I desire it, I could not but feel that I shouldgo there, not to visit, but to reside. And so even in this, in manyrespects, delightful project, is mingled the bitter apprehension ofdependence--something so humiliating, that, kindly and delicately as theoffer is made, I could not bring myself to embrace it. I have a greatdeal to say to you, and long to see you."...
These extracts will enable the reader to form a tolerably accurate ideaof the general state of affairs at Gray Forest. Some particulars must,however, be added.
Marston continued to be the same gloomy and joyless being as heretofore.Sometimes moody and apathetic, sometimes wayward and even savage, butnever for a moment at ease, never social--an isolated, disdainful,ruined man.
One day as Rhoda sate and read under the shade of some closely-interwovenevergreens, in a lonely and sheltered part of the neglectedpleasure-grounds, with her honest maid Willett in attendance, she wassurprised by the sudden appearance of her father, who stood unexpectedlybefore her. Though his attitude for some time was fixed, his countenancewas troubled with anxiety and pain, and his sunken eyes rested upon herwith a fiery and fretted gaze. He seemed lost in thought for a while, andthen, touching Willett sharply on the shoulder, said abruptly:
"Go; I shall call you when you are wanted. Walk down that alley." And,as he spoke, he indicated with his walking-cane the course he desiredher to take.
When the maid was sufficiently distant to be quite out of hearing,Marston sate down beside Rhoda upon the bench, and took her hand insilence. His grasp was cold, and alternately relaxed and contractedwith an agitated uncertainty, while his eyes were fixed upon theground, and he seemed meditating how to open the conversation. At last,as if suddenly awaking from a fearful reverie, he said--"You correspondwith Charles?"
"Yes, sir," she replied, with the respectful formality prescribed by theusages of the time, "we correspond regularly."
"Aye, aye; and, pray, when did you last hear from him?" he continued.
"About a month since, sir," she replied.
"Ha--and--and--was there nothing strange--nothing--nothing mysterious andmenacing in his letter? Come, come, you know what I speak of." He stoppedabruptly, and stared in her face with an agitated gaze.
"No, indeed, sir; there was not anything of the kind," she replied.
"I have been greatly shocked, I may say incensed," said Marstonexcitedly, "by a passage in his last letter to me. Not that it saysanything specific; but--but it amazes me--it enrages me."
He again checked himself, and Rhoda, much surprised, and even shocked,said, stammeringly--
"I am sure, sir, that dear Charles would not intentionally say or doanything that could offend you."
"Ah, as to that, I believe so, too. But it is not with him I amindignant; no, no. Poor Charles! I believe he is, as you say, disposed toconduct himself as a son ought to do, respectfully and obediently. Yes,yes, Charles is very well; but I fear he is leading a bad life,notwithstanding--a very bad life. He is becoming subject to influenceswhich never visit or torment the good; believe me, he is."
Marston shook his head, and muttered to himself, with a look of almostcraven anxiety, and then whispered to his daughter--
"Just read this, and then tell me is it not so. Read it, read it, andpronounce."
As he thus spoke, he placed in her hand the letter of which he hadspoken, and with the passage to which he invited her attention foldeddown. It was to the following effect:--
"I cannot tell you how shocked I have been by a piece of scandal, as Imust believe it, conveyed to me in an anonymous letter, and which is ofso very delicate a nature, that without your special command I shouldhesitate to pain you by its recital. I trust it may be utterly false.Indeed I assume it to be so. It is enough to say that it is of a verydistressing nature, and affects the lady (Mademoiselle de Barras) whomyou have recently honored with your hand."
"Now you see," cried Marston, with a shuddering fierceness, as shereturned the letter with a blanched cheek and trembling hand--"now yousee it all. Are you stupid?--the stamp of the cloven hoof--eh?"
Rhoda, unable to gather his meaning, but, at the same time, with a heartfull and trembling very much, stammered a few frightened words, andbecame silent.
"It is he, I tell you, that does it all; and if Charles were not livingan evil life, he could not have spread his nets for him," said Marston,vehemently. "He can't go near anything good; but, like a scoundrel, heknows where to find a congenial nature; and when he does, he has skillenough to practice upon it. I know him well, and his arts and his smiles;aye, and his scowls and his grins, too. He goes, like his master, up anddown, and to and fro upon the earth, for ceaseless mischief. There is nota friend of mine he can get hold of, but he whispered in his ear somedamned slander of me. He is drawing them all into a common understandingagainst me; and he takes an actual pleasure in telling me how the thinggoes on--how, one after the other, he has converted my friends intoconspirators and libelers, to blast my character, and take my life, andnow the monster essays to lure my children into the hellishconfederation."
"Who is he, father, who is he?" faltered Rhoda.
"You never saw him," retorted Marston, sternly.
"No, no; you can't have seen him, and you probably never will; but if hedoes come here again, don't listen to him. He is half-fiend andhalf-idiot, and no good comes of his mouthing and muttering. Avoid him, Iwarn you, avoid him. Let me see: how shall I describe him? Let me see.You remember--you remember Berkley--Sir Wynston Berkley. Well, he greatlyresembles that dead villain: he has all the same grins, and shrugs, andmonkey airs, and his face and figure are like. But he is a grimed,ragged, wasted piece of sin, little better than a beggar--a shrunken,malignant libel on the human shape. Avoid him, I tell you, avoid him: heis steeped in lies and poison, like the very serpent that betrayed us.Beware of him, I say, for if he once gains your ear, he will delude you,spite of all your vigilance; he will make you his accomplice, andthenceforth, inevitably, there is nothing but mortal and implacablehatred between us!"
Frightened at this wild language, Rhoda did not answer, but looked up inhis face in silence. A fearful transformation was there--a scowl so lividand maniacal, that her very senses seemed leaving her with terror.Perhaps the sudden alteration observable in her countenance, as thisspectacle so unexpectedly encountered her, recalled him to himself; forhe added, hurriedly, and in a tone of gentler meaning--
"Rhoda, Rhoda, watch and pray. My daughter, my child! keep your heartpure, and nothing bad can approach you for ill. No, no; you are good, andthe good need not fear!"
Suddenly Marston burst into tears, as he ended this sentence, andwept long and convulsively. She did not dare to speak, or even tomove; but after a while he ceased, appeared uneasy, half ashamed andhalf angry; and looking with a horrified and bewildered glance intoher face, he said--
"Rhoda, child, what--what have I said? My God! what have I been saying?Did I--do I look ill? Oh, Rhoda, Rhoda, may you never feel this!"
He turned away from her without awaiting her answer, and walked awaywith the appearance of intense agitation, as if to leave her. He turnedagain, however, and with a face pallid and sunken as death, approachedher slowly--
"Rhoda," said he, "don't tell what I have said to anyone--don't, Iconjure you, even to Charles. I speak too much at random, and say morethan I mean--a foolish, rambling habit: so do not repeat one word of it,not one word to any living mortal. You and I, Rhoda, must have ourlittle secrets."
He ended with an attempt at a smile, so obviously painful andfear-stricken that as he walked hurriedly away, the astounded girl burstinto a bitter flood of tears. What was, what could be, the meaning ofthe shocking scene she had then been forced to witness? She dared notanswer the question. Yet one ghastly doubt haunted her like hershadow--a suspicion that the malignant and hideous light of madness wasalready glaring upon his mind. As, leaning upon the arm of herastonished attendant, she retracted her steps, the trees, the flowers,the familiar hall-door, the echoing passages--every object that met hereye--se
emed strange and unsubstantial, and she gliding on among them ina horrid dream.
Time passed on: there was no renewal of the painful scene which dwelt sosensibly in the affrighted imagination of Rhoda. Marston's manner waschanged towards her; he seemed shy, cowed, and uneasy in her presence,and thenceforth she saw less than ever of him. Meanwhile the timeapproached which was to witness the long expected, and, by Rhoda, theintensely prayed for arrival of her brother.
Some four or five days before this event, Mr. Marston, having, as hesaid, some business in Chester, and further designing to meet his sonthere, took his departure from Gray Forest, leaving poor Rhoda to theguardianship of her guilty stepmother; and although she had seen solittle of her father, yet the very consciousness of his presence hadgiven her a certain confidence and sense of security, which