A Bartered Honour. A novel

Front matter

BY THE HAME AUTHOR. WHISPERS. A VOLUME OF LYRICAL POEMS, BY EOBERT HAEBOEOUGH SHEEAED. Printed on Special Dutch Handmade Paper, and bound in Parchment. Prick Six Shillings. REMINGTON & CO., 134, New Bond Street, London, W. A BARTERED HONOUR. .a Hobel. IN THREE VOLUMES, IM ROBERT HARBOROUGH SHERARD. VOL. II. Quae medicamenta non sanant, terrum sanat, Quae ferrum non sanat, ignis sanat. Hippocrates. iiontion: R F.MINGTON AND C O., New Bond Street, W. 1883. [All Rights Reserve,!.} CONTENTS. CHAP. pAGE. I. Jealous? I do not know that word i II. John Merton and Lady ... ... 1 1 III. What became of Esther 23 IV. Wedding- Bells 40 V. The Two Sisters 49 VI. What a World of Happiness their Harmony Foretells 54 VII. Ambition and Love ... ... ... ... ... 70 VIII. The Chevalier's Wooing 78 IX. A Letter from America ... ... ... ... 89 X. The City of the Dead IOO XI.

The End is come of Pleasant Places ... ... 109 XII. Quae Medicamenta non Sanant, Ferrum Sanat ... 123 XIII. Quae Ferrum non Sanat, Ignis Sanat ... ... 138 XIV. The Chevalier Proposes ... ... ... ... 151 XV. Can the Leopard Change his Spots? ... ... 164 XVI. A Newspaper Paragraph ... ... ... ... 176 XVII. Harlot Mother ! I Curse You 178 XVIII. True Hearts are More than Coronets ... ... 187 XIX. Lost 198 XX. Open-eyed Conspiracy ... ... ... ... 205 XXI. The Man of Law 217 XXII. Oh, That Mine Enemy would Write a Book ! ... 228 XXIII. Peckham Lodge

Chapter I

JEALOUS? I DO NOT KNOW THAT WORD. The pension where Charles now pitched his camp, was not exactly in Sorrento, but lay about a quarter of an hour's walk, through the winding lanes, from the village. It was most beautifully situated in the midst of gardens and orange trees and lemon-trees, pomegranate and myrtle bushes. The upper floors all led out on to different large terraces overhung with the drooping vine. The house had been an old monastery, and had, after the tyrannic dissolution of the brotherhood by an arbitrary king, been sold to the family of the people who then kept it. It was built round three sides of a quaint old square, in the middle of which was a well of great depth and most delicious cool ness. The open side faced the gardens which sloped down to the ridge of the sea wall, the sea shore being approached by a flight of steps, tun nelled out in the rock, similar to those which led to the Villa Dresda.

Apart from the great beauty of its position, the terms of the place were very much more within the reach of Charles' purse VOL. II. B than at the Villa Castiglione. He got a beautiful bedroom, opening on to the upper terrace, and full board for six and a half francs a day. Truly, Italy is the land for poets, thought Charles, as he sat on the terrace, the evening of his first day at Sorrento, and saw the sun go down behind Ischia. The whole sky seamed aflame with rosy light, which was reflected in the grey blue sea, from the distant horizon as far as to the line of dazzling foam that lapped the purple shores of Ischia and Procida. The effect was truly marvellous. Colours of every kind lit up the sky. Clouds, purple, red, blue, green, clouds tinged at the borders of their snow white mantles with pink, orange, violet, and yellow, sailed slowly across the firmament like so many gorgeous fairies ushering Apollo to his rest, or welcoming the pale moon rising, accompanied by a few dim stars, behind the flaming cupola of Vesuvius.

Then, as the light died out and the blush of evening gave place to the frowning darkness of night, and the moon reigned in the stead of the blazing sun, the scene discovered new beauties. The contrast of the sweet, soft, white light of the moon with the fierce, ominous, ruddy glare of Vesuvius ; the reflection of both these lights in the restless sea, the gleam of the pale light on the shining leaves of the lemon trees, the rippling of the waves on the shingle, the last notes of the late cicalas, the nightingale beginning her chant, the wind rustling in the forest-clad mountains behind, the melodious song of some home-wending mule- JEALOUS ? I DO NOT KNOW THAT WORD. 3 "teer, the faint, far off serenade of returning fisher men, the endless combinations of beauty and music, each spot in the whole vast panorama full of infinite grace and suggestion, presented to gether a picture the impersonation of beauty.

A cheese-monger from Cheapside, standing where Charles was, would have felt inspired, would have learnt that there are things beyond Cheddar, beauties superior to Chester, and that Stilton is not, and should not be, the ultimate dim Thule of man's aspirations. Though within a stone's throw of the Villa Dresda, Charles could never muster courage enough to call again. He lacked the courage, though he earnestly desired to see Euphrosyne. He would often start from the hotel with the in tention of going to the Villa, would reach the iron gates of the Baroness's gardens, would stand wist fully looking through the bars, and still could never bring himself to enter. His nervousness never came upon him until he had first reached the gate, and often he would return a hundred yards or so, and bracing himself up make his way once more to the Villa, but his courage would then a"-ain fail him, and he would return, dejected, to his abode.

It was not till he had been over a week at Sorrento that he met Euphrosyne again. He was lying one morning, with a Homer in his hand, on a grassy bank by the side of the main road to Massa, lazily watching the dancing flight of some radiant dragon flies, skimming the dusty road. The Homer did not receive much attention, and who should blame its reader ? The past is all very well when the present palls, but when all invites to enjoyment and ease the present should be enjoyed. What day-dreams passed through Charles's head as he gazed wistfully towards the sea, what emblems were suggested, what music faintly echoed in his mind? All the beauty of the world was there, and there only for Euphrosyne. Euphrosyne was taking a walk alone in that direction, she passed Charles without being noticed although at the time his full eyes were fixed on her.

He was thinking of her, she was there, but he did not notice her. It was not till she bowed to him that he started to his feet, with flushed cheeks, and with his hair in the wildest confusion. He did not seem to understand for a moment or two, then he laughed and gave her greeting. " Excuse me, mademoiselle, I was dreaming, I think ; I did not see you." "You had your eyes on me," said Euphrosyne smiling. " Yes, over there," said he, pointing to the skies of the horizon. Euphrosyne looked at him, and paused. Then she said — " Are you staying here ? Is di Caserta here too?" "Always di Caserta, always di Caserta," thought Charles. He answered that he thought the Duke was still at Naples, he had not seen him JEALOUS? I DO NOT KNOW THAT WORD. for more than a week. Then he asked timidly if he might walk a little way with her — he felt lonely he said.

She felt lonely she answered, he might walk with her. Why had he never called if he had been in Sorrento a week? She so much wanted to hear about di Caserta. What was this service he had done him ? "Nothing," answered Charles bitterly. "I lent him a little money. Voila tout." " Did Arnolfo want money ? " asked Euphro syne. " How strange that he should have asked you. The Baroness would " — " He did not ask me," said Charles, interrupt ing, " I lent it to him. He paid it back. That is the end." They walked on in silence. At last Charles broke out — ■ " Why are you so interested in the Duke ? " Without a sign of hesitation, but with a little blush and a voice full of infinite tenderness, Euphrosyne answered — " I love him." There, he had it from her lips. It was finished, this dream of his. She was not of much worth, after all.

His question had been indiscreet, but how indiscreet her answer. What would a love be worth that was proclaimed to strangers ? Where was her modesty, her maidenly reserve ? Euphrosyne continued — "You know what love is, do you not? You love Horace, you say." " Bah ! " said Charles, " Is that love ? I may feel for him, that were he here to-day, a contem porary, I should admire him, and perhaps love him. The love for a memory, for a name, is not the same as the love for a living person. Do you understand me ? " "Hardly; I can fancy loving and hating a memory, a man of past ages, a name, as strongly as a man of to-day. I put Dante under my pillow and threw Voltaire into the fire when I was a child." " And now are you no longer a child ? " " Ah, me ! I fear not," said Euphrosyne sadly. " I love to think so, but they will not let me be one, I think.

I must walk and not run. I may not sing now when my heart is full of pleasure. I must be quiet and reserved. Ah, no ! I am no child." " Is it quiet and reserved to tell a stranger whom you love ? " Euphrosyne was silent awhile, then she said — " You asked me." " I did, and I am sorry ; there are things we had better not know. Delusions are sweet sometimes." "Why should you be sorry? " " Would you not be sorry if one day your lover told you that he loved another woman ? " "IS'o; why, I should be glad. I think it makes people happy to love." " Would it not make you jealous ? " "Jealous — I do not know that word. It is a word I do not understand." JEALOUS ? I DO NOT KNOW THAT WORD. 7 Charles stopped, and looked her full in the eyes. There was a truth there, in its well of liquid light. They walked back.

" Tell me," said Euphrosyne, " what you mean ; tell it to me over again." " I said that there are things which men would rather never hear. There are dreams from which there should be no awaking. I was happy before you said what you did ; I am not happy now." " Do you not like Arnolfo ? " " Yes." " Why then be angry with me for sharing your feeling towards him. Oh ! he is noble, he is generous, he is beautiful." " Your love is no uncommon one," said Charles with a short laugh. " Beauty and generosity soon find hearts to love them. I liked him for neither of these qualities." " But you do like him, and this makes me happy." After this Charles reverted no more to the subject. He talked to the girl of love and wai-, of heroes and heroines, of beauty and chivalry, of romance and pathos, and made her interested and pleased with him.

When he left her at the gates of the Villa Dresda she put out her hand and said — "You are very clever. I shall like you too. Good-bye." Charles returned to his pension full of bitter and remorseful thoughts. The time he had spent with Euphrosyne had only served to feed the flame of his love. He did not understand her, that is certain. He did not understand the priceless value of the girl he loved. She was not the ordinary woman he took her for. He saw her only with the eyes of the body, he saw her only in the flesh. He had not known her long enough to learn that even if beauty did not claim her as favourite daughter, she would still be of women the most desirable. Like a miser gloating over the golden case of a casket, full of the most rare and beautiful pearls, without knowing its contents, he was taken by her form alone.

And yet who, looking into her deep eyes, could not read the innocence, the purity, the childlike simplicity of her character. Yet, in spite of his ignorance of her full value, he loved her intensely. She was worth more than any man born could ever offer her. He again returned to the thought that she admired the Duke as a wealthy man, as the descendant of a long line of glorious ancestors, and with this thought returned his regret. The regret brought with it perverseness, and, let it be said, he felt glad he had written to Dorothy as he had. He entered the hotel, and spent the minutes before lunch in turning over the leaves of the visitors' book which lay in the hall, indulging in all kinds of speculations, suggested by the names therein. Amongst the names that occurred in the last year's register he came across the following : — "John Merton and Lady, " San Francisco, U.S." JEALOUS ?

I DO NOT KNOW THAT WORD. 9 Suddenly it flashed across his mind that this was the name of the man who had betrayed his friend Lovell's friend. With pleasurable excite ment, for he rejoiced at the chance of doing his friend, to whom he felt grateful for various kind ness, a valuable service, he called a waiter, and pointing to the names, asked the man for information about those people. The waiter replied that they were Americans, that they had stayed there a few weeks, that they had been very liberal to him, emphasising this latter, that they were travelling in Italy, and that they were, according to a letter the proprietor had that morning received, about to return to Sorrento, and finally that lunch was ready. Charles took breakfast hastily, and spoke to the proprietor, who confirmed the waiter's statement, and added that Mr. and Mrs. Merton were expected in three or four days.

Charles walked straight to Sorrento, and, going to the telegraph station, sent the following message to Lovell : — " Sorrento. " Dear Lovell — " A man called John Merton and a woman of the same name are expected here in a few days, at the Grande Sentinelle Hotel. Both Americans, and hailing from San Francisco. " Yours, " Hauberk." Late that evening he received the answer — " Leipzic. " Dear Hauberk — " Eternal thanks for message. I leave for Naples to-night, on Bartholomew's track. If only I can see Esther. "Yours most affectionately, "Herbert Lovell." In four days Charles received another telegram from his friend, from Rome, announcing his arrival there. About the time that he received the telegram Mr. John Merton and lady arrived at the Grande Sentinelle. Charles went to Naples to meet Herbert, who arrived at about four in the afternoon by the ex press.

The two friends were very glad to see each other. Herbert was especially pleased at seeing Charles. He was very much excited, and appeared wild and unsettled. The thought of seeing his dear friend, still dear though stained and dishonoured, again was uppermost in his mind. He kept appealing to Charles as they drove from Castellamare to Sorrento — " Let me see her ! let me see her ! and then for Bartholomew."

Chapter II. John Merton And Ladt

The carriage which they had taken at Castella mare (for it was too late to reach Sorrento by sea, and they had had to go round the bay by train as far as Castellamare and on by carriage) did not proceed fast enough for the impatient young American, who, as he approached nearer his desti nation, appeared to be burning with excitement, and continually urged the driver to lash his horses on. The beauties of one of the most picturesque drives in the world were thrown away upon him, not one of the manifold features of transcendent interest, which the landscape as well as the people must present to all who see Naples for the first time, elicited a single remark. " Yes, it is beautiful I daresay," he would say, whenever Charles pointed out some beautiful view or place of interest. " But where is Esther ? where is Esther ?

" As each of the villages which lie between Castellamare and Sorrento were approached, he would clutch Charles by the arm, and ask in a voice hoarse with excitement, " Is that Sorrento ? " and when he heard how far it was still off would sink back peevishly in his seat, only to spring up again, and repeat, " Where is Esther ? where is Esther ? " As they drew near the village he could hardly restrain himself from jumping out of the carriage and running thither, but contented himself with shouting to the driver, in French, German, and English, to drive his horses faster. Charles, as he marked the hectic flush nn the young man's cheek, and saw his nervous hands ball and loosing, and heard his breath coming and going in short spas modic gasps, and saw his whole form quivering with excitement, felt that he must never permit him to see his enemy in such a state if he wished to prevent murder!

He spoke to Lovell and bade him be calm, but all the answer he got was the same, " Where is Esther? where is Esther? " At last the Grande Sentinelle was reached ; it was seven o'clock, and they had done their drive in good time. At least so the driver remarked, pointing to his steaming and foam-covered horses. Lovell tossed him some money, and bidding Charles " follow," shouted out as he entered the house, " Where is the proprietor ? " The man of the house approached, and asked him what he wanted. Charles made him a sign, but the man did not notice it — the hall was dark. Lovell said, in a voice quivering with excite ment — " You have here a Mrs. Merton ; where is she ? " Charles repeated the sign. The man said — " La Signora Merton, with il Signor Merton, are in their apartments on the first floor.

They do not dine at table d'hote." Lovell tore upstairs, Charles after him, leaving the proprietor in amazement, thinking that surely some lunatic was at large. " Be calm, be calm," said Charles, as he reached his friend, who was standing on the landing of the first floor. " Calm I need be ! Where is she ? Where is she?" continued he. "By God, I will break down every door in the house but I will find her ; and him, ah ! him." While he was yet speaking a door that led on to the landing was opened, and a waiter came out, saying, as he closed the door — " Yes, Signora Merton, I will attend to your order. Did you say at six ? " The words were hardly out of the man's mouth, and before Charles could stop him, when with a cry that had little of human in it Herbert dashed at the door, thrust the waiter aside, burst the door rather than pushed it open, and rushed into the room.

The room was dimly lighted. One solitary candle on the piano, at which a lady was playing, shed a feeble light, but by it could be discerned the figure of a man standing by the open window. Herbert had taken all this in at a glance ; he crossed the room and went up to the woman with out a word, with his arms out, his dress in confu sion, and tottering rather than walking. The man, who had been startled by his entry, and who probably took him for a drunken guest of the pension, stepped in between them. With a cry of rage Herbert leapt upon him, and seizing him by the throat dashed him aside. The woman gave a startled cry and snatched up the candle, throwing its full light upon the intruder, and at the same time discovering her features. But Herbert was blinded and with a cry of " Esther, I have found you," threw his arms round her.

The man, who had recovered from Herbert's attack, jumped to the rescue, seized him by the collar, and dragged him away, saying — " Are you mad, sir, or drunk ? " Herbert struggled and freed himself, and then for the first time looked at the man. The girl had run to the door, and was crying for help. Charles had entered the room and stood prepared to prevent further violence. " Who are you, and what do you want ? " said John Merton. Herbert looked at him. The darkness of the room, lit now only by the dim light of the evening, prevented him from seeing the person's face. He said slowly, as if repeating something he had learnt by heart — " You are tall, you are violent. You call your self John Merton. You are a liar and a thief. I am Herbert Lovell, and you are Bartholomew." The man laughed a merry laugh.

Herbert con tinued, interposing himself between the door — " It is not the time to laugh now. You have had more than three years for mirth. Your sorrows shall begin now. I know you. I know you as a villain and a thief. I have come to take Esther from you. I have come to punish you." John Merton listened to him in the greatest amazement. Then he said — " I hear by your accent that you are an American. You are probably drunk. You have played your nonsense long enough, and now you will leave my room. If you live in the house I shall come to you to-morrow for an explanation of this. You have insulted my sister." " You lie," said Herbert ; " you lie. Not your sister, your mistress ! Bartholomew ! Thief, em bezzler, seducer, you see that I know you ! " " This is really getting too strong," said John Merton, who began to recognize that he was dealing not with a drunkard, but either with a lunatic or with somebody labouring under a strong delusion.

" I do not know what you mean. My name is John Merton, not Bartholomew. The lady is my sister, Mildred Merton ; and, here, I have had enough of this. Go and get something cooling to drink, and get out." What Herbert might have done in his fury can not be said had not the people of the house, aroused by Mildred's cries, come hurrying to the room with lights and dragged Herbert away, who was just commencing a second and more violent attack on the supposed Bartholomew. " What is the matter ? " said the proprietor of the establishment, who was, with two waiters, holding Lovell back. There was plenty of light in the room now. Mildred had entered, and stood behind her brother, frightened and pale. Herbert glanced at the Mertons. Instead of the villanous face of Bartholomew, he saw the fresh, cheerful face of a young man of about twenty, and, instead of Esther, a fair-haired girl, whose age her most jealous detractors could not have put higher than eighteen.

He stood looking at them, and they, with no less astonishment, at him. It was clear neither party had seen the other before. The proprietor, still clinging to Herbert, repeated his question. There was a long silence. Most of the pension naires had gathered together on the first landing, and were crowding their heads in at the door, anxious to learn what was the matter. At last Herbert spoke. He had recovered his self-command, though he looked as if he could not understand the matter at all, an expression which by the way, was seated on the faces of all those present. " It is a mistake," said he. " Your hear that ? " said John Merton, waving his hand to bid the proprietor release Herbert and leave the room. "It is a mistake. Ladies and gentlemen, there is no cause for alarm, and no reason why you should not return to your dinner."

Then, as the people went away, by no means satisfied at this denouement of what had promised to be a tragic adventure, he closed the door, and going up to Herbert, who was leaning ex hausted and as a man in a dream on Charles' arm, he said — " Now, countryman, what was this mistake ? " But poor Herbert could not answer. Shame, wonder, and regret enforced silence in him. He stood for some time in the same position, looked at John Merton, then at his sister, and finally at Charles, who was as astonished as the rest. At last he said, addressing the latter — " I think I had better go back to Leipzic," and with this he walked to the door. "No, no," said Charles, interposing himself; "no, Herbert, you must explain yourself to this lady at least. You must see that." " What is it all about ? " said John Merton, addressing Charles.

" I hardly know myself. It appears my friend has lost a dear friend, a relation, I believe, who ran away from X — , in the States, with a person who assumed the name of John Merton. My friend has just come all the way from Saxony to meet you. He took you for the man, I suppose, in the dark, and the lady, your sister, for the lady." "X—, in the States?" cried John and Mildred at the same time. " Yes X — , in the States," said Herbert, who had somewhat recovered. " But I see it is a mis take. I am dazed and ashamed to-night, to-morrow, if you will let me, I will explain all. I can show you then that I had grounds for a mistake. I am truly sorry at what has happened. 1 hope the lady will forgive me. I think she will when she hears that I took her for," cried he bitterly, " the VOL. II. c best friend I ever had — for an unhappy, unhappy woman."

"No, countryman," said John kindly, taking him by the hand, ' not to-morrow, to-night. Vet rest a little ; you are tired and excited. Mildred, a chair for our countryman. Mildred, some brandy, quick. There, friend, sit down ; and you, sir, kindly take a seat. You will tell us about it by-and-bye, and I think I can see something clear in this mystery. Mildred, do you remember Doctor Toogood ? " " Can I ever forget him, John? " " Do you remember the bag and umbrella ? " " Of course." "Then I think I can meet our countryman half-way in his explanation. Do' you know, Mildred, that I think we must learn to forget our benefactor." "Forget him ! John, oh, never ! " "Forget him, if we would not think of him other than as an angel from heaven. I fear we were only the tools of a designing man. I fear we shall have to learn to forget him if we would not unsay the prayers we have said for him together, forget him before we recall the blessings our old mother spoke over him, forget him before we resolve to follow the last words, the last com mand, she gave us on her deathbed."

Herbert, who had listened to this conversation in a kind of stupified amazement, rose and said vaguely, " Then you are not Bartholomew? " " No," said John Merton with a smile. " I understand your mistake now. I am afraid I know Bartholomew." " Where ? where is he ? " cried Herbert, starting to his feet. "I don't know. I met him at X — more than three years ago." "How? as Bartholomew ? " " No, as Doctor Toogood." " Tell me, tell me ! " cried Herbert ; " tell me all about it." "Perhaps," said Charles, "as this is apparently a family matter, I had better retire ? " "Do you want your brother to go ? " asked John Merton, addressing Herbert. " Who ? " asked Herbert. " Your brother ; are you not his brother ? " said John, indicating Charles. "No," answered Charles quickly, " certainly not, I am Charles Hauberk."

" No," said Herbert, with a glance of affection at his friend. " No, we are not brothers, we are good friends." " I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said John, looking from one to the other, " I thought you were. You are not unlike each other." Charles drew himself up rather stiffly, glanced at his signet ring, whereon the arms of the Hau berk family were engraved, and proceeded to the door. " No, stay, Charles," said Herbert. " Vou have heard the beginning of the story, and you may as well hear the end." " I am not very much interested," said Charles, sitting down, indifferently. " Well, gentlemen, I have not much to tell. I only saw Bartholomew, if indeed he and Dr. Toogood be the same person," began John — " Never ! " said Mildred. He then told them that, being left in a state of utter poverty with his sister at X — , he had received a sudden visit from a man whom he de scribed, and whose description tallied exactly with Herbert's conception of Bartholomew, who had inquired into their case, and who came the next day, bringing them the wherewithal to travel to San Francisco, where their mother lived.