Chapter XVIII (2)

'But what?' demanded Berrendale. 'O Berrendale!' cried Adeline, bursting into an agony of frantic sorrow, 'if she leaves me, what will become of me! I shall lose the only person now in the world, perhaps, who loves me with sincere and faithful affection!'

Berrendale was wholly unprepared for an appeal like this; and, speechless from surprise not unmixed with confusion, staggered into the next chair. He was conscious, indeed, that his fidelity to his wife had not been proof against a few weeks' absence; but then, being, like most men, not over delicate in his idea on such subjects, as soon as Adeline returned he had given up the connexion which he had formed, and therefore he thought she had not much reason to complain. In all other respects he was sure that he was an exemplary husband, and she had no just grounds for doubting his affection. He was sure that she had no reason to accuse him of unkindness; and, unless she wished him to be always tied to her apron-string, he was certain he had never omitted to pay her all proper attention.

Alas! he felt not the many wounds he had inflicted by

'The word whose meaning kills; yet, told,
The speaker wonders that you thought it cold.'

and he had yet to learn, that in order to excite or testify affection, it is necessary to seem to derive exclusive enjoyment from the society of the object avowed to be beloved, and to seek its gratification in preference to one's own, even in the most trivial things. He knew not that opportunities of conferring large benefits, like bank-bills for L1,000, rarely come into use; but little attentions, friendly participations and kindnesses, are wanted daily, and like small change, are necessary to carry on the business of life and happiness.

A minute more perhaps, elapsed, before Berrendale recovered himself sufficiently to speak: and the silence was made still more awful to Adeline, by her hearing from the adjoining room the sobs of the mulatto. At length, 'I cannot find words to express my surprise at what you have just uttered,' exclaimed Berrendale. 'My conscience does not reproach me with deserving the reproof it contained.'

'Indeed!' replied Adeline, fixing her penetrating eyes on his, which shrunk downcast and abashed from her gaze. Adeline saw her advantage, and pursued it.

'Mr Berrendale,' continued she, 'it is indeed true, that the mulatto has offended both of us; for in offending _you_ she has offended _me_; but, have you committed no fault, nothing for _me_ to forgive? I know that you are too great a lover of truth, too honourable a man, to declare that you have not deserved the just anger of your wife: but you know that I have never reproached you, nor should you ever have been aware that I was privy to the distressing circumstance to which I allude, but for what has just passed: and, now, do but forgive the poor mulatto, who sinned only from regard for me, and from supposed slight offered to her mistress, and I will not only assure you of my forgiveness, but, from this moment, will strenuously endeavour to blot from my remembrance every trace of what has passed.'

Berrendale, conscious and self-condemned, scarcely knew what to answer; but, thinking that it was better to accept Adeline's offer even on her own conditions, he said, that if Savanna would make a proper apology, and Adeline would convince her that she was seriously displeased with her, he would allow her to stay; and Adeline having promised every thing which he asked, peace was again restored.

'But what can you mean, Adeline,' said Berrendale, 'by doubting my affection? I think I gave a sufficient proof of that, when, disregarding the opinion of the world, I married you, though you had been the mistress of another: and I really think that, by accusing me of unkindness, you make me a very ungrateful return.' To this indelicate and unfeeling remark Adeline vainly endeavoured to reply; but, starting from her chair, she paced the room in violent agitation. 'Answer me,' continued Berrendale, 'name one instance in which I have been unkind to you.' Adeline suddenly stopped, and, looking steadfastly at him, smiled with a sort of contemptuous pity, and was on the point of saying, 'Is not what you have now said an instance of unkindness?' But she saw that the same want of delicacy, and of that fine moral _tact_ which led him to commit this and similar assaults on her feelings, made him unconscious of the violence which he offered.

Finding, therefore, that he could not understand her causes of complaint, even if it were possible for her to define them, she replied, 'Well, perhaps I was too hasty, and in a degree unjust: so let us drop the subject; and, indeed, my dear Berrendale, you must bear with my weakness: remember, I have always been a spoiled child.'

Here the image of Glenmurray and that of _home_, the home which she once knew, the home of her childhood, and of her _earliest_ youth, pressed on her recollection. She thought of her mother, of the indulgencies which she had once known, of the advantages, of opulence, the value of which she had never felt till deprived of them; and, struck with the comparative forlornness of her situation--united for life to a being whose sluggish sensibilities could not understand, and consequently not soothe, the quick feelings and jealous susceptibility of her nature--she could hardly forbear falling at the feet of her husband, and conjuring him to behave, at least, with forbearance to her, and to speak and look at her with kindness.

She did stretch out her hand to him with a look of mournful entreaty, which, though not understood by Berrendale, was not lost upon him entirely. He thought it was a confession of her weakness and his superiority; and, flattered by the thought into unusual softness, he caught her fondly to his bosom, and gave up an engagement to sup at an oyster club, in order to spend the evening tete-a-tete with his wife. Nay, he allowed the little Editha to remain in the room for a whole hour, though she cried when he attempted to take her in his arms, and, observing that it was a cold evening, allowed Adeline her due share of the fire-side.

These circumstances, trivial as they were, had more than their due effect on Adeline, whose heart was more alive to kindness than unkindness; and those paltry attentions of which happy wives would not have been conscious, were to her a source of unfeigned pleasure.--As sailors are grateful, after a voyage unexpectedly long, for the muddy water which at their first embarking they would have turned from with disgust.

That very night Adeline remonstrated with the mulatto on the impropriety of her conduct; and, having convinced her that in insulting her husband she failed in respect to her, Savanna was prevailed upon the next morning to ask pardon of Berrendale; and, out of love for her mistress, she took care in future to do nothing that required forgiveness.

As Adeline's way of life admitted of but little variety, Berrendale having persisted in not introducing her to his friends, on the plea of not being rich enough to receive company in return, I shall pass over in silence what occurred to her till Editha was two years old; premising that a series of little injuries on the part of Berrendale, and a quick resentment of them on the part of Adeline, which not even her habitual good humour could prevent, had, during that time, nearly eradicated every trace of love for each other from their hearts.

One evening Adeline as usual, in the absence of her husband, undressed Editha by the parlour fire, and, playing with the laughing child, was enjoying the rapturous praises which Savanna put forth of its growing beauty; while the tawny boy, who had spent the day with them, built houses with cards on the table, which Editha threw down as soon as they were built, and he with good-humoured perseverance raised up again.

Adeline, alive only to the maternal feeling, at this moment had forgotten all her cares; she saw nothing but the happy group around her, and her countenance wore the expression of recovered serenity.

At this moment a loud knock was heard at the door, and Adeline, starting up, exclaimed, 'It is my husband's knock!'

'O! no:--he never come so soon,' replied the mulatto running to the door; but she was mistaken--it was Berrendale: and Adeline, hearing his voice, began instantly to snatch up Editha's clothes, and to knock down the tawny boy's newly-raised edifice: but order was not restored when Berrendale entered; and, with a look and tone of impatience, he said, 'So! fine confusion indeed! Here's a fire-side to come to! Pretty amusement too, for a literary lady--building houses of cards! Shame on your extravagance, Mrs Berrendale, to let that brat spoil cards in that way!'

The sunshine of Adeline's countenance on hearing this vanished: to be sure, she was accustomed to such speeches; but the moment before she had felt happy, for the first time, for years. She, however, replied not; but hurrying Editha to bed, ordering the reluctant tawny boy into the kitchen, and setting Berrendale's chair, as usual, in the warmest place, she ventured in a faint voice to ask, what had brought him home so early.

'More early than welcome,' replied Berrendale, 'if I may judge from the bustle I have occasioned.'

'It is very true,' replied Adeline, 'that, had I expected you, I should have been better prepared for your reception; and then you, perhaps, would have spoken more kindly to me.'

'There--there you go again.--If I say but a word to you, then I am called unkind, though I never speak without just provocation: and, I declare, I came home in the best humour possible, to tell you what may turn out of great profit to us both:--but when a man has an uncomfortable home to come to, it is enough to put him out of humour.'

The mulatto, who was staying to gather up the cards which had fallen, turned herself round on hearing this, and exclaimed, 'Home was very comfortable till you come;' and then with a look of the most angry contempt she left the room, and threw the door to with great violence.

'But what is this good news, my dear?' said Adeline, eager to turn Berrendale's attention from Savanna's insolent reply.

'I have received a letter,' he replied, 'which, by the by, I ought to have had some weeks ago, from my father-in-law in Jamaica, authorizing me to draw on his banker for L900, and inviting me to come over to him; as he feels himself declining, and wishes to give me the care of his estate, and of my son, to whom all his fortune will descend: and of whose interest, he properly thinks, no one can be so likely to take good care as his own father.'

'And do you mean that I and Editha should go with you?' said Adeline turning pale.

'No, to be sure not,' eagerly replied Berrendale; 'I must first see how the land lies. But if I go--as the old man no doubt will make a handsome settlement on me--I shall be able to remit to you a very respectable annuity.'

Adeline's heart, spite of herself, bounded with joy at this discovery; but she had resolution to add,--and if duplicity can ever be pardonable, this was,--'So then the good news which you had to impart to me was, that we were going to be separated!' But as she said this, the consciousness that she was artfully trying to impress Berrendale with an idea of her feeling a sorrow which was foreign to her heart, overcame her; and affected also at being under the necessity of rejoicing at the departure of that being who ought to be the source of her comfort, she vainly struggled to regain composure, and burst into an agony of tears.

But her consternation cannot be expressed, when she found that Berrendale imputed her tears to tender anguish at the idea of parting with him: and when, his vanity being delighted by this homage to his attractions, he felt all his fondness for her revive, and, overwhelming her with caresses, he declared that he would reject the offer entirely if by accepting it he should give her a moment's uneasiness; Adeline, shocked at his error, yet not daring to set him right, could only weep on his shoulder in silence: but, in order to make real the distress which he only fancied so, she enumerated to herself all the diseases incident to the climate, and the danger of the voyage. Still the idea of Berrendale's departure was so full of comfort to her, that, though her tears continued to flow, they flowed not for his approaching absence. At length, ashamed of fortifying him in so gross an error, she made an effort to regain her calmness, and found words to assure him, that she would no longer give way to such unpardonable weakness, as she could assure him that she wished his acceptance of his father-in-law's offer, and had no desire to oppose a scheme so just and so profitable.

But Berrendale, to whose vanity she had never before offered such a tribute as her tears seemed to be, imputed these assurances to disinterested love and female delicacy, afraid to own the fondness which it felt; and the rest of the evening was spent in professions of love on his part, which, on Adeline's, called forth at least some grateful and kind expressions in return.

Still, however, she persisted in urging Berrendale to go to Jamaica: but, at the same time, she earnestly begged him to remember, that temperance could alone preserve his health in such a climate:--'or the use of pepper in great quantities,' replied he, 'to counteract the effects of good living?'--and Adeline, though convinced temperance was the _best_ preservation, was forced to give up the point, especially as Berrendale began to enumerate the number of delicious things for the table which Jamaica afforded.

To be brief: Berrendale, after taking a most affectionate leave of his wife and child, a leave which almost made the mulatto his friend, and promising to allow them L200, a-year till he should be able to send over for them, set sail for Jamaica; while Adeline, the night of his departure, endeavoured, by conjuring up all the horrors of a tempest at sea on his passage, and of a hurricane and an earthquake on shore when he arrived, to force herself to feel such sorrow as the tenderness which he had expressed at the moment of parting seemed to make it her duty to feel.

But morning came, and with it a feeling of liberty and independence so delightful, that she no longer tried to grieve on speculation as it were; but giving up her whole soul to the joys of maternal fondness, she looked forward with pious gratitude to days of tranquil repose, save when she thought with bitter regret of the obdurate anger of her mother, and with tender regret of the lost and ever lamented Glenmurray.

Berrendale had been arrived at Jamaica some months, when Adeline observed a most alarming change in Savanna. She became thin, her appetite entirely failed, and she looked the image of despondence. In vain did Adeline ask the reason of a change so apparent: the only answer she could obtain was, 'Me better soon;' and, continuing every day to give this answer, she in a short time became so languid as to be obliged to lie down half the day.

Adeline then found that it was necessary to be more serious in her interrogatories; but the mulatto at first only answered, 'No, me die, but me never break my duty vow to you: no, me die, but never leave you.'

These words implying a wish to leave her, with a resolution not to do so how much soever it might cost her, alarmed in a moment the ever disinterested sensibility of Adeline; and she at length wrung from her a confession that her dear William, who was gone to Jamaica as a servant to a gentleman, was, she was credibly informed, very ill and like to die.

'You therefore wish to go and nurse him, I suppose, Savanna?'

'Oh! me no wish; me only tink dat me like to go to Jamaica, see if be true dat he be so bad; and if he die, I den return and die wid you.'

'Live with me, you mean, Savanna; for, indeed, I cannot spare you. Remember, you have given me a right to claim your life as mine; nor can I allow you to throw away my property in fruitless lamentations, and the indolent indulgence of regret. You shall go to Jamaica, Savanna: Heaven forbid that I should keep a wife from her duty! You shall see and try to recover William if he be really ill,' (Savanna here threw herself on Adeline's neck,) 'and then you shall return to me, who will either warmly share in your satisfaction or fondly sooth your distress.'

'Den you do love poor Savanna?'

'Love you! Indeed I do, next to my child, and,--and my mother,' replied Adeline, her voice faltering.

'Name not dat woman,' cried Savanna hastily; 'me will never see, never speak to her even in heaven.'

'Savanna, remember, she is my mother.'

'Yes, and Mr Berrendale be your husban; and yet, who dat love you can love dem?'

'Savanna,' replied Adeline, 'these proofs of your regard, though reprehensible, are not likely to reconcile me to your departure; and I already feel that in losing you--' Here she paused, unable to proceed.

'Den me no go--me no go:--yet, dearest lady, you have love yourself.'

'Aye, Savanna, and can feel for you: so say no more. The only difficulty will be to raise money enough to pay for your passage, and expenses while there.'

'Oh! me once nurse the captain's wife who now going to Jamaica, and she love me very much; and he tell me yesterday that he let me go for nothing, because I am good nurse to his wife, if me wish to see William.'

'Enough,' replied Adeline: 'then all I have to do is to provide you with money for your maintenance when you arrive; and I have no doubt but that what I cannot supply the tawny boy's generous patroness will.'

Adeline was not mistaken. Savanna obtained from her son's benefactress a sum equal to her wants; and almost instantly restored to her wonted health, by her mind's being lightened of the load which oppressed it, she took her passage on board her friend's vessel, and set sail for Jamaica, carrying with her letters from Adeline to Berrendale; while Adeline felt the want of Savanna in various ways, so forcibly, that not even Editha could, for a time at least, console her for her loss. It had been so grateful to her feelings to meet every day the eyes of one being fixed with never-varying affection on hers, that, when she beheld those eyes no longer, she felt alone in the universe,--nor had she a single female friend to whom she could turn for relief or consolation.

Mrs Beauclerc, to whose society she had expected to be restored by her marriage, had been forced to give up all intercourse with her, in compliance with the peremptory wishes of a rich old maid, from whom her children had great expectations, and who threatened to leave her fortune away from them, if Mrs Beauclerc persisted in corresponding with a woman so bad in principle, and so wicked in practice, as Adeline appeared to her to be.

But, at length, from a mother's employments, from writing, and, above all, from the idea that by suffering she was making some atonement for her past sins, she derived consolation, and became resigned to every evil that had befallen, and to every evil that might still befall her.

Perhaps she did not consider as an evil what now took place: increasing coldness in the letters of Berrendale, till he said openly at last, that as they were, he was forced to confess, far from happy together, and as the air of Jamaica agreed with him, and as he was resolved to stay there, he thought she had better remain in England, and he would remit her as much money occasionally as his circumstances would admit of.

But she thought this a greater evil than it at first appeared; when an agent of Berrendale's father-in-law in England, and a friend of Berrendale himself, called on her, pretending that he came to inquire concerning her health, and raised in her mind suspicions of a very painful nature.

After the usual compliments:--'I find, madam,' said Mr Drury, 'that our friend is very much admired by the ladies in Jamaica.'

'I am glad to hear it, sir,' coolly answered Adeline.

'Well, that's kind and generous now,' replied Drury, 'and very disinterested.'

'I see no virtue, sir, in my rejoicing of what must make Mr Berrendale's abode in Jamaica pleasant to him.'

'May be so; but most women, I believe, would be apt to be jealous on the occasion.'

'But it has been the study of my life, sir, to endeavour to consider my own interest, when it comes in competition with another's, as little as possible;--I doubt I have not always succeeded in my endeavours: but on this occasion I am certain that I have expressed no sentiment which I do not feel.'

'Then, madam, if my friend should have an opportunity, as indeed I believe he has, of forming a most agreeable and advantageous marriage, you would not try to prevent it?'

'Good heavens! sir,' replied Adeline; 'What can you mean? Mr Berrendale form an advantageous marriage when he is already married to me?'

'Married to you, ma'am!' answered Mr Drury with a look of incredulity. 'Excuse me, but I know that such marriages as yours may be easily dissolved.'

At first Adeline was startled at this assertion; but recollecting that it was impossible any form or ceremony should have been wanting at the marriage, she recovered herself, and demanded, with an air of severity, what Mr Drury meant by so alarming and ill-founded a speech.

'My meaning, ma'am,' replied he, 'must be pretty evident to you: I mean that I do not look upon you, though you bear Mr Berrendale's name, to be his lawful wife; but that you live with him on the same terms on which you lived with Mr Glenmurray.'

'And on what, sir, could you build such an erroneous supposition?'

'On Mr Berrendale's own words, madam; who always spoke of his connexion with you, as of a connexion which he had formed in compliance with love and in defiance of prudence.'

'And is it possible that he could be such a villain?' exclaimed Adeline. 'Oh my child! and does thy father brand thee with the stain of illegitimacy?--But, sir, whatever appellation Mr Berrendale might choose to give his union with me to his friends in England, I am sure he will not dare to incur the penalty attendant on a man's marrying one wife while he has another living; for, that I am his wife, I can bring pretty sufficient evidence to prove.'

'Indeed, madam! You can produce a witness of the ceremony, then, I presume?'

'No, sir; the woman who attended me to the altar, and the clergyman who married us, are dead; and the only witness is a child now only ten years old.'

'That is unfortunate!' (with a look of incredulity) 'but, no doubt, when you hear that Mr Berrendale is married to a West Indian heiress, you will come forward with incontrovertible proofs of your prior claims; and if you do that, madam, you may command my good offices:--but, till then, I humbly take my leave.'--Saying this, with a very visible sneer on his countenance he departed, leaving Adeline in a state of distress--the more painful to endure from her having none to participate in it,--no one to whom she could impart the cause of it.

That Mr Drury did not speak of the possible marriage of Berrendale from mere conjecture, was very apparent; and Adeline resolved not to delay writing to her husband immediately, to inform him of what had passed, and put before his eyes, in the strongest possible manner, the guilt of what he was about to do; and also the utter impossibility of its being successful guilt, as she was resolved to assert her claims for the sake of her child, if not for her own. This letter she concluded, and with truth too, with protestations of believing all Mr Drury said to be false: for, indeed, the more she considered Berrendale's character, the more she was convinced that, however selfish and defective his disposition might be, it was more likely Mr Drury should be mistaken, than Berrendale be a villain.

But, where a man's conduct is not founded on virtuous motives and immutable principles, he may not err while temptation is absent; but once expose him to her presence, and he is capable of falling into the very vices the most abhorrent to his nature: and though Adeline knew it not, such a man was Berrendale.

Adeline, having relieved her mind by this appeal to her husband, and being assured that Berrendale could not be married before her letter could reach him, as it was impossible that he should dare to marry while the mulatto was in the very town near which he resided, felt herself capable of attending to her usual employments again, and had recovered her tranquillity, when an answer to her letter arrived; and Adeline, being certain that the letter itself would be a proof of the marriage, had resolved to show it, in justification of her claims, to Mr Drury.

What then must have been her surprise, to find it exactly such a letter as would be evidence against a marriage between her and Berrendale having ever taken place! He thanked her for the expressions of fond regret which her letter contained, and for the many happy hours which he owed to her society; but hoped that, as Fate had now separated their destinies, she could be as happy without him as she had been with him; and assuring her that he should, according to his promise, regularly remit her L150 a-year if possible, but that he could at present only inclose a draft for L50.

Adeline was absolutely stupified with horror at reading this apparent confirmation of the villany of her husband and the father of her child; but roused to indignant exertion by the sense of Berrendale's baseness, and of what she owed her daughter, she resolved to take counsel's opinion in what manner she should proceed to prove her marriage, as soon as she was assured that Berrendale's (which she had no doubt was fixed upon) should have taken place; and this intelligence she received a short time after the mulatto herself, who, worn out with sorrow, sickness, and hardship, one day tottered into the house, seeming as if she indeed only returned to die with her mistress.

At first the joy of seeing Savanna restored to her swallowed up every other feeling; but tender apprehension for the poor creature's health soon took possession of her mind, and Adeline drew from her a narrative, which exhibited Berrendale to her eyes as capable of most atrocious actions.