to nerve the lifeless arms, and to make them clasp her closer and more fondly. The hidden face is raised now — its deadly pallor has come back, but it looks lovingly upon the other it has made so calm and tranquil. Look ! They have drawn yet closer to each other, bosom to bosom, heart beating against heart it loves so well. They hold each other tightly, but Death is holding one of them more tightly still, and only one of those two hearts is beating now.

A quarter of a century has passed. Time enough for a life of saintly self-devotion, of heroic virtue, of noble shame, of spotless purity, of glorious dishonour, to be lived and ended ; time enough for death to claim all those you have just beheld, even the infant for whom the woman sacrificed her honour ; time enough for the woman to bear a child herself ; time enough for it to grow to manhood ; time enough for it to inherit its legacy of shame. THE CHRONICLE ut" SIR HARRY EARLSLEIGH, BART.

Chapter I. An Invitation

Upon a hot summer's evening, not many years since, I, Harry Earlsleigh, Bachelor of Arts, Barrister-at-Law, and hero of this narrative, seated myself in an arm-chair. The arm-chair stood in a gloomy chamber, the gloomy chamber stood over two floors and a basement, and the basement with the three floors above it stood at No. — , Gray's Inn Square, High Holborn. Having ensconced my person in the aforesaid arm-chair, my next proceeding was to apply a handkerchief to my forehead, and to utter the highly significant exclamation, " h'phew ! " both of which — the handkerchief and the exclamation — were called forth by the exceeding warmth of the person and the summer evening aforementioned. The exclamation was not intended for the benefit of anybody besides myself, for there was nobody besides myself in the room to be benefited by it, and I cannot say that I derived any extraordinary benefit from it myself, beyond a certain feeling of satisfaction at its utterance.

And yet, sir, I think you will acknowledge that the exclamation was not altogether an unnatural one, when I acquaint you with the fact that I had trudged all the way from Westminster Hall in the sun, and felt considerably more like melted butter than a barrister-at-law. But a barrister-at-law I was for all that, and what is more, ■one who belonged to that highly distinguished body denominated " briefless " on account of the extent of its legal practice. If I had not been a barrister, and if I had not been a briefless one, the probability is that I should not have been at Westminster Hall for the sole purpose of carrying a bundle of paper done up like a brief, and a naturally good-looking physiognomy screwed into an expression of profound meditation, until it was almost as ugly as a Queen's Counsel's. Considering the exertion that this performance had required, the warmth of the evening, and the coldness which clients had exhibited for my legal advocacy, I think it is no wonder that I said, " h'phew !

" Then, again, if London was more intolerable to me at one time than another, it was " upon a hot summer's evening ; " and if I detested its smoky atmosphere and longed for the wooded hills and green meadows of the country more at one time than another, it was at this precise season of the year. And if I saw no probability of seeing the country for some time to come, it was surely enough, sir, to make me mutter " h'phew ! " I made the same remark again when I drew my chair to the open window, which commanded that delightful prospect of stunted grass and trees, facetiously designated "garden," in which some mopish-looking rooks were fluttering, which, to judge from their melancholy caws, were longing for the woods almost as much as I was, together with some miserable sparrows, which, to judge from their dirty feathers, must have found the smoke as inconvenient as I did myself.

I used the same expression for the third time while I was looking at the rooks ; not at the rooks, however, but at Mrs. McGrab, whose entrance of the room had startled me. Mrs. McGrab was the inestimable personage who performed the functions of housekeeper and charwoman in my establishment, in the discharge of which duties she had brought me a letter- Withdrawing my attention from the rooks, and my head from. the window, I opened the letter and read as follows : — " MY DEAR HARRY, " Killarney, July, 186— " What in the name of mystery have you been doing with that dear old self of yours for the last twelve months ? If you've been feeding on parchment and red tape all the while, as I suspect, you'll certainly over-eat yourself and die of apoplexy. Take my advice, and try a change of diet before it is too late ; throw your briefs to the devil, and come over here.

AN INVITATION. 15 "You shall have a good mount, some capital boating, some tolerable fishing, some glorious scenery, some of Bin No. 1, some excellent salmon, and an introduction to my wife, who is positively dying to know you. " Now just leave off digesting your briefs or eating sealing-wax, or whatever cheerful amusement that happens to be engrossing your legal faculties, and think of this like a good fellow ; and don't think only, but COME ; and don't come only, but come soon, like a dear old boy, " To the open arms of " Minus humbug, your affectionate Friend, "Charles Seymour. " P.S. — I forgot to tell you that we met a cousin of yours, Sir Alfred Earlsleigh, a few days since. He is staying down here with a friend, and has promised to come over, so there is another attraction for you. " Nota Bene. — If you don't bring enough traps to last for three months at least, I'll have you shillaleyed immediately on arrival."

I looked up from the letter and down at the rooks. The rooks appeared more dismal, the grass less green, the air more smoky, the atmosphere more sultry, and London more unbearable than ever. I looked at the letter again, and the words " throw your briefs to the devil ' ' caught my eyes ; and I reflected that I shouldn't occasion the devil a great deal of trouble if I were to throw my briefs to him, and that he wouldn't be put to a great deal of inconvenience if he had charge of every one of them during my absence. And, since my briefs could be disposed of so agreeably, it occurred to me that there really was no especial reason why I should remain here to mope like the unfortunate rooks ; and there were a great many reasons why I should accept the invitation. Not the least of these was a desire to behold the writer of the epistle— a dear old college chum, whom I had not seen for years.

So, after due reflection, I resolved to go and judge for myself what the salmon and the wife were like. There was only one objection to the project, and this I found in the postscript my friend had added to his note — the fact of there being at Killarney my cousin, Alfred Earlsleigh, between whom and myself there existed a mutual feeling of antipathy. To explain this I must acquaint you, sir, with a few facts of my previous personal history. If you have perused the prologue, you will perceive that I am the last person mentioned therein ; you will also perceive the position in which I was at the time I write of ; — that I was the offspring of marriage with the sister of a dead wife. This fact debarred me from succession to the baronetcy and the entailed estate of Earlsleigh, which had been my father's, and made this same Alfred Earlsleigh, who was the next legitimate heir, their possessor.

This fact had led to my being trained for the bar, and to my being left with a little income of a few hundred pounds per annum, the personal property of my parents, instead of the thousands which my cousin was enjoying. It was not this, how ever, that had created my dislike for the man, but a systematic intention, which he had evinced upon each occasion that I had met him, to make me aware of the painful position in which I stood. I believe it to be a fact that every man in this world of ours is " blessed " with at least one relation whose existence he could conveniently dispense with : in my own case it was this same cousin of mine, and, albeit I had but few relatives alive, I could have endured the non-existence of this one with fortitude. A dread lest we should come in contact made me hesitate whether I should accept the invitation, and for some moments previous to my decision I was quite undecided.

I looked round the room, my eyes fell upon a certain volume with a yellow cover, and the cognomen of its illustrious compiler inscribed thereon — the immortal Bradshaw, My eyes fixed themselves on Mr. Bradshaw's bilious face, and wouldn't take themselves off it, do what I would, until by some mesmeric influence Mr. Bradshaw had induced me to peruse his interesting pages and to scratch off a note under his directions. A few days later I had caught the Irish mail, and was rushing swiftly along its iron road. Swayed to and fro amid the deafening crash and clatter of its motion, I little knew whither it was carrying me so fast ! To more adventure than I had ever known ; to brighter happiness than I had ever seen ; to darker sorrow than I had ever tasted ; to deeper love than I had ever felt ; to bitterer hatred than I had ever endured ; onward towards them all, nearer to them every moment, I was being •borne with all the mighty speed of that swift train.

Chapter II. An Adventure

" Is it Misther Earlsleigh ye are, sir?" inquired a voice in a rich Irish brogue, as I alighted at Killarney railway station. The owner of the voice and the brogue was also the proprietor of sandy whiskers and a cheerful and highly-freckled visage, which looked all the more cheerful as I replied that I was the bearer of the cognomen he mentioned. The cheerfulness of the freckled visage found its way into the voice with the brogue as it muttered — ■ " It isn't sorry I am for that same ! " and then added aloud, " The master sent me down wid the car, sir. He tould me to tell ye he'd have been down to meet ye himself, but the ladies couldn't spare him at all at all. These your traps, sir ? This way, sir. Mind how ye get up. Put both portmantus on the other side, porter, then we'll ride aisy. Lave go of her head, spalpeen."

And then, after a little figuring on the part of our steed, off we started at a good round trot that made everything fly by like magic. My companion was loquacious. From which fact I was enabled to learn that he rejoiced in the name of Patrick Doherty, which appellation had been shortened, when he was an infant of tender years, into " Pat Dirty," owing to a peculiar predilection he had exhibited for the manufacture of mud pies, and this sobriquet he had retained amongst his familiars ever since. Also that he considered his people a particularly ill-used race, per petually suffering from the tyrannical cruelty of some person or persons unknown ; and various other interesting facts of political, social, and domestic nature. He broke off occasionally to point with his whip at some feature of more than usual beauty in the landscape through which we were driving.

And most beautiful that ever-changing landscape was. The bold purple-coloured mountains that lay around us gave it an air of grandeur, but even without their presence it would have been charming : the woodland scenery, with here and there a peep of the Upper Lake, lying far below us, with its rocky islets almost covered with arbutus, would of itself have formed a prospect most picturesque and pleasing ; but with those same mountains was sublime. Anon we drew near my friend's house, and feeling inclined for a walk after my long railway journey, I proposed to my com panion that I should do the remaining distance on foot. Mr. Doherty thereupon pointed out a footpath by the side of a mountain, around which the carriage road ran, whereby I should save nearly a mile. So, jumping from the car, I set out at a brisk pace, and after half-an-hour's pleasant walking arrived at the entrance to the villa.

Avoiding the carriage drive I struck upon a path which I soon found led me to the back of the house ] Not wishing to intrude too precipitately upon the privacy of my friend, I was about to turn back, when my steps were suddenly arrested by the sound of a sweet melodious voice which broke suddenly upon my ear. Being an ardent lover of music, I advanced in the direction of the sound, and soon came to a lawn, at the farther end of which lay the house, whose French windows opened on to it. I stepped noiselessly across this and reached the windows, one of which lay open ; then, finding shelter amongst the honeysuckle which grew profusely around, peeped in, and there beheld the most beautiful form my vision had ever fallen upon. Seated at a piano was a young girl, apparently of some eighteen years of age ; her back, at first, was towards me, and I could only remark a perfectly symmetrical figure, a finely formed head, and a profusion of rich brown hair that fell in thick ringlets about her neck and shoulders.

As I reached the window the song was finished, and I began to fear lest I should hear no more ; but, to my great delight, she presently opened a portfolio and selected a fresh piece. With an admirable softness of touch, her fingers wandered for a moment over the instrument, and then, in a clear rich voice of exquisite sweetness, she recommenced. Her lay was but a simple Irish melody, selected from that charming collection of Moore, but, simple ballad though it was, so charmingly did she render it that for a time I was entranced. How well do I now recall the moment I first heard those tones, soon to become so dear ! How sweetly the soft cadence of her voice fell upon my ears ! How eagerly they drank in the sweet sound ! So deeply, that my bosom seemed pierced until I felt an answering echo from my soul.

The piece seemed to have a saddening effect upon her, for having finished it, she slowly closed the piano and gathered up her music, which she placed in a rack at the side ; then, as if trying to shake off her melancholy, she began to hum a lively air, and taking a vase from off a chiffonier at her side, set herself to work to arrange some fresh cut flowers ; thus giving me an opportunity of surveying her face, which really seemed divine. With features of an exquisitely delicate and beautiful mould ; eyes of a deep, deep blue, so deep that long though you looked into them you could never fathom all their tenderness and love — eyes which, as she stooped over the flower vase, I could scarcely see for the long dark lashes which shielded them from my too ardent gaze ; with a finely formed forehead and a mass of fair brown hair, she was most lovely : but that which completed the beauty of this face was its expression ; ever varying, it was ever amiable, ever telling of a loving, lovable disposition.

This I could see to advantage, as she bent over her flowers, in the arrangement of which she seemed to take great interest. I could well believe, as I gazed on that fair, ingenuous face, that it was a perfect index of the heart and mind. At length the flowers were completed, and she left the apartment. I still lingered in the hope of her return, and presently I heard her voice from an adjoining room. " Well, Charley," she cried, in an easy, playful tone, "what's to be the order of the day — a row on the lakes, a walk to the village, or a ride to the top of Mangerton ? " " Don't worry, Clara," answered a voice in a gruff, not to say surly tone, which I recognized as that of my friend. " I wish to Heaven Harry were here ! By Jove, it's half past twelve. Doherty should be back by this time. Run and see if he has returned, like a dear girl."

" You think of nothing else, Charley, but this Mr. Earlsleigh," she cried, with just a touch of vexation. " It's Mr. Earlsleigh in the morning, Mr. Earlsleigh in the afternoon, and Mr. Earlsleigh at night : it really is very provoking ! I am sure he will prove a bore. I believe I dislike him already." This was anything but gratifying, coming as it did from so sweet a pair of lips ; but, resolving that I would soon eradicate such a very erroneous idea from the young lady's mind, I retraced my steps, and pursued the path I ought at first to have followed, and soon found myself, if not " in the arms," so much in the hands that it was nearly the same, of my old friend, who welcomed me as warmly as man could do. Seymour was one of those merry fellows you occasionally meet with, whose temperament is ever at summer heat.

No matter what the atmosphere be like, the genial thermometer of their spirits never fails — always keeps high, and makes their pos sessors the happiest men alive. With a fund of humour, ready anecdote, and repartee, he was excellent " company," and performed the part of host to perfection. But beyond this, he was a really good-hearted, generous fellow, heartily beloved by all who knew him. He had been expatiating upon the charms of connubial bliss, which were new to him, to an extent that I began to find weari some, when we were interrupted by the entrance of his wife and the charming girl I had seen before. How lovely she looked now ! Her features wearing an expression of joyous merriment, her cheeks warmed with the rich glow of health, and her eyes — those bright blue eyes — lit up with roguish fun, combined to make the most fascinating face I had ever seen.

In fact, so completely was I lost in admiration, that I am afraid I did not pay such attention as I ought to my hostess, who, nevertheless, welcomed me with scarcely less warmth than her good-natured husband. With a heart beating considerably above its ordinary stroke, I turned to my friend for an introduction to the fair unknown. This he gave in his easy, jocular manner, presenting me with an air of mock solemnity as his most esteemed friend, inquiring of her, in a malicious whisper, whether I had a very borish appearance. As he asked this, her eyes involuntarily sought my face, but meeting an unmistakable gaze of admiration, they fell to the ground, whilst a bright flush suffused her cheeks. With a deep bow, I expressed in a few words the delight I experienced in the introduction. "And," I added, with a laugh, " I shall take great pains to show you how much you were mis taken in your estimation of my character."

"Pray, sir," said Miss Harcourt, for such was her name, demurely, " how do you know what my estimation of your character may be ? " This was a home question which made me feel rather sheepish, for I did not care to let her know how much I had been admiring her fair person and beautiful voice by stealth, and yet I saw no other way of getting out of my dilemma. Fortunately lunch was announced at this moment, and I was extricated. We now sat down to a substantial meal, to which I did ample justice, for my appetite was sharpened by the ride, and not at all impaired by the introduction to Miss Harcourt, fascinating though she was. There was doubtless something very wrong in this, for, as hero of a novel, it was plainly my duty not to have touched a morsel ; but let me tell you, g'ood reader, once for all, that this is a record of facts ; facts which, though they may often appear to my discredit, I shall not attempt to pervert : therefore I confess, perhaps with feelings of shame, that although I had but just made the acquaintance of the most lovely being I had ever beheld, I ate as hearty a lunch as I ever did eat in my life.

In the course of this same lunch Seymour proposed a drive across the country to a village some seven miles off. To this we readily assented ; so, requesting the two girls to enrobe, he despatched Mr. Doherty for the car, with particular injunctions respecting a certain bay mare, which he informed me was about the best thing he had in his stable. While we were waiting for the car, I gleaned some information from my friend concerning the charming girl whose name only I knew at present. It was to the effect that she was the daughter of a military officer, and the sister of his (Seymour's) wife ; that their mother had died when she (Miss Harcourt) was an infant ; that they were the only children, and deeply attached ; and that she was now staying on a visit which was likely to be of some duration.