Hawbury had immolated himself for
as much as half a dozen times to gratify Dacres.
He had sacrificed himself over and over upon the altar
of friendship, and had allowed himself to be bored
to death because Dacres so wished it. The whole
number of his calls was in reality only about five
or six; but that number, to one of his taste and temperament,
seemed positively enormous, and represented an immense
amount of human suffering.
One day, upon reaching his quarters,
after one of these calls, he found Dacres there, making
himself, as usual, very much at home.
“Well, my dear fellow,”
said Hawbury, cheerfully, “how waves the flag
now? Are you hauling it down, or are you standing
to your guns? Toss over the cigars, and give
an account of yourself.”
“Do you know any thing about
law, Hawbury?” was Dacres’s answer.
“Law?”
“Yes.”
“No, not much. But what
in the world makes you ask such a question as that?
Law! No not I.”
“Well, there’s a point that I should like
to ask somebody about.”
“Why not get a lawyer?”
“An Italian lawyer’s no use.”
“Well, English lawyers are to
be found. I dare say there are twenty within
five minutes’ distance of this place.”
“Oh, I don’t want to bother.
I only wanted to ask some one’s opinion in a
general way.”
“Well, what’s the point?”
“Why this,” said Dacres,
after a little hesitation. “You’ve
heard of outlawry?”
“Should think I had Robin
Hood and his merry men, Lincoln green, Sherwood Forest,
and all that sort of thing, you know. But what
the mischief sets you thinking about Robin Hood?”
“Oh, I don’t mean that
rot. I mean real outlawry when a fellow’s
in debt, you know.”
“Well?”
“Well; if he goes out of the
country, and stays away a certain number of years,
the debt’s outlawed, you know.”
“The deuce it is! Is it,
though? I’ve been in debt, but I always
managed to pull through without getting so far.
But that’s convenient for some fellows too.”
“I’m a little muddy about
it, but I’ve heard something to this effect.
I think the time is seven years. If the debt is
not acknowledged during the interval, it’s outlawed.
And now, ’pon my life, my dear fellow, I really
don’t know but that I’ve jumbled up some
fragments of English law with American. I felt
that I was muddy, and so I thought I’d ask you.”
“Don’t know any more about
it than about the antediluvians.”
“It’s an important point,
and I should like to have it looked up.”
“Well, get a lawyer here; half
London is on the Continent. But still, my dear
fellow, I don’t see what you’re driving
at. You’re not in debt?”
“No this isn’t
debt; but it struck me that this might possibly apply
to other kinds of contracts.”
“Oh!”
“Yes.”
“How such as what, for instance?”
“Well, you see, I thought, you
know, that all contracts might be included under it;
and so I thought that if seven years or so annulled
all contracts, it might have some effect, you know,
upon the the the
marriage contract, you know.”
At this Hawbury started up, stared
at Dacres, gave a loud whistle, and then exclaimed,
“By Jove!”
“I may be mistaken,” said Dacres, modestly.
“Mistaken? Why, old chap,
you’re mad. Marriage? Good Lord! don’t
you know nothing can abrogate that? Of course,
in case of crime, one can get a divorce; but there
is no other way. Seven years? By Jove!
A good idea that. Why, man, if that were so,
the kingdom would be depopulated. Husbands running
off from wives, and wives from husbands, to pass the
required seven years abroad. By Jove! You
see, too, there’s another thing, my boy.
Marriage is a sacrament, and you’ve not only
got to untie the civil knot, but the clerical one,
my boy. No, no; there’s no help for it.
You gave your word, old chap, ’till death do
us part,’ and you’re in for it.”
At this Dacres said nothing; it appeared
to dispel his project from his mind. He relapsed
into a sullen sort of gloom, and remained so for some
time. At last he spoke:
“Hawbury!”
“Well?”
“Have you found out who that fellow is?”
“What fellow?”
“Why that yellow Italian that goes prowling
around after my wife.”
“Oh yes; I heard something or other today.”
“What was it?”
“Well, it seems that he saved her life, or something
of that sort.”
“Saved her life!” Dacres started.
“How? where? Cool, too!”
“Oh, on the Alps somewhere.”
“On the Alps! saved her life!
Come now, I like that,” said Dacres, with bitter
intonation. “Aha! don’t I know her?
I warrant you she contrived all that. Oh, she’s
deep! But how did it happen? Did you hear?”
“Well, I didn’t hear any
thing very definite. It was something about a
precipice. It was Lady Dalrymple that told me.
It seems she was knocked over a precipice by an avalanche.”
“Was what? Knocked where?
Over a precipice? By a what an avalanche?
Good Lord! I don’t believe it. I swear
I don’t. She invented it all. It’s
some of her infernal humbug. She slid off over
the snow, so as to get him to go after her. Oh,
don’t I know her and her ways!”
“Well, come now, old man, you
shouldn’t be too hard on her. You never
said that flirtation was one of her faults.”
“Well, neither it was; but,
as she is a demon, she’s capable of any thing;
and now she has sobered down, and all her vices have
taken this turn. Oh yes. I know her.
No more storms now no rage, no fury all
quiet and sly. Flirtation! Ha, ha! That’s
the word. And my wife! And going about the
country, tumbling over precipices, with devilish handsome
Italians going down to save her life! Ha, ha,
ha! I like that!”
“See here, old boy, I swear
you’re too suspicious. Come now. You’re
going too far. If she chooses, she may trump up
the same charge against you and the child-angel at
Vesuvius. Come now, old boy, be just. You
can afford to. Your wife may be a fiend in human
form; and if you insist upon it, I’ve nothing
to say. But this last notion of yours is nothing
but the most wretched absurdity. It’s worse.
It’s lunacy.”
“Well, well,” said Dacres,
in a milder tone; “perhaps she didn’t
contrive it. But then, you know,” he added,
“it’s just as good for her. She gets
the Italian. Ha, ha, ha!”
His laugh was forced, feverish, and
unnatural. Hawbury didn’t like it, and
tried to change the subject.
“Oh, by-the-way,” said
he, “you needn’t have any further trouble
about any of them. You don’t seem inclined
to take any definite action, so the action will be
taken for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that they are all going to leave Naples.”
“To leave Naples!”
Dacres uttered this in a voice of
grief and surprise which astonished Hawbury and touched
him.
“Yes,” he said. “You
know they’ve been here long enough. They
want to see Rome. Holy-week, you know. No
end of excitement. Illumination of St. Peter’s,
and all that sort of thing, you know.”
Dacres relapsed into sombre silence.
For more than half an hour he did not say a word.
Hawbury respected his mood, and watched him with something
approaching to anxiety.
“Hawbury,” said he at last.
“Well, old man?”
“I’m going to Rome.”
“You to Rome!”
“Yes, me, to Rome.”
“Oh, nonsense! See here,
old boy. You’d really better not, you know.
Break it up. You can’t do any thing.”
“I’m going to Rome,”
repeated Dacres, stolidly. “I’ve made
up my mind.”
“But, really,” remonstrated
Hawbury. “See here now, my dear fellow;
look here, you know. By Jove! you don’t
consider, really.”
“Oh yes, I do. I know every
thing; I consider every thing.”
“But what good will it do?”
“It won’t do any good; but it may prevent
some evil.”
“Nothing but evil can ever come of it.”
“Oh, no evil need necessarily come of it.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed Hawbury,
who began to be excited. “Really, my dear
fellow, you don’t think. You see you can’t
gain any thing. She’s surrounded by friends,
you know. She never can be yours, you know.
There’s a great gulf between you, and all that
sort of thing, you know.”
“Yes,” repeated Dacres,
catching his last words “yes, a great
gulf, as deep as the bottomless abyss, never to be
traversed, where she stands on one side, and I on
the other, and between us hate, deep and pitiless
hate, undying, eternal!”
“Then, by Jove! my dear fellow,
what’s the use of trying to fight against it?
You can’t do any thing. If this were Indiana,
now, or even New York, I wouldn’t say any thing,
you know; but you know an Indiana divorce wouldn’t
do you any good. Her friends wouldn’t
take you on those terms and she wouldn’t.
Not she, by Jove!”
“I must go. I must
follow her,” continued Dacres. “The
sight of her has roused a devil within me that I thought
was laid. I’m a changed man, Hawbury.”
“I should think so, by Jove!”
“A changed man,” continued
Dacres. “Oh, Heavens, what power there is
in a face! What terrific influence it has over
a man! Here am I; a few days ago I was a free
man; now I am a slave. But, by Heaven! I’ll
follow her to the world’s end. She shall
not shake me off. She thinks to be happy without
me. She shall not. I will silently follow
as an avenging fate. I can not have her, and
no one else shall. The same cursed fate that
severs her from me shall keep her away from others.
If I am lonely and an exile, she shall not be as happy
as she expects. I shall not be the only one to
suffer.”
“See here, by Jove!” cried
Hawbury. “Really. You’re going
too far, my dear boy, you know. You are, really.
Come now. This is just like a Surrey theatre,
you know. You’re really raving. Why,
my poor old boy, you must give her up.
You can’t do any thing. You daren’t
call on her. You’re tied hand and foot.
You may worship her here, and rave about your child-angel
till you’re black in the face, but you never
can see her; and as to all this about stopping her
from marrying any other person, that’s all rot
and bosh. What do you suppose any other man would
care for your nonsensical ravings? Lonely and
an exile! Why, man, she’ll be married and
done for in three months.”
“You don’t understand me,” said
Dacres, dryly.
“I’m glad that I don’t;
but it’s no wonder, old man, for really you
were quite incoherent.”
“And so they’re going
to Rome,” said Dacres. “Well, they’ll
find that I’m not to be shaken off so easily.”
“Come now, old man, you must give up
that.”
“And I suppose,” continued
Dacres, with a sneer, “our handsome, dark-eyed
little Italian cavalier is going with us. Ha,
ha, ha! He’s at the house all the time,
no doubt.”
“Well, yes; he was there once.”
“Ah! of course quite devoted.”
“Oh yes; but don’t be
afraid. It was not to the child-angel. She
appears to avoid him. That’s really quite
evident. It’s an apparent aversion on her
part.”
Dacres drew a long breath.
“Oh,” said he; “and
so I suppose it’s not her that he
goes after. I did not suppose that it was.
Oh no. There’s another one more
piquant, you know ha, ha! a devoted
lover saved her life quite devoted and
she sits and accepts his attentions. Yet she’s
seen me, and knows that I’m watching her.
Don’t she know me? Does she want
any further proof of what I am ready to do? The
ruins of Dacres Grange should serve her for life.
She tempts fate when she carries on her gallantries
and her Italian cicisbeism under the eyes of Scone
Dacres. It’ll end bad. By Heaven,
it will!”
Scone Dacres breathed hard, and, raising
his head, turned upon Hawbury a pair of eyes whose
glow seemed of fire.
“Bad!” he repeated, crashing
his fist on the table. “Bad, by Heaven!”
Hawbury looked at him earnestly.
“My dear boy,” said he,
“you’re getting too excited. Be cool.
Really, I don’t believe you know what you’re
saying. I don’t understand what you mean.
Haven’t the faintest idea what you’re driving
at. You’re making ferocious threats against
some people, but, for my life, I don’t know
who they are. Hadn’t you better try to speak
so that a fellow can understand the general drift,
at least, of what you say?”
“Well, then, you understand
this much I’m going to Rome.”
“I’m sorry for it, old boy.”
“And see here, Hawbury, I want you to come with
me.”
“Me? What for?”
“Well, I want you. I may have need of you.”
As Dacres said this his face assumed
so dark and gloomy an expression that Hawbury began
to think that there was something serious in all this
menace.
“’Pon my life,”
said he, “my dear boy, I really don’t think
you’re in a fit state to be allowed to go by
yourself. You look quite desperate. I wish
I could make you give up this infernal Roman notion.”
“I’m going to Rome!” repeated Dacres,
resolutely.
Hawbury looked at him.
“You’ll come, Hawbury, won’t you?”
“Why, confound it all, of course.
I’m afraid you’ll do something rash, old
man, and you’ll have to have me to stand between
you and harm.”
“Oh, don’t be concerned
about me,” said Dacres. “I only want
to watch her, and see what her little game is.
I want to look at her in the midst of her happiness.
She’s most infernally beautiful, too; hasn’t
added a year or a day to her face; more lovely than
ever; more beautiful than she was even when I first
saw her. And there’s a softness about her
that she never had before. Where the deuce did
she get that? Good idea of hers, too, to cultivate
the soft style. And there’s sadness in
her face, too. Can it be real? By Heavens!
if I thought it could be real I’d but
pooh! what insanity! It’s her art.
There never was such cunning. She cultivates the
soft, sad style so as to attract lovers lovers who
adore her who save her life who
become her obedient slaves! Oh yes; and I what
am I? Why they get together and laugh at me;
they giggle; they snicker ”
“Confound it all, man, what
are you going on at that rate for?” interrupted
Hawbury. “Are you taking leave of your senses
altogether? By Jove, old man, you’d better
give up this Roman journey.”
“No, I’ll keep at it.”
“What for? Confound it! I don’t
see your object.”
“My object? Why, I mean
to follow her. I can’t give her up.
I won’t give her up. I’ll follow
her. She shall see me every where. I’ll
follow her. She sha’n’t go any where
without seeing me on her track. She shall see
that she is mine. She shall know that she’s
got a master. She shall find herself cut off
from that butterfly life which she hopes to enter.
I’ll be her fate, and she shall know it.”
“By Jove!” cried Hawbury.
“What the deuce is all this about? Are you
mad, or what? Look here, old boy, you’re
utterly beyond me, you know. What the mischief
do you mean? Whom are you going to follow?
Whose fate are you going to be? Whose track are
you talking about?”
“Who?” cried Dacres. “Why,
my wife!”
As he said this he struck his fist violently on the
table.
“The deuce!” exclaimed
Hawbury, staring at him; after which he added, thoughtfully,
“by Jove!”
Not much more was said. Dacres
sat in silence for a long time, breathing hard, and
puffing violently at his cigar. Hawbury said
nothing to interrupt his meditation. After an
hour or so Dacres tramped off in silence, and Hawbury
was left to meditate over the situation.
And this was the result of his meditations.
He saw that Dacres was greatly excited,
and had changed completely from his old self.
His state of mind seemed actually dangerous. There
was an evil gleam in his eyes that looked like madness.
What made it more perplexing still was the new revulsion
of feeling that now was manifest. It was not
so much love for the child-angel as bitter and venomous
hate for his wife. The gentler feeling had given
place to the sterner one. It might have been
possible to attempt an argument against the indulgence
of the former; but what could words avail against
revenge? And now there was rising in the soul
of Dacres an evident thirst for vengeance, the result
of those injuries which had been carried in his heart
and brooded over for years. The sight of his
wife had evidently kindled all this. If she had
not come across his path he might have forgotten all;
but she had come, and all was revived. She had
come, too, in a shape which was adapted in the highest
degree to stimulate all the passion of Dacres’s
soul young, beautiful, fascinating, elegant,
refined, rich, honored, courted, and happy. Upon
such a being as this the homeless wanderer, the outcast,
looked, and his soul seemed turned to fire as he gazed.
Was it any wonder?
All this Hawbury thought, and with
full sympathy for his injured friend. He saw
also that Dacres could not be trusted by himself.
Some catastrophe would be sure to occur. He determined,
therefore, to accompany his friend, so as to do what
he could to avert the calamity which he dreaded.
And this was the reason why he went
with Dacres to Rome.
As for Dacres, he seemed to be animated
by but one motive, which he expressed over and over
again:
“She stood between me and my
child-angel, and so will I stand between her and her
Italian!”