Chapter VIII: The Crisis

Quelle nouvelle a frappé mon oreille!
Quel feu mal étouffé dans mon cœur se réveille!
Quel coup de foudre ô ciel! et quel funeste avis!
RACINE.--_Phèdre._

False! I defy you both:
I have endured you with an ear of fire;
Your tongues have struck hot irons on my face.
CYRIL TOURNEUR.--_The Revenger's Tragedy._

There was an appalling struggle in Marmaduke's breast that day as he reached home. The terrible scene which had passed between him and Mrs. Vyner, with its plainly expressed hint at assassination, made him shudder as he again and again went over it in memory. False and heartless he had known her; but for _this_ he had not been prepared. And he felt a sort of sickness come over him as he reflected on the peril which he had escaped, in Vyner's not coming to listen at the very moment when she had proposed, and he had affected to accept the proposition! He would then have been accused of having really meant to perpetrate the crime; for who would have credited his disavowal? who would have credited his assurance that he was but feigning what his soul abhorred?

By a retrospective glance at his own conduct, and at the peril he had escaped, he was led to meditate on the nature of this woman; and by a reflection on her criminal thoughts, he was shown the criminality of his own.

This revenge which he had planned so remorselessly, what was it but a crime? If he had been wronged by a heartless woman, was it for him thus to measure out the punishment? and did her jilting him deserve so terrible a retribution?

After all, was not vengeance a "wild justice," but only the justice of savages? Was it worthy of civilized, christianized man? And for a man to wreak it on a woman, was not that petty, ignoble, more like spite than retribution?

Such were the thoughts which possessed him. That they never suggested themselves before, arises from the fact of his never having before been cool enough to question the legitimacy of his feelings. But now they staggered him; now they came upon him like a remorse; and he _relinquished his scheme of vengeance_!

The next day, impelled by some strange impulse which he could not explain, he went to the Vyners. Violet observed the agitation of his manner, and attributed it to meeting her again, after what had evidently transpired during her absence. She was, therefore, considerably surprised when he begged for a few moments' private conversation with her, at the same time entreating Rose to leave them alone. She had intended to refuse the request, but Rose had departed before she could open her lips. Rose too well understood the purport of that interview, not to be anxious to forward it by her absence.

"Mr. Ashley," said Violet, coldly, "there is no subject upon which I can hear you alone; you will oblige me, therefore, by suffering me to follow my sister."

"Violet!"

"Mr. Ashley, by whose authority do you address me in that manner?"

"The authority of my love. Violet, I love you ... you know it ... but I must tell you so ... I must..."

She moved towards the door; he intercepted her, and put his back against it. Drawing herself up to her full height, with a haughty gesture she motioned him to let her pass.

"I did not expect _this_," he said, without moving; "I thought I should, at least, be heard. Miss Vyner had given me reason to hope that she would at least suffer me to tell her.... Violet, I cannot control myself. You _must_ know, you must long have known I loved you, you must have seen it in every...."

"Mr. Ashley I request to be allowed to leave the room."

"Do you refuse to listen to me?"

"I do."

He stared at her bewildered; there was something so calm and collected in her manner, yet the manner was so incomprehensible, that he was speechless for a few moments.

"You cannot ... cannot have mistaken ... for so many months ... do you mean that you mistook my looks ... my words ... my actions? ... Did you?"

"I did not."

"Good God! have you then been playing with me?"

"Playing!" she repeated scornfully, yet sadly. "I play!"

"Then what can all this mean? There is some delusion ... a word may set it right.... You knew I loved you--did you not? You hear it now. Violet, I love you--love you as man never loved before. Will you accept that love?"

"Dare you ask me?" she said, fixing her large eyes on his with searching keenness.

"Violet ... what is it that you doubt?"

"Your purpose."

"My purpose is, to tell you that my heart is yours.... That I live but in the hope of calling you mine."

Her bosom heaved--her nostrils dilated, and with flashing eyes she proudly, almost fiercely, exclaimed,--

"Let me pass!"

"What _is_ the meaning of this?"

"Let me pass, sir!"

"Violet! are you mad, or do you think me so? Is my love an insult, that...."

"It _is_ an insult--a deep insult. Now, sir, will you let me pass?"

"I _will_ know what is at the bottom of all this. You may reject me, but you _shall_ explain. It is so utterly inconceivable that, after the encouragement you have given me, you should pretend to regard my avowal as an insult, that I demand an explanation."

In spite of the rising passion in his breast, he uttered this so collectedly and so earnestly, that Violet was somewhat perplexed, and began almost to doubt her own conclusions.

"Mr. Ashley," she said, "a short while ago, such an avowal could only have been felt by me as an honour; but since that, your own conscience will tell you why I reject, and reject with deep scorn, the offer of your hand. Pray let me say no more."

His conscience did tell him, at least it suggested what the cause most probably was; but wishing to come to an explanation, he said,--

"My conscience tells me that I love you--only you; will you tell me wherein lies the insult?"

A long struggle ensued in her mind; she could not give him the explanation he demanded, because unable to bring herself to mention her stepmother.

"If you persist," she said at last, "I must persist also. I tell you again, the offer of your love to me--here, in this house, is an outrage, and scorn is my only answer. Does that suffice? Would you have me add more bitterness to my refusal?"

"Violet, I cannot quit you without..... Tell me, is there not _that_ in your mind which you shrink from uttering, and which has reference to _some one_ in this house?"

"You understand me, then?"

"I do."

"Then let me pass at once."

"Not until you have heard me. Will you hear me.... Will you, in this solemn moment, let me lay before you the whole history of my heart? You think me a villain, will you listen before you condemn?"

"I know not what plausible excuses..."

"Truth--the simplest truth shall be my defence. If that condemns me, I will submit in patience. Will you hear me?"

There was something so solemn and so touching in his tone, that Violet was deeply affected by it; the sad earnestness of his voice pleaded eloquently in his favour.

He approached, and took her hand; she withdrew it hastily, and moved towards the mantelpiece, against which she leaned in an attitude of exquisite dignity, turning her face towards him, prepared to listen. After gazing stedfastly at her for a few seconds, while he collected his thoughts, he thus spoke,--

"Violet, I am about to make a most painful avowal; one that will startle you; one that will seem wholly inexplicable. When but a boy, I loved--loved as boys love, unreasoningly and ardently. I have tropical blood in my veins, Violet, and all passions become intense with me. The girl I loved returned my affection. We were to have been married. I was called away from England. I returned to my father in Brazil. My father gave his consent to our marriage. I wrote to inform her of it: she was overjoyed. Her letters were as ardent as even I could wish. Suddenly they ceased. My father died. I was settling his affairs, and preparing to quit Brazil for England, when I learned from a newspaper that my affianced wife had married another."

He paused: a choking sensation in his throat impeded utterance. Violet had listened eagerly, and still kept her eyes fixed upon him.

"I cannot tell you," he resumed, "what I suffered on awakening from the sort of stupor in which this intelligence threw me. You have never known--may God preserve you from ever knowing it!--what that desolation is, when those we love are found unworthy of our love! The anguish and despair which then tore my soul to pieces, I shudder to look back upon. It was not that my love had been destroyed--it was not that which made the pang; it was the horrible, heartless cruelty with which I had been deceived. I had been sacrificed to wealth. That I might have forgiven; but it was done so cruelly! Until she had accepted her husband, her letters were as affectionate and hopeful as ever. The blow was unbroken in its fall--no wonder that it nearly crushed me!"

He paused again; and saw tears glisten in the earnest eyes of his listener. She, too, had known what it was to suffer from hopeless love!

"Violet, I am fierce and brutal in my instincts, and my education had been but indifferent--on one point especially it had been deficient;--in the Christian spirit of forgiveness. Vengeance--the justice of the savage--was what I had never learned to disown. Writhing under the torture which had been inflicted, I took comfort solely in the hope of vengeance. I came to England with that one absorbing object. Now comes the painful part of iny disclosure--if indeed you have not already guessed it--the girl who had ... in a word, it was Mrs. Vyner!"

He expected to see her vehemently startled, but she only whispered, in a hoarse and broken voice,--

"I knew it."

"You knew it! Then have you understood me?"

"Not quite."

"I must explain, then, my conduct further. I was here in England, resolved on reparation of the wrong I had suffered. I knew not what shape my vengeance would take, but I was resolved to have it in some shape or other. I saw you. To know you, was to love you--and I loved. In my love, I forgot my misery, and ceased to think of revenge. You were sometimes cold and haughty to me, Violet; sometimes kind and encouraging. Do you remember when we rode to the sands that afternoon, and sat upon the rock together listening to the sea? I could have told you then how much I loved you, had not your coldness chilled me. Well, on that very day, while I was suffering from your indifference; _she_, jealous of you, chose to recall me back again to my schemes, by pretending that her marriage had been an act of jealous despair; she roused the demon in me by her infernal arts, and once more I resolved to wreak upon her the vengeance you had made me forget. From that moment I have pursued a scheme which involved her ruin. Many times have I been vacillating, many times has a kind word or look from you brought me back again to a purer atmosphere; but _the devil would have it!_ and a haughty gesture from you has thrown me back again. Hurried onwards by the irresistible course of events, I was nearly losing myself for ever, when last night I had my eyes opened. I saw that the only vengeance worthy of a man was _contempt_. At once, I resolved to cease feigning love for the miserable being whom I had marked as my victim; resolved to break away from the net in which I was entangled, by quitting England.

"Before I left England, I had only to learn my fate: if you refused me, I should carry my despair into distant lands; if you accepted the offer of a heart, I thought you would not refuse to quit England with me. You have now heard all. I have told you of my crime: if repentance will not clear me from the stain...."

The door was thrown violently open before he could conclude the sentence, and Mrs. Vyner stood before them.

They started as at an apparition.

Fearful indeed was the aspect of the little fury, as with bloodshot eyes, quivering lips, and spasm-contracted face, she trembled before them. All that was diabolical in her nature seemed roused, and looking from her eyes: passion made her hideous.

"Your little history is incomplete," she said in a hissing tone; her voice lowered by the intensity of her feeling; "there is a chapter to be added, which you will allow me to add. Miss Vyner is so excellent a listener that she will not refuse to hear it."

Violet looked haughtily down upon her, and said,--

"I desire to hear no more."

"But you must hear this; it concerns you. You cannot be indifferent to anything which relates to your honourable lover; you cannot be unwilling to know that he who offers you his hand is vain fool enough to be the dupe of any woman, as he has been _mine_. He has told you, and how prettily he told it! what pathos! what romance! he told you how I played with him. That is true. He was such a vain silly creature that no one could resist the temptation. Not only did I make a fool of him as a girl. I have done so as a married woman. I persuaded him that even respect for my husband, respect for the world could not withstand the all-conquering beauty of his lumpish person, and he believed it! believed that his face was a charm no woman could resist. This besotted vanity brought him to my feet; yes, even at the time you were sighing for him, he was at my feet, ardent, submissive, a plaything for my caprice!"

She saw Violet writhing, and her savage heart exulted in the pain she was inflicting; she saw Marmaduke's calm contempt, and her exasperation deepened at the unavailingness of her sarcasms to wound him.

Turning from her, as from one unworthy of notice, he said to Violet,--

"I repeat, my fate is in your hands. I love you, love you as I never loved before--with my whole soul: love you with deep reverence for all that is so great and noble in you, and to that generous and exalted mind I leave my errors to be judged."

The sarcasm implied in this avowal almost maddened Mrs. Vyner.

"Accept him, Miss Vyner," she said with a short, hollow, and hysterical laugh; "pray put him out of his misery; accept the offering of his deep reverence, for that offering is _my leavings_!"

Marmaduke and Violet both started as this poisoned sarcasm, issued from her lips, and their faces told her plainly she had struck deep.

"A reformed rake, you know, makes the best husband," she pursued; "so that one so inflammable as _he_ is, will be sure to make a constant and adoring husband. You will be so happy with him! Whenever conversation grows dull, he can amuse you with narrating little episodes of his love for me, and my _cruelty_ that will be so pleasant! you will never tire of that! Accept him: you will be sure never to repent it!"

Marmaduke could have strangled her.

Violet, seeing clearly the purpose of these horrible phrases, cut them short by saying,--

"Mr. Ashley, on some better occasion we will speak again of this; do not let the present ignoble scene continue."

She held out her hand to him. He pressed it to his lips. Mrs. Vyner nearly shrieked with mad jealousy; but suppressed the explosion of her agony; while Violet swept out of the room, disdaining to give even a passing glance at her.

Mrs. Vyner sank exhausted into a chair. Her brain was as if on fire, and her whole frame shook violently with the unutterable rage, jealousy, and hate which stormed within her heart.

Marmaduke could not in his fiercest moments have desired a more terrible retribution than that which now had fallen on the miserable woman; and he gazed upon her with a pity which astonished himself. To this he had brought her; unwittingly it is true, but he felt it was he who had moved the stone which had fallen and crushed her; and now that she lay there suffering before him, his anger had gone, and pity filled its place.

She expected him to speak; she saw his fixed gaze and endeavoured to interpret it; but he spoke not. Before she was aware of his intention, he had left the room.

Five minutes afterwards, Meredith Vyner found her apparently lifeless on the floor: she had swooned.

END OF VOL. II.

London: Printed by STEWART and MURRAY, Old Bailey.