Fallen Fortunes. A novel

Chapter I. To Be Oe Not To Be

? When John Dalton reached the head of Sanbeck Valley, there were two courses open to him ; either to keep straight on along the east road, which was soon merged into a bridle-path along the moor that led to Bleabarrow Mere ; or to return to River side by the way he came. It had been his inten tion to join the party on board the steam-yacht; but he now carried about with him that which caused his heart to beat so wildly at the very thought of his wife and children, that he could not trust himself to meet them. It is always open to the wretched — those at least who are not in prison — to end their woes by rope or razor; but it is not so easy to use those remedies. But once one is possessed of a few drops of poison, the case VOL. ir. B becomes very simple: a dose of medicine is not difficult to swallow.

"We have the key of the next world in our pocket, and one turn of the hand admits us. One step from the death-bed, And one from the bier, And one from the charnel, And one Oh, where ? says the poet. But, for John Dalton, even those few steps were now shortened — if he only so willed it. Though the matter only respected his own fate, he was filled with a tremendous sense of power. He had but to lift his hand, and the secret that has defied mankind to pierce it since the world began lay within his grasp. For the moment he felt no inclination to use his advantage ; but he felt immensely flattered in the possession of it. Thoughts of the Great To-come had, of course, occasionally occurred to him, but only in that con ventional and abstract form in which they present themselves to ninety -nine hundredths of his fellow creatures ; familiarity with them had certainly bred no contempt for it in his mind ; and now he could think of little else.

He had climbed the crags, and was looking around him in all directions save one — his face was studiously averted from the long blue lake, on which the yacht, though distant, was distinctly visible. The very world seemed to be at TO BE OR NOT TO BE? 3 his feet, and to afford him the opportunity of a comprehensive Farewell. How exquisitely beau tiful looked the tranquil valley from which he had just ascended; how peaceful were the hours men passed in it, and how contented, to all seeming, were they with their lot ! Old Joe Landell, of the Nook yonder, was dying, it seems, and doubtless sorry to die ; while he (Dalton) was hale and strong enough, yet weary of his life. How cruel and unjust seemed the ways of — well, of Fate. He did not like to say "of Providence," though we use that term itself to avoid saying " of God."

It was impossible, however, to smooth matters over with himself now; he must needs face the truth in theory, as, without doubt, if he put his design into effect, he would have to face it in fact. If God was cruel and unjust in this world, might He not also be so in the next ? The " to be, or not to be 1" of Hamlet is self-applied by every man in Dalton's case, whether he has heard of Hamlet or not. There are many considerations, but the gist of the matter lies in a nutshell. As to what men say of suicide generally, that did not disturb him ; he was too near the thing itself to be moved by the cant of those who have only regarded it from a distance, and with no reference to themselves. It is ■- cowardly," they say; whereas it indeed requires b the extremest kind of courage— the courage of despair.

They might just as well call a man a "coward" for going to the dentist's and getting a raging tooth drawn, instead of letting it rage on. The topic is one of those upon which men have agreed together to talk rubbish. Even Shakespeare has told us that the Almighty has fixed His canon against self-slaughter, though whence he derived the information he has left untold. At the same time, that it is forbidden by implication, is true enough ; and indeed it is very literally " a-flying in the face of Providence,'' since a more violent pro test against the lot that has been assigned to us, or a greater reflection upon Him who imposed it upon us, can hardly be imagined. This last consideration, however, was not that which troubled Dalton most. Strange as it may appear to superficial observers of human nature, morality in such cases commonly makes a better fight of it — intercedes more eloquently for the precious life — than religion itself.

Dalton thought comparatively little of the question which theo logians have affirmed to be the most pressing of all, " Will this be displeasing to the Supreme Being or not?" but was greatly dis turbed by an analogous though not necessarily a synonymous consideration, " Is this right ? " and TO BE OR NOT TO BE? 5 this again resolved itself presently into a very concrete form, " Will it he committing fraud against the Palm Branch Insurance Society?" It was above all things necessary — in order to spare the feelings of his wife and chddren — that his death should be attributed to natural causes ; and yet in that case they would reap an advantage to wliich they had obviously no right. At one time, as we have seen, this consideration had been sufficient to cause him to put aside the notion of self-destruction; and if it had not been for Mr. Campden's conversation with him respecting the Palm Branch, it is probable he would never have reverted to it.

Even the chairman of the Board of Directors had not been able to persuade him that he had a right to derive advantage from a policy one of the conditions of which he had deliberately violated ; but if, to meet their own purposes, the Society should waive their objections, he would surely — so he endeavoured to persuade himself — be in a different moral position. And that they would do so he had very good reason to believe. The chairman had announced his intention of pressing that course of conduct upon his colleagues even in case of a stranger ; and he was not likely to be less strenuous where the interests of a friend — if the dead can be said to have interests — were involved. Moreover, that he would be committing no fraud — in the way of deception, at least — so far as Mr. Campden was concerned, and through him the Company, he felt assured.

It was a trifling circumstance, yet one which, in the event of his sudden death, would at once have an immense significance in the eyes of his host, that he had never mentioned to him, while talking of that very topic, that he himself was insured in the Palm Branch. It was perhaps by accident that, when the subject was first started, he had been reticent upon this point ; but whde the discussion was proceeding he had reflected on the matter, and maintained his secret by design. Now, supposing that he should die very suddenly — much more under circum stances that would suggest suspicion — it must needs at once strike Mr. Campden as very remarkable that his friend had been sdent upon such a point ; from what Dalton knew of the other's character, he was confident that he would feel it his duty to communicate his conjecture to the Insurance Society; and that having thus satisfied his scruples, he would do his best, both on public and private grounds, to procure the payment of the policy to Mrs. Dalton and her children.

By these arguments Dalton had sdenced, if he had not con vinced, the voice of conscience, as respected the: TO BE OR NOT TO BE? 7 Palm Branch, and had so surmounted his chief difficulty. For to have put an end to himself, with the knowledge that in so doing he was com mitting a fraud, would have really been an impos sibdity with him ; the like reflection has probably kept scores of wretched men in this world, and wdl continue to do so ; but the thought that their fraud may not be successful, and their policies be lost, has restrained hundreds. In spite of the reprehensible circumstances in which we now find him placed, John Dalton would have been a better man, even though he hurries his exit, than the majority of those who wait decorously on the stage for the fall of the curtain. It was the suddenness of his calamity which had overthrown his judgment, and pre vented perhaps his fertde mind from suggesting some less tremendous expedient for escaping from his sea of troubles than that of flight.* Nor was self, it must be aUowed, the promoter of his rash design.

If his mind were not now occupied by his beloved Edith and her children, it was because he did not dare to dwell upon that subject; his heart, which was not dismayed at the thought of that dread leap in the dark, melted like wax at the thought of them ! He was not leaving them, as many a self-slayer does, to whom the epithet FALLEN FOBTUNES. 8 " coward " is applicable enough, alone and unpro tected, deserted by the man within whose power it was to win their bread. His loss would be a gain to them every way ; they would ride more buoyantly on the wave of hfe for his removal; and many a friendly sail would assist their little bark, from which they could have accepted no such assistance had he himself — very literally "a pdot to the shores of Nothing" — been on board of her. All these reflections occurred to him confusedly, hurrying across his mind one after the other, like flying clouds over a hillside, but all tending to one point.

It is but seldom that such a dread resolve as Dalton had in fact as good as come to, is deter mined upon by gradual steps. Mr. Campden, I think, somewhat overrode his hobby — otherwise, a trustworthy nag enough — in striking out the six months' proviso as respected suicide, from the regu lations of his Palm Branch. In the mood in which John Dalton now found himself, he would have insured in half-a-dozen such unprotected offices, and killed himself next day ; but he could not — in fact, though the opportunity was open to him, he did not do so — have insured his life with the intention of putting an end to it after the expiration of half a year. It is not so easy as some phdosophers would TO BE OB NOT TO BE? 9 persuade us to look certain death in the face for months, and yet retain our equanimity, even when our friends are assisting us to do so ; but to play the hypocrite to those dearest and nearest to us, to persuade them that all is well with us, whde our inward eye is fixed upon the gaping grave, is a role beyond that of most actors.

From what he had already experienced, Dalton, at all events, was well convinced that such a sustained effort was beyond his powers. If the thing was to be done, it was not only best but necessary to do it quickly. Upon one thing Dalton had long made up his mind — namely, that the catastrophe should not take place beneath the roof which he stdl called his home. The improbability of his decease being attributed to his own hand would, he justly con cluded, be increased by its occurrence at a time when he was a guest upon a visit of pleasure ; and though this was hard upon the Campdens, his necessities were such that he must needs be hard on some one. Their home would be made hateful to Edith and the girls, were it made the scene of such a tragedy; whereas the folks at Riverside would soon get over it.

He pictured to himself, with something like a snide, how his hostess would inveigh against him. for his want of consideration for her feelings, if she could have looked into his mind at this moment. Would it have a good or a bad effect, he wondered, upon her position " in the county ? " It would certainly give the house a temporary interest, and if his ghost should be reported afterwards to " walk " there, even quite a flavour of antiquity. He did not believe in ghosts walking, yet the fancy was sufficient to set his mind speculating on the possibility of his discon tented spirit being aware of what was going on in the world after its departure. Would it be cog nisant of the future of those dear to him, and note their troubles, without the capability of giving them aid ? — their dangers, without power to warn them ?

In that case, there was indeed a Hell, and he would be in it. If he feared for himself at all, it was upon this account. It was surprising, even to himself, how httle he was affected by those material terrors, in the reahty of which he had been brought up to believe; how much his mind still dwelt upon this world, though he stood upon the brink of the other. Though his thoughts wandered so wddly and so far, they always returned, as doves to a dove-cote, to one small and insignificant topic — namely, as to when and where this thing should be enacted. The means — which had hitherto been his great difficulty — were now obtained ; and he had but to TO BE OB NOT TU BE? 11 fix time and place. What scene, what hour, was the best fitted — or rather, the least unfit — for the final catastrophe ? Should it be next morning in the library ? — to which he was still wont to retire after breakfast, upon pretext of business, though all such occupation for him was gone.

In that case. Holt would probably be the first to find him, dead. Then he would tell Campden, and Campden would tell Julia — and Julia would have to break it to Edith. That would be the best plan, if he could only be sure that Holt ivould find him. But suppose Edith should look in upon him, under pretence, as often happened, of choosing, some book to read with Tony, but in reality, as he' well knew, to give him a silent caress, or whisper a word of comfort in his ear — why, that would kdl her. And again, if it should happen in the smoking-room, when the others had gone to bed, and he was all alone, save for that Creator into whose visible presence, perchance, he was about to precipitate himself, would not Edith be the person who would come and look for him, alarmed by his absence, and apprehensive, perhaps, of the very horror that had actually taken place ; apprehensive, but not, alas ! prepared for it ; so that the sudden shock would leave his children not only fatherless, but orphaned !

He pictured the event under a score of circumstances, to every one of which there was an objection, upon the same ground : in none was it certain that the catastrophe could be broken to his wife without danger of the most fatal conse quences. If she had been in her usual health, he could have trusted to her paramount sense of duty to preserve her under the worst disasters ; her first thought, when nature permitted her to think, would have been for the children that were still left to her, and for their sake she would have borne up — and lived on. But as it was, enfeebled by her condition, and already depressed by misfortune, it was only too probable that she might not have the power to rally from such a sudden blow at all. It was curious that not till after he had proposed and rejected many schemes, did the thought strike him, " Why should I not do it now ?

" Except for that dark spot, with a thin ribbon of dark cloud above it, on the distant mere, there was no sign of movement or of life about him. It was unlikely that he should ever find himself more alone than at that very moment. Save for the dull roar of the rapid river, hundreds of feet beneath him, and for the distant tinkle of a sheep-bell from the valley he had just left, not a sound broke the TO BE OB NOT TO BE? 13 surrounding silence. If it is ever easy for a man in health and vigour to lie down and die, it was easy for him to do so now. If ever circumstances can be said to be in favour of such a deed, they were so now. If an opportunity was ever afforded for a man to kill himself — yet to seem to others to have died in the course of nature — it was offered to him now. He looked into the future — not the future of the next world, even yet — and all things seemed to suit with his fell intent.

He had just been to his doctor to consult him about a supposed heart-disease, and the doctor had as good as confirmed his own expressed suspicions that such a mischief was at work. "I should not myself be surprised," he had said, " if I was to hear that you had suddenly dropped down dead." It was true that this had been wrung from him, after much pressing, by what lawyers term "leading questions ; " but Curzon had not probably been aware of it, and even if he had been, when the thing had happened, he was certainly not likely to eat his words. He had but to repeat them, and there would be surely no occasion for any post-mortem investigation. The path by which Dalton had reached the summit of the crags was very steep, though it had, in fact, put him but a very little out of breath ; and its ascent might easily be credited with having cost a man affected with a heart-disease — and who had been found dead on the top of it — his life.

If the doctor had any doubts — if the merest scintilla of suspicion could he called such — he would certainly give them, for all reasons, in favour of " Death from natural causes." Dalton had parted from him, if not in high spirits, still with perfect cheerfulness ; and if he had shown despondency at any period of the interview, it had arisen, apparently, from his suspicions regarding his own health. Upon the whole, it seemed that Dalton' s expedition of that morning had procured for him a most important witness. There was indeed the absence of the laudanum from the bottle to be accounted for; but that could be effected in two ways. Dalton could either take a draught of it, and then break the bottle with the rest of its contents in his pocket, when the breakage would be accounted for by his fall ; or, having drunk what was necessary to effect his purpose, he could fill up the bottle with water from a little spring that was close at hand.

The doctor himself had stated that he had sold him laudanum enough " to kill half the parish," so that a very moderate quantity would suffice for his pur pose. As for the Afterwards — he would presently TO BE OR NOT TO BE? 15 be missed at home, and since he had moored the boat on the right bank of the river, it would be guessed that he had crossed over into Sanbeck, probably with the intention of calling at the doctor's ; the very man would, therefore, be at once communicated with on whom he mainly relied for the final safe-conduct of the affair ; while in the meanwhde, time would allow of misgivings and apprehensions, which, however painful in them selves, do somewhat break, to those who entertain them, the shock of calamity. The house, though at some 'distance, was full in his sight, in which all the degrees of suspense and wretchedness — uneasi ness, dismal foreboding, and despair — were about to be inflicted by his own hand on those he died to benefit, yet he gazed on it with apathetic eyes.

Death was so near to him, that feeling was already dulled by its icy presence. It was more mechani cally than, as before, of resolute design, that he now kept his back turned to the moorland lake — where the black speck was growing larger every moment, which was the steam-yacht Mary, bringing his unsuspicious dear ones home — and took the laudanum from his pocket. He had a flask fitted with a drinking-cup, and into this he poured sufficient, as he judged, of the deadly drug to effect his purpose : placing this upon the turf, he substituted water from the spring for the liquid taken from the bottle, and replaced the latter inhis pocket. Then all was indeed ready. It was astonishing, even to himself, how steady was his hand as he raised the fatal draught to his lips. If the claim of Socrates to philosophy, reflected he grimly, rested only upon his calmness in taking the hemlock, John Dalton was as good a phdosopher as he.

He had "done" his thinking in this world, for good and all, and was wholly occupied with the matter in hand ; he only indulged himself in one surmise — which was likewise Socratic — How long would the poison take to work ? Would he fall at once into a deep sleep ? Would he feel pain ? Then he drank it off very quickly, and to the last drop — after which he carefully washed out the drinking-cup, and returned it to its proper place. As he did so, it suddenly occurred to him that his mouth — he had said to himself his " breath," and then mentally corrected his mistake, with a smde that was very like a shudder — that his mouth would smell of the poison. He remembered that in many cases of suicide the fact was at once discovered by this simple means, and yet he had almost forgotten to take so ordinary a precaution.

He now wetted his lips with a little wine from his flask, and took TO BE OB NOT TO BE? 17 out his cigar-case. "The wine and the tobacco together," thought he, coolly, " will surely overcome the scent of the laudanum." But in selecting his cigar, his hand trembled excessively, for the case from which he took it had been his wife's gift, and was embroidered by her own fingers. Almost everything that John Dalton had, of a handy or luxurious sort, had been given him upon one or other of his birthdays by his wife or children, and he was wont to use them as a matter of course. But now, as he was leaving his Edith for ever, without look or word of farewell, the touch of the sflken flowers that she had woven for him sent a pang to his heart, so keen and vivid, that he almost doubted whether it might not be already due to the poison he had swallowed.

When he put the case away, however, the pain went with it, and he sat down on the turf and began smoking his cigar. If he had stood up a few minutes longer, he would probably have been seen by those on board the yacht, which had by this time left the mere, and was speeding home between the river-banks. As it was, they came on — the young people still at their jests and games — opposite to and immediately under the very crag where Dalton sat. He heard them, or heard something that seemed to mingle with the murmur of the river, and yet was not of VOL. II. c it ; and, dimly curious — for his mind was clouded, and his senses only half obeyed his wdl — would have risen to see what it was ; his limbs, however, were numb and nerveless, and in the attempt to get upon his feet, he fell, and rose no more.

Chapter II. The Anonymous Letter

The first step of Mrs. Dalton, upon reaching home, was to go direct to the library, where she had every reason to expect that her husband would be found. She had entertained but small hope of seeing him on board the yacht ; yet, if he had left the house at all, she thought he would have kept his promise — or half-promise — to join the water party. He was doubtless stfll engaged with his letters, or, more likely, still thinking his sad thoughts, under pretence of being engaged with them. Her surprise was, therefore, considerable at not finding him ; and with her, under her sad circumstances, surprise was at once followed by vague alarm. Her heart beat, not only with haste, as she went rapidly to his own chamber, and then to the smoking-room — to find them both unoccu pied. At the door of the latter she even waited a few seconds, not so much to recover breath as c ■20 FALLEN FOBTUNES. to expel from her face the apprehensions that she knew had gathered there.

"Why, John, where on earth," was the com mencement of the half-laughing sentence she had formed, in the expectation of finding him in his favourite lounging-chair with his cigar. But the words faded on her tongue, as she stood pale and trembling in the untenanted room. From the window she could see the very crag under which — had she but known it — he was lying, unconscious of her tender solicitude. Where on earth, indeed, was he? Or could he be said to be on earth at all ? " John, John ! " The very echoes seemed to mock her, and reply " Gone, gone ! " in answer to her tremulous inquiry. She felt that she was growing " nervous " and needlessly alarmed ; and above all things, it was necessary to conceal such feelings. For what — would be the natural demand of all around her — was there to be alarmed about in her husband's absence from the house ?

Mrs. Campden had already expressed her opinion that he did not hke water-parties, and therefore would not put in an appearance on the mere, and she would only recognise a tribute to her own sagacity and knowledge of John's character in the fact that, after concluding his correspondence, he had gone TEE ANONYMOUS

LETTER. 21

elsewhere. The girls themselves would entertain the same opinion, except that they would not blame him, for they were too fond of him not to be kind — though they were by no means blind — to his foibles. " I wonder where papa is ? " said Kate, meeting her mother in the corridor, on the way to her own room to take off her bonnet and " things." " Marks says he has had no luncheon, but left the house — at least his hat and stick were gone — almost as soon as we did. We must not tell Mrs. Campden that." " He had a headache, perhaps, and meant to walk it off, and then to return to write his letters." " Perhaps so. By-the-bye, there is a letter just come by the afternoon's post for him, marked Immediate." "Yes," said Jenny, who had followed her sister slowly upstairs, but without assistance — it was one of her "good days" — "and I saw Mr. Holt take it up and examine it with ah the curiosity of a housemaid.

I am sure he could not take a greater interest in his affairs if he was papa's partner, and I do hope it has not come to that yet." " Hush, Jenny, hush ! " said Mrs. Dalton, in what was for her a tone of severity : " you may be sorry for such remarks as that when it is too late." "My dearest mamma, what do you mean?" cried Jenny, all tenderness and terror; her mother's looks alarmed her even more than her tone. " Nothing, dear, nothing ; which I am sure was what you meant. Only, just now, such little things have such an effect on me ; and not finding your papa upstairs, nor in his own room, I — it was very foolish of me — began to think that something must have gone wrong." " But, darhng mamma," said Kitty, reprovingly, " what is more likely than that he should have gone for a long walk ? Indeed, we know he has, since he went out before luncheon.

He told me the other day that he must take more exercise, when I was speaking of his want of appetite, which both Jenny and I have remarked of late. Have we not, Jenny ? " " Yes, mamma," said Jenny, eagerly ; " and I don't mind telling you now that I took upon myself to ask Dr. Curzon to try and find out if there was anything the matter with him, and if I am not much mistaken, papa has gone to Sanbeck to-day in consequence ; in which case, his absence is quite accounted for." TSE ANONYMOUS LETTEB. 23 At this moment there was a sharp ring at the front-door, and Jenny's countenance fell. " Nay, my darhng," said her mother, mistaking the cause of her sudden despondency, and prompt to administer comfort in her turn ; " let us trust in God's mercy and hope for the best. There is no reason why a ring at the bell should mean any ill news."