Part 51 (1/2)
”Rather say,” rejoined Walter--”that this unhappy man, against whom my father's ashes still seem to me to cry aloud, had never come into our peaceful and happy valley! Then you would not have reproached me, that I have sought justice on a suspected murderer; nor I have longed for death rather than, in that justice, have inflicted such distress and horror on those whom I love the best!”
”What! Walter, you yet believe--you are yet convinced that Eugene Aram is the real criminal?”
”Let to-morrow shew,” answered Walter. ”But poor, poor Madeline! How does she bear up against this long suspense? You know I have not seen her for months.”
”Oh! Walter,” said Ellinor, weeping bitterly, ”you would not know her, so dreadfully is she altered. I fear--” (here sobs choaked the sister's voice, so as to leave it scarcely audible)--”that she is not many weeks for this world!”
”Great G.o.d! is it so?” exclaimed Walter, so shocked, that the tree against which he leant scarcely preserved him from falling to the ground, as the thousand remembrances of his first love rushed upon his heart. ”And Providence singled me out of the whole world, to strike this blow!”
Despite her own grief, Ellinor was touched and smitten by the violent emotion of her cousin; and the two young persons, lovers--though love was at this time the least perceptible feeling of their b.r.e.a.s.t.s--mingled their emotions, and sought, at least to console and cheer each other.
”It may yet be better than our fears,” said Ellinor, soothingly. ”Eugene may be found guiltless, and in that joy we may forget all the past.”
Walter shook his head despondingly. ”Your heart, Ellinor, was always kind to me. You now are the only one to do me justice, and to see how utterly reproachless I am for all the misery the crime of another occasions. But my uncle--him, too, I have not seen for some time: is he well?”
”Yes, Walter, yes,” said Ellinor, kindly disguising the real truth, how much her father's vigorous frame had been bowed by his state of mind.
”And I, you see,” added she, with a faint attempt to smile,--”I am, in health at least, the same as when, this time last year, we were all happy and full of hope.”
Walter looked hard upon that face, once so vivid with the rich colour and the buoyant and arch expression of liveliness and youth, now pale, subdued, and worn by the traces of constant tears; and, pressing his hand convulsively on his heart, turned away.
”But can I not see my uncle?” said he, after a pause.
”He is not at home: he has gone to the Castle,” replied Ellinor.
”I shall meet him, then, on his way home,” returned Walter. ”But, Ellinor, there is surely no truth in a vague rumour which I heard in the town, that Madeline intends to be present at the trial to-morrow.”
”Indeed, I fear that she will. Both my father and myself have sought strongly and urgently to dissuade her; but in vain. You know, with all that gentleness, how resolute she is when her mind is once determined on any object.”
”But if the verdict should be against the prisoner, in her state of health consider how terrible would be the shock!--Nay, even the joy of acquittal might be equally dangerous--for Heaven's sake! do not suffer her.”
”What is to be done, Walter?” said Ellinor, wringing her hands. ”We cannot help it. My father has, at last, forbid me to contradict the wish. Contradiction, the physician himself says, might be as fatal as concession can be. And my father adds, in a stern, calm voice, which it breaks my heart to hear, 'Be still, Ellinor. If the innocent is to perish, the sooner she joins him the better: I would then have all my ties on the other side the grave!'”
”How that strange man seems to have fascinated you all!” said Walter, bitterly.
Ellinor did not answer: over her the fascination had never been to an equal degree with the rest of her family.
”Ellinor!” said Walter, who had been walking for the last few moments to and fro with the rapid strides of a man debating with himself, and who now suddenly paused, and laid his hand on his cousin's arm--”Ellinor! I am resolved. I must, for the quiet of my soul, I must see Madeline this night, and win her forgiveness for all I have been made the unintentional agent of Providence to bring upon her. The peace of my future life may depend on this single interview. What if Aram be condemned--and--and--in short, it is no matter--I must see her.”
”She would not hear of it, I fear,” said Ellinor, in alarm. ”Indeed, you cannot--you do not know her state of mind.”
”Ellinor!” said Walter, doggedly, ”I am resolved.” And so saying, he moved towards the house.
”Well, then,” said Ellinor, whose nerves had been greatly shattered by the scenes and sorrow of the last several months, ”if it must be so, wait at least till I have gone in, and consulted or prepared her.”
”As you will, my gentlest, kindest cousin; I know your prudence and affection. I leave you to obtain me this interview; you can, and will, I am convinced.”
”Do not be sanguine, Walter. I can only promise to use my best endeavours,” answered Ellinor, blus.h.i.+ng as he kissed her hand; and, hurrying up the walk, she disappeared within the house.
Walter walked for some moments about the alley in which Ellinor had left him, but growing impatient, he at length wound through the overhanging trees, and the house stood immediately before him,--the moonlight s.h.i.+ning full on the window-panes, and sleeping in quiet shadow over the green turf in front. He approached yet nearer, and through one of the windows, by a single light in the room, he saw Ellinor leaning over a couch, on which a form reclined, that his heart, rather than his sight, told him was his once-adored Madeline. He stopped, and his breath heaved thick;--he thought of their common home at Gra.s.sdale--of the old Manor-house--of the little parlour with the woodbine at its cas.e.m.e.nt--of the group within, once so happy and light-hearted, of which he had formerly made the one most buoyant, and not least-loved. And now this strange--this desolate house--himself estranged from all once regarding him,--(and those broken-hearted,)--this night ushering what a morrow!--he groaned almost aloud, and retreated once more into the shadow of the trees. In a few minutes the door at the right of the building opened, and Ellinor came forth with a quick step.