A WIFE'S DUTY, (continued 4)

He bore his fate with calmness; for he expected that she who had caused his imprisonment would be eager to share and to enliven it: but that was beyond the heroism of a mistress. She was not willing to prefer to fine apartments and liberty, love and a prison with him; but while he, agonized at her desertion,—for she bade him a cold and final farewell,—was borne away into confinement, she was led away smiling and in triumph by her now avowed protector.

All these circumstances I did not know at first—I only knew the result; which was imparted to me by the trembling Juan, who had seen Pendarves led away, had seen her farewell, and had vainly tried to make himself observed by him, that he might know he had a friend at hand.

"A friend!" cried I with a flushed cheek, but with a trembling frame: "he shall know that he has the best of friends, a wife, near him!" and instantly, taking no precaution to conceal my person in any way, for I thought not of myself, I hastened rapidly along, Juan with difficulty keeping pace with me, till I reached the Luxembourg.

"Whom do you want?" said a churlish man on duty.

"Seymour Pendarves."

"You can't see him: he is au secret."

"Oh! but I must! Do let me speak to the Citoyen Benoit, and ask him to let me enter."

"You are very earnest; and perhaps he will let you.

"Who shall I say wants to be admitted to this Pendarves?"

"His wife."

"His wife! Well," added he respectfully, "wives should not be kept from their husbands when they seek them in their distress."

He then went in search of Benoit, who appeared with his keys of office.

"Citoyen," said he, "here is a wife wants to see her husband."

"I fear she is an aristocrat, then," replied Benoit, smiling and approaching us.

"Ha!" cried he, "is it you? What is become of your spectacles? And do you want to see your husband, poor thing? Who is he?"

I told him. He shook his head, saying to himself—"Who could have supposed he had a wife, and such a one too!"

"Citoyenne," said he, "you cannot see your husband to-night, nor shall he know you are here; but to-morrow, at nine in the morning, I will admit you. Yes, and for your sake I will show him all the indulgence I can. So it was for this, was it, you came to Paris? I thought there was a mystery. Good girl! good girl!"

So saying, he walked hastily away, and we returned to our home, at once disappointed and cheered.

Oh! how I longed for the light of morning! Oh! how I longed to exhibit the superiority of the wife over the mistress! With what pleasure I anticipated the joy, mixed with shame and sorrow, no doubt, but still triumphant over every other feeling with which Pendarves would behold and receive me! How he would value this proof of tenderness and duty! while I should fondly assure him that all was forgotten and all forgiven!—So did I paint the scene to which I was hastening. Such were the hopes which flushed my cheek and irradiated my countenance.

At length the appointed hour drew near; and I had just reached the gates of the Luxembourg, had just desired to be shown to Benoit, when I looked up and beheld De Walden!

"You here!" cried he, turning pale as death. "O Helen! dear rash friend! why are you in Paris? Speak."

Here he paused, trembling with emotion. I was little less affected; but, making a great effort, I faltered out, "My husband is prisoner here, and I am going to him."

De Walden clasped his hands together and was silent; but his look declared the agony of his mind.

Benoit now came to conduct me in; and De Walden, taking Juan's arm, led him apart.

"Have you told him I am here?" said I, turning very faint, alarmed now the moment was come which I had so delightedly anticipated.

"No: I have told him nothing."

He now put the key into a door at the bottom of a long, narrow, dark passage, and it turned on its heavy and grating hinges.

"Some one desires to see you," said Benoit gruffly, to hide his kind emotion; and I stood before my long estranged husband. But where was the look of gladness? where the tone of welcome, though it might be mingled with that of less pleasant sensations? He started, turned pale, pressed forward to meet me; but then exclaiming in a faltering voice, "Is it you, Helen? Rash girl! why do I see you here?" he sunk upon his miserable bed, and hid his face from me. I stood, pale, motionless, and silent as a statue. Was this the scene which I had painted to myself? True, I should have been shocked, if he had approached me with extended arms, and as if he felt that I had nothing to forget: yet I did expect that his eye would lighten up with joyful surprise, and his quivering lip betray the tenderness which he would but dared not express. However, for the first time in my life, indignation and a sense of injury were stronger than my fond woman's feeling; and I seated myself in silence on the only chair in the room, with my proud heart swelling as if it would burst its bounds and give me ease for ever.

"Helen!" said he at length in a subdued and dejected tone, "your presence here distracts me. This scene, this city, are no places for you; and oh! how unworthy am I of this exertion of love! What! must a wretch like me expose to danger such an exalted creature as this is?"

These flattering words, though uttered from the head more than from the heart, were a sort of balm to my wounded feelings; but I coldly replied, "That in coming to Paris, in order to be on the spot if any danger happened to him, I had only done what I considered as the duty of a wife; and that now my earnest wish was to be allowed to spend part, if not the whole of every day with him in prison, as his friend and soother."

"Impossible! impossible!" he exclaimed, becoming much agitated.

"Why so? Benoit is disposed to be my friend."

"No matter; but tell me who is with you in this nest of villains?"

I told him, and he thanked God audibly. I then entreated to know something concerning his arrest, its cause, and what the consequences were likely to be.

"Spare me!" cried he, "spare me! It is most painful to a man to blush with shame in the presence of his wife. Helen! kind, good Helen! I know you meant to sooth and serve me; but you have humbled me to the dust, and my spirit sinks before you! Go and leave me to perish. In my very best days I was wholly unworthy of you; but now—"

He was right; and my parading kindness, my intruding virtue were offensive. I had humbled him: I had obliged him too much: I had towered over him in the superiority of my character; and instead of attaching, I had alienated him. This was human nature—I saw it, I owned it now, but I was not prepared for it, and it overwhelmed me with despair. Still, it softened my heart in his favour; for, if I had to forgive his errors, he had to forgive my officious exhibition of romantic duty. I now at his request told him all my plans, and every thing that had passed since I came, not omitting to tell him that I had seen De Walden. Nor was I sorry to remark, that at his name he started and changed colour.

"He here! Then you are sure of a protector," said he, "and I feel easier. But, Helen! you are too young, too lovely to expose yourself to the gaze of the men in power. I protest that you are at this moment as beautiful as ever, Helen!"

"It is from the temporary embellishment of strong emotion only," replied I, pleased by this compliment from him. I then turned the discourse to the opportunity our shop gave us of hearing conversations; and I also promised to bring him some of our commodities. He tried to smile, but could not, and I saw that my presence evidently distressed instead of soothing him. Benoit now came to say I must stay no longer, and disappeared again; while, a prey to most miserable feelings, I rose to depart.

"I shall come again to-morrow," said I; "shall I not?"

"If you insist upon it, you shall; but, you had better leave me, Helen, to perish, and forget me!"

"Forget you! Cruel Seymour!" cried I, bursting into an agony of tears.

I found De Walden still talking with Juan. They both seemed to regard me with very scrutinizing as well as sympathizing looks; and I still trembled so much that I was glad to accept the support of De Walden's arm. He attended me home; but we neither of us spoke during the walk. When I reached the door, I said, "Come to me to breakfast to-morrow; for to-day I am wholly unfitted for company." He sighed, bowed, and departed; but not without assuring me that he would enquire concerning the causes of my husband's arrest, and try to get him set at liberty.

"Well," cried Juan, "I have one comfort more than I had; Count De Walden has declared that while you remain in Paris he will." And I also felt comforted by this assurance.

I now retired to my own room, and, throwing myself on the bed, entered upon that severe task self-examination; and I learnt to doubt whether my expedition to France were as truly and singly the result of pure and genuine tenderness, and a sense of duty, as I had supposed it was. For what had I done? I had certainly shone in the eyes of many at the expense of my husband. I had, as he said, "humbled him in his own eyes," and I had chosen to run risks for his sake, which he could not approve, and after all might not be the better for. In such reflections as these I passed that long and miserable day; aye, and in some worse still; for I felt that Pendarves no longer loved me—that he esteemed, he respected, he admired me; but that his tenderness was gone, and gone too, probably, for ever!

I had however one pleasant idea to dwell upon. Deputies, if not an ambassador, were now expected from America, and De Walden had told Juan he should claim their protection for us.

The next morning De Walden came; but his brow was clouded, his manner embarrassed, and the tone of his voice mournful.

"Have you made the inquiries which you promised?"

"I have; and they have not been answered satisfactorily. My dear friend, there are subjects which nothing but the emergencies of the case could justify me to discuss with you. Will you therefore pardon me if I say—"

"Say any thing: at a moment like this it is my duty not to shrink from the truth. I guess what you mean."

He then told me the cause of my husband's arrest, which I have already mentioned; adding that the ostensible causes were so trifling, that they could probably be easily gotten over; but that the true cause, jealousy, was, he feared, not likely to be removed.

"But she left him," cried I, "left him as if for ever, and accompanied her new lover in triumph!"

"Yes: but I fear that he will not get quit of her so soon."

My only answer to this unwelcome truth was a deep sigh; and for some minutes I was unable to speak, while De Walden anxiously walked up and down the room.

"Perhaps you would go and see Pendarves?"

"No: excuse me: an interview between me and him must be painful, and could not be beneficial. The letter I had from him to inform me of a certain mournful event was cold; and though I answered it kindly,—for I thought of you when I wrote,—I was convinced that the less we met again the better."

"Then what can you do?"

"I know not—I could not save my friend, you know."

"If money can do it, I possess the means."

"And so do I; but Robespierre is inaccessible to bribes, and so I have found his creatures. I fear that I must seek Madame Beauvais herself."

"But she probably hates you?"

"True: but she does not hate Pendarves; and if I convince her that her only chance of liberating him is by seeming to have ceased to love him, the business may be done."

"And must he owe his liberty, and perhaps his life, to her? But be it so, if he can be preserved no other way—in that case I would even be a suitor to her myself."

"That I could not bear. But oh! dear inconsiderate friend, why did you come hither?"

"Because I thought it my duty."

"And do you still think so?"

I was silent.

"Answer me: candid and generous Helen: do you not now see that it was more your duty to stay in your own safe country, protected by respectable friends, than to come hither courting danger, and the worst of dangers to a virtuous wife? Believe me, the passive virtue of painful but quiet endurance of injury was the virtue for you to practise. This quixotic daring looked like duty; but was not duty, Helen, and could only end in disappointment: for tell me, have you not found that you have thus suffered and thus dared for an ingrate?"

My silence answered the question.

"Enough!" resumed De Walden; "and I feel that I have been cruel; but mine has been the reproof of friendship, wrung from me by the indignant agony of knowing that even I cannot perhaps protect you from the insults which I dread. Oh! why did they let you come hither? I am sure your mind was not itself when you thought of it."

"You are right. The idea had taken hold of my imagination then unnaturally raised, and come I would. But my physician approved my coming; for he thought it safer for me, and thought, if I was not indulged, that my reason, if not my life, might suffer."

This statement completely overset De Walden's self-command; he blamed himself for what he had said—accused himself of cruelty—extolled the patient sweetness with which I had heard him, and had condescended to justify myself. Then, striking his forehead, he exclaimed, "And I, alas! am powerless to save a being like this! But save her, Thou," he added, lifting his clasped hands to heaven.

The hour of my appointment at the prison now arrived again, and De Walden accompanied me thither. I did not see Benoit; but I was admitted directly, and my conductor, opening the door, said, "A female citizen desires to see you."

"Indeed!" said Pendarves in a tone of joy; but he started, and looked disappointed, when he saw me.

"Is it you, Helen?" said he.

"Did you expect it was any one else?"

"Not much," he replied, evidently disconcerted; "not much. It is only a primitive old-fashioned wife like yourself who would follow an unworthy husband to a prison."

"And to a scaffold, if necessary," cried I with energy.

"Helen!" said Pendarves in a deep but caustic tone, "spare me! spare me! This excess of goodness—"

I smiled; but I believe my smile was as bitter as his accents.

What meetings were these between persons circumstanced as we once were and were now! But it could not be otherwise, and all I now suffered I had brought upon myself. In order to change the tone of our feelings, I told him De Walden had breakfasted with me, and then asked him if he would not like to see Juan.

He said "Yes," but carelessly, and then added, "So De Walden has been with you?" and fell into a mournful reverie till our uncomfortable interview was over.

I promised to send him by Juan all he wanted and desired, of linen, clothes, and food; for Benoit had assured me he would allow him to receive any thing for the sake of his good wife. He thanked me, shook my hand kindly, and saw me depart, as I thought with pleasure.

I found De Walden waiting for me with Juan. The latter by my desire asked for Benoit, and begged to know of him at what hour that day or evening he might be admitted to his master. Accordingly he went, carrying with him the articles I mentioned. He was gone some time; and anxious indeed was I for his return.

"I have seen her," said he.

"Seen whom?"

"That vile woman."

"Was she with him?" cried I, turning very faint.

"No, no: let the good Benoit alone for that. She desired to see the Citoyen Pendarves, her husband;" on which Benoit scornfully answered, "One wife is enough for any man: I allow him to see one of his every day, but no more; so go away, and do not return again."

"What!" exclaimed the creature, in great agitation, "is she, is Helen Pendarves in Paris?"

"Yes; she, the true she,—the good wife is here; and she alone will Benoit admit to his prisoner. Va-t en, te dis-je!"

"And the creature went away," added Juan; "for I saw and heard it all, giving him such a look!"

I could not help being pleased with this account; but I sent him immediately to tell De Walden what had passed, that he might lose no time in seeking La Beauvais, to prevent her going to the prison, and thereby increasing the danger of Pendarves.—When Juan returned, I asked for a minute detail of all that passed between my husband and him.

"Oh! he is very wretched!" he replied: "but he told me nothing concerning himself; he only walked up and down the narrow room, asking me nothing but about you, and why they let you come, and if De Walden came on purpose to guard you. In short, we talked of nothing else; and then he did so wish you safe back in your own country!"

La Beauvais, provoked and disappointed, seized my arm. "Madame Pendarves," she cried, "the same interest brings us hither: use your influence over this barbarian to procure me admittance."

"It is well," she said. "Depend on it, I shall refresh your memory; and soon too. I will be revenged, though my own heart bleeds for it."

She then hastened away; and I, feeling the rash folly I had committed, and fearing I had irreparably injured my husband's cause, was forced to let the kind jailor conduct me to his own apartment, in order that I might recover myself before I went to Pendarves. I found him more cheerful, and also more affectionate in his manner towards me. He had been reading a letter, which he hastily put into his pocket; yet not so soon but that my quick eye discovered in the address the hand of La Beauvais. It was this renewal of intercourse, then, that had made him cheerful! But why then was he more affectionate to me? I have since resolved that question to my satisfaction.

No one likes to give up any power once possessed. Pendarves had flattered himself La Beauvais fondly loved him; and his bitter grief at her apparent desertion of him, arose from wounded pride, and the fear of having lost his power over her, more than from pining affection. But she had written to him; she was trying to gain admittance to his prison:—his wounded vanity therefore was at rest on one point, and the sight of me was grateful because it ministered to it in another.

But I did not, could not reason then: I only felt; and what with jealousy, and what with my fears for his life, now, I thought, endangered by me, I was ill and evidently wretched the whole time I staid. But Seymour's manner to me was most soothing, and even tender. At that moment I could better have borne indifference from him; for I was conscious that I had weakly given way to the feelings of an injured jealous woman, and had thereby probably given the seal to his fate!

Glad was I when the jailor summoned me; for I was anxious to tell De Walden the folly which I had committed; and I saw that Seymour was hurt at the cold and hurried manner in which I bade him farewell.

When I saw De Walden, he told me that he had called in vain on La Beauvais hitherto; but would try again and again. On hearing what had passed between us he became alarmed, but declared that he could not have forgiven me if I had spoken or acted otherwise. That day some of the tyrant's creatures were in our shop, and one of them desired to see the other shop-woman, declaring Alice was not pretty enough to wait on them; and that they were resolved the next time they came to see la belle Angloise.—But every other fear was soon swallowed up in one.

Juan overheard that night in the Thuilleries gardens, that the Englishman Pendarves would be brought before the tribunal the day after the next, and there was no doubt of his being executed with several others directly ! ! !

The moment, the dreaded moment was now indeed at hand, and how was it to be averted? De Walden heard this intelligence also, and came to me immediately. But all hope seemed vain, because he was to be condemned to satisfy private wishes, and not because any public wrong could be proved against him; and he left me in utter despair. But he also left me to reflect; and the result was a determination to act resolutely and immediately, and to risk the event. Suffice, that I called my faithful servants into my room, reminded them of that fidelity and obedience to me which they had vowed to my poor mother on her death-bed, and told them the hour for them to prove their attachment and fulfil their vow was now arrived. This solemn adjuration was answered by as solemn assurances to obey me in whatever I required of them. I first required that they should keep all I was now going to say, and all they or I were going to do, profoundly secret from De Walden. I saw Juan recoil at this; but I was firm, and he swore himself to secrecy. I then unfolded to them my scheme, and had to encounter tears, entreaties urged on bended knee, that I would give up my rash design, and consider myself. But they might as well have talked to the winds. "I feel," said I, "by the suddenness of this proceeding, that my treatment of La Beauvais has done this, and it is my duty, at all risks to myself, to save my husband from the death to which I have hurried him." The faithful creatures were silenced, but not convinced. Still, finding they could not prevent my purpose, and that I declared I would cry "Vive le Roi," that I might die with my husband, they prepared in mournful obedience to consult with me on the best means of accomplishing my wishes.

My plan was this: I resolved to ask permission to take a last farewell of Pendarves at night, after I had seen him in the morning, and then change clothes with him, and remain in his stead.

"And as Benoit was ill in bed this evening, when you went," said I, "there is no likelihood that he will be well to-morrow; so my plan cannot injure him. Therefore, let us be prepared to execute what I have designed, directly."

"Well! my comfort is," said Juan, "that my master will not consent to risk your life to save his."

"Not willingly; but I shall force him to do it."

"Well! we shall see."

You may remember how I used to regret my great height, because Pendarves did not admire tall women; but now how I valued it, as it made it more easy for Pendarves to pass for me, and therefore might aid my efforts to save his life!

We agreed that Alice and Juan should be in waiting with a covered peasant's cart, at the end of the Luxembourg gardens; that then he should drive him and her to our lodging in the Champs Elisées, which we had again hired, where he was to pass for me, and still hide his face as if in great affliction. The house was kept by a deaf, stupid old woman, who was not likely to suspect any thing. And at day-break, Pendarves in a peasant's dress, with Alice by his side, dressed like a peasant also, with her hood over her face, was to drive on day and night when he had passed the barrier, which we hoped it would be easy to do, till some place of safe retreat offered itself on the road. And I knew that on this road was the chateau of a gentleman whom we had known and had done kindnesses for in England, who had contrived like some others to take no part in politics, and had retained his house and his land.

Seymour beheld with wonder, and no small alarm, my cheek, now flushed, now pale, my tremulous voice, and my abstracted manner; and I once more saw in him that affectionate interest and anxiety so dear to my heart.

"You are ill, my beloved," said he at length.

"Beloved!" How the word thrilled through my heart! I never expected to hear it again from his lips; and the sound overcame me. "I shall be better soon," cried I, bursting into tears.

The surly jailor (Oh! how unlike Benoit!) who had taken his place, now summoned me away, and I slided my letter into my husband's hands. "Read it," said I, "and know that your doom is fixed for to-morrow; therefore I conjure you by our past loves to grant the request which this letter contains; and if you think I have deserved kindness from you, comply with my wishes."

Seymour, who had heard nothing of his approaching fate, took the letter, and listened to me with a bewildered air; and I hastened from the prison. I had easily obtained permission to return to the prison at night.

"It will be the last time. You will never come again," said the brutal gaoler: "your husband will never come back when he goes to the tribunal to-morrow, so come and welcome!"

I spent the intervening time in writing a letter to De Walden, inclosing one for my uncle, which I begged him to forward; and I arranged every thing as if death awaited me. Nay, how could I be assured that it did not? but I kept all my fears to myself and talked of hope alone to my poor servants, who wandered about, the pictures of grief.

When De Walden called that day I would not see him, but lay down on purpose to avoid him; for I dreaded to meet his penetrating glance.

As it was now the middle of July, days were shortening, and by eight o'clock twilight was gathering fast. My appointment was for half-past seven; and by a bribe I obtained leave from Benoit's unworthy successor to stay till half-past eight.

Then, summoning all my fortitude, I entered the cell of my husband. I shall pass over the first moments of our meeting; but I shall never forget them, and I am soothed and comforted when I recollect all that escaped from that affectionate and generous, though misguided being. Suffice, that all his arguments were vain to persuade me that he was not worthy to be saved, at even the smallest risk to a life so precious as mine.

"My life precious!" cried I: "a being without any near and dear ties! with neither parent, child, nor husband, I may now say," cried I, thrown off my guard by the consciousness of a desolate heart.

"I have deserved this reproach," said Seymour; "you have indeed no husband, therefore why should not I die? as, were I gone, Helen, I feel, I know, that you would be no longer desolate!"

I understood his meaning, but did not notice it. Bitter was now the anguish which I felt; nay, so violent was my distress, and so earnest my entreaties that he would escape, as the idea that he refused me in consequence of what I had just said, would, if he perished, drive me, I was convinced, to complete distraction, that he at last consented to my request.

"But, take notice," said he, "that I do it with this assurance, that, if my escape puts you in peril, I will return and suffer for or with you; and then you shall again find that you have a husband, Helen, and our union shall be renewed in death, and cemented in our blood.—I say no more. You command, and it is my duty to obey."

He then took off his robe de chambre which he wore in prison; and I dressed him in the loose gown I had made up for the occasion, and long enough to hide his feet; and even when he had my bonnet on, I had the satisfaction of seeing that he did not look much taller than I did. I now wrapt his robe tight round me, put all my hair under his night-cap and with my handkerchief at my eyes awaited the gaoler's summons; while Pendarves dropped the veil, and covered his face with his handkerchief as if in grief. But the anxious heavings of my bosom and the mournful ones of his were only too real. Every thing favoured us; the wind was high, and, by blowing the door to, blew out the lamp which the gaoler held: therefore the only light was from a dim lamp in the passage. At the door stood the trembling Juan.

"There, take care of her; for she totters as if she was drunk," said the gaoler; "I warrant you she will never come again."

In five minutes more Seymour was in the cart, and very shortly after he reached our cottage in safety, and was, as me, lying in my bed in the Champs Elisées. I, meanwhile, went to bed, and made no answer, but by groans to the "Good night" and brutal consolations of the gaoler, when he came to lock me up, without the smallest suspicion who I was. But when I heard myself actually locked up for the night, I threw myself on my knees in a transport of devout gratitude.

The next morning I rose after short and troubled rest, seating myself with my back to the door, that I might remain undiscovered as long as I could, in order to give my husband more time to get away. But I could no longer retard the awful moment; for my gaoler came to summon me before the tribunal.

"I am quite ready!" said I, turning slowly round. I leave you to imagine his surprise, his indignation, his execrations, and his abuse. I forgave him, for the poor wretch feared for his place, if not for his life.

"Yes: you shall go before the tribunal," said he, seizing me with savage fury. "But no, I must first send after your rascally husband."

He then locked me in; and I saw no more of him for two hours, when I heard a great noise in the passage, down which my cell when open looked, and presently the door was unlocked by the gaoler himself, who exclaimed with a malignant smile, "Your husband is taken, and brought back! Look out, and you will see him!"

I did look out, I did see him, unseen by him at first, and I saw him walking up the passage with La Beauvais weeping on his arm, and one of hers thrown across his shoulder.

An involuntary exclamation escaped me; and I retreated back into the cell. I have since heard that Henroit and his guards, De Walden and Juan, were in the passage; but I only saw my husband and La Beauvais; and leaning against the wall I hid my face in my hands, oppressed with a thousand contending and bewildering sensations.

"There!" said the vindictive gaoler, ushering in Pendarves, as if he felt how painful a tête-à-tête between us now would be; "there, citizen! I shall shut you up with your wife, till I know what is to be done with her. But perhaps you would like the other citoyenne better?"

"Peace!" cried Pendarves, "and leave us alone!"

"Helen!" said my husband.

"Mr. Pendarves!"

"I see how it is, Helen; nor can I blame you: appearances were against me. But I must and will assure you, that that person's appearing at such a time, and her behaviour, were as unexpected as they were unwelcome."

Still I spoke not: no, not even to inquire why I had the misery of seeing him return; and ere I had broken this painful but only too natural silence, and had only just resumed my woman's gown, the door was again thrown open, and an officer of the National Convention came to say, that I was allowed to return home for the present, till further proceedings were resolved upon.

"Take notice, sir," said Pendarves, "that this lady's only fault has been too great a regard for an unworthy husband; and that what you may deem a crime, the rest of Europe will call a virtue."

The officer smiled; and wishing my husband good night, I followed where he led.

At the gate I found De Walden, who accompanied me home, having first been assured by the officer that I should be under surveillance.

"And is it thus, rash Helen, you use your best friends, and risk an existence so valuable?" cried De Walden.

"Spare me, spare me your reproaches," said I: "I am sufficiently humbled already."

"Not humbled—those only are humbled who could injure such a creature. Helen, I was in the passage at the prison, and I saw all that passed.

"Now then, while this recollection is fresh on your mind, let me ask you if you think yourself justified in staying here where you are now exposed to insult and to danger, for the sake of one who at a moment which would have bound another man more tenderly than ever, could so meet and so offend your eyes?" I was still silent.

"Now then hear my proposal. I have the greatest reason to believe that I can secure an escape both for you, Alice, and myself, through the barriere this very night on the road to Switzerland, There, my dear friend, I offer you a home and a parent! My mother will be your mother, my uncle your uncle; and well do I know, that could my revered Mrs. Pendarves look down on what is passing here, she would be happier to see you under the protection of my family than under any other protection on earth!"

"No, my dear friend, no; your just resentment and your wishes deceive you. My mother valued her child's fame and her child's virtues equal with her safety."

"Your fame could not suffer. I would not live even near you, Helen. I am as jealous of your fame as any mother could be: besides that principle would make me shun you.—No, Helen; I would see you safe in Switzerland, and then sail for America."

"Generous man! But you shall not quit your country for my sake: besides, I will not quit my husband in the hour of danger. No, whatever be the fate of Pendarves, I stay to witness and perhaps to share it. The die is cast: so say no more."

By this time we had reached my home. Alice came to meet me.

"O my poor, dear master!" said she: "but it was all his own seeking. We had passed the barrier; but he would go back. He declared he could not, would not escape till he knew you were safe: when just as I was got into the house in the Champs Elisées, and he was holding the reins in his hands, the officers seized him; and he said, 'I am he whom you seek—I am quite willing to accompany you.'"

"This in some measure redeems his character with me," cried De Walden; and I did not feel it the less because I said nothing: but at length I said, "Generous Seymour! He never told me this. He did not make a merit of it with me."

Juan now came in, lamenting with great grief his poor master's return. "O that vile woman!" cried he: "It was at her instigation that he was to have been tried and condemned to-day; and then she repented, and came to the prison to watch for his being led out, when she saw him brought back, and then she had the audacity to hang upon him, weeping and making such a fuss! while he, poor soul, tried to shake her off, assuring her he forgave her, but never wished to see her more!"

"Did he act and talk thus?" cried I.

"He did indeed."

"And he came back from anxiety for me! O my dear friend, how glad am I that I refused your proposal before I heard this!"—Sweet indeed was it to my heart to have the conduct of Pendarves thus cleared up.

That evening we learnt that Pendarves was to go before the tribunal the next day; and I was preparing to try to gain admittance to him, and to see him as he came out, when an order for my own arrest came, and an officer and his assistants to lead me to a prison. Juan instantly went in search of De Walden; but I was led away before his return.

On the road we met the tyrant: "Ah ha, ma belle!" cried he, "where are now your green spectacles?"

I haughtily demanded my liberty; but he said I was a dangerous person—and to prison I was borne. To such a prison too! My husband's cell was a palace to mine; but I immediately concluded that they wished to make my confinement so horrible that I should be glad to leave it on any conditions.

Two days after, and while I had been, I found, forbidden to see any one, I received a letter informing me that my decree of arrest should instantly be cassé, my husband set at liberty and sent with a safe-conduct out of the frontiers, if I would promise to smile on a man who adored me, and who had power to do whatever he promised, and would perform it before he claimed one approving glance from my fine eyes.

I have kept this letter as a specimen of Jacobin love-making. It was not signed with any name, except that of my dévoué serviteur; and I never knew from whom it came.

It told me an answer would be called for in person the day after the next; and anxiously did I await this interview—await it in horrors unspeakable. There was, however, one comfort which I derived from this letter: till it was answered, I felt assured that my husband was safe. Dreadful was the morrow: more dreadful still the day after it; for hourly now did I expect the visit of the wretch. But that day, and the next day passed, and I saw no one but my taciturn and brutal gaoler, and heard nothing but the closing of the prison doors.

The next day too I expected him still in vain; but that night I marked an unusual emotion, and, as I thought, a look of alarm in my gaoler; and my wretched scanty meals were not given me till a considerable time after the usual hour. That night too I and the other prisoners, I found, were locked up two hours before the customary time.

All that night I heard noises in the street of the most frightful description; and as my cell was near the front gates of the prison, I could even distinguish what the sounds were; and I heard the horrible tocsin sound to arms: I heard the report of fire-arms, I heard the shouts of the people, I heard the cry of 'Liberty,' I heard 'Down with the tyrant!' and all these mingled with execrations, shrieks, and, as I fancied, groans; while I sunk upon my knees, and committed myself in humble resignation to the awful fate which might then be involving him I loved, and which might soon reach me, and drag me from the dungeon to the scaffold!

At this moment of horrible suspense and alarm, and soon after the day had risen on this theatre of blood, my door was thrown open, not by my brutal gaoler, but by De Walden and Juan! My gaoler, one of the tools of despotism, had fled; the twenty-eighth of July had freed the country from the fetters of the tyrant; he was then at that moment on his way to the guillotine with his colleagues; and I, Pendarves, and hundreds else, were saved!

Oh! what had not my poor servants and De Walden endured during the four days of my imprisonment! Painful as that was, they feared worse evils might ensue; while Pendarves, confined with the utmost strictness, was not allowed to see even Juan!

But where was Pendarves? and why did I not see him, if he was indeed at liberty? De Walden looked down and replied, "He is at liberty, I know; but we have heard and seen nothing of him."

By this time we had reached my home, where I was received with tears of joy by my agitated attendants. But, alas! my joy was changed into mortification and bitterness: and when my happy friends called on me to rejoice with them, I replied, in the agony of my heart, "I am thankful, but I shall never rejoice again!" and for some minutes I laid my head on the table, and never spoke but by the deepest sighs.

"I understand you," replied De Walden; "and if I can bring you any welcome intelligence, depend on it that I will."

He then hastily departed; and worn out with anxiety, want of sleep, and sorrow, I retired to my bed, and fortunately sunk into a deep and quiet slumber.

When I went down to breakfast the next day, I found De Walden waiting for me. His cheek was pale, and his look dejected; but he smiled when I entered the room, and told me he brought me tidings of my husband.

"Indeed!" cried I with eagerness.

"Yes; I have seen him. He is at a lodging on the Italian Boulevards—and alone."

"Alone! And—and does he not mean to see me; to call and—"

"How could he? Have you forgotten how you last parted? You resenting deeply his then only seeming delinquency; and he wounded by, yet resigned to, your evident resentment."

"True, true: yet still—"

"No; I had a long conversation with Pendarves,—for after his late behaviour, and being convinced that he was alone, I had no objection to call on him,—and he received me as I wished. He even was as open on every subject as I could desire; and I found him, though still persecuted by the letters of La Beauvais, resolved never to renew any correspondence with her."

"If so, and if sure of himself, why not write to me, if he does not like to visit me? I am sure I have not proved myself unforgiving."

"Shall I tell you why? A feeling that does him honour; a consciousness that, fallen as he is from the high estate he once held in your esteem and that of others, he cannot presume to require of you, though you are his wife, a re-instatement in your love and your society; and he very properly feels that the first advance should come from you: for though, as I told him, the relaxed principles of the world allow husbands a latitude which they deny to wives; still, in the eyes of God, and in those of nicely feeling men, the fault is in both sexes equal; and an offender like Pendarves is no longer entitled, as he was before, to the tenderness of a virtuous wife. Nay, Pendarves, penitent and self-judged, agrees with me in this opinion, and is thereby raised in my estimation."

"What! does Pendarves feel and think thus?"

"Yes; therefore I will myself entreat for him entire forgiveness; but not directly, and as if a husband who has so grossly erred were as dear to you as one without error."

Here De Walden's voice failed him; but he soon after added, in a low voice, "And I trust that to have aided in bringing about your re-union will support me under the feelings which the sight of it may occasion me."

"But does Pendarves think I shall be always inexorable?"

"He cannot think so; from your oft experienced kindness."

"Then why prolong his anxiety? Why not offer to return with him to England directly?"

"Because I think there would be an indelicacy in offering so soon to re-unite yourself to him. I would have you, though a wife, 'be wooed, and not unsought be won;' but I should not dare to give you this advice, were I not convinced that this is the feeling of Pendarves. Besides, I also feel that he would be less oppressed by your superior virtue, if he found it leavened by a little female pride and resentment."

"Well, well, I will consider the matter," said I.

The next day, and the day after, De Walden called and saw Pendarves. "He is very unhappy," said he; "though he might be the envy of all the first men in Paris. The most beautiful woman in it, who lives in the first style, is fallen in love with him; but he refuses all invitations to her house, does not answer her billets-doux, and rejects all her advances."

"He does not love her, I suppose?" I replied, masking my satisfaction in a scornful smile.

"No, Helen. He says, and I believe him, that he never really loved any one but you; and for La Beauvais, who persecutes him with visits as well as letters, he has a kind of aversion. Believe me, that at this moment he has all my pity, and much of my esteem; and could I envy the man who, having called you his, is conscious of the guilt of having left you, I trust I should soon have an opportunity of envying Pendarves."

Oh! the waywardness of the human heart; or, was it only the waywardness of mine? Now that I found my husband was anxious to return to me, I felt less anxious for the re-union; and having gained my point, I began to consider with more severity the faults which I was called upon to overlook; and though I had reclaimed my wanderer, I began to consider whether the reward was equal to the pains bestowed. And also I felt a little mortified to find De Walden so willing to effect our union, and so active in his endeavours to further it. These obliquities of feeling were, however, only temporary; and I had actually written to Pendarves, by the advice of De Walden, assuring him, all was so much forgiven and forgotten, that I was prepared to quit Paris with him, and go with him the world over—when the most dreadful intelligence reached me! even at this hour I cannot recall that moment without agony. I must lay down my pen—

Pendarves continued to resist the repeated importunities of La Beauvais to visit her; but at length she sent a friend to tell him she was dying, and trusted he would not refuse to bid her farewell.—Pendarves could not, dared not refuse to answer this appeal to his feelings, and he repaired to her hotel; in which, though he knew it not, she was maintained by one of the new Members of the Convention, whom she had inveigled to marry her according to the laws of the republic. When he arrived, he found her scarcely indisposed; and reproaching her severely with her treachery, he told her that all her artifices were vain; that his heart had always been his wife's though circumstances had enabled her to lure him from me; that now I had shone upon him in the moments of danger more brightly than ever; and that he conjured her to forget a guilty man, who, though never likely perhaps to be happy again with the woman he adored, yet still preferred his present solitary but guiltless situation to all the intoxicating hours which he had passed with her.

La Beauvais, who really loved him, was overcome with this solemn renunciation, and fell back in a sort of hysterical affection on the couch; and while he held her hand, and was bathing her temples with essences, her husband rushed in, and exclaiming, "Villain, defend yourself!" he gave a pistol into the hand of Pendarves; then firing himself, the ball took effect; and while De Walden was waiting his return at his lodgings to give him my letter of recall and of forgiving love, he was carried thither a bleeding and a dying man! But he was conscious; and while Juan, who called by accident, remained with him, De Walden came to break the dread event to me, and bear me to the couch of the sufferer.

He was holding my letter to his heart.

"It has healed every wound there," said he, "except those by conscience made; and it shall lie there till all is over."

Silent, stunned, I threw myself beside him, and joined my cold cheek to his.

"O Helen! and is it thus we meet? Is this our re-union?"

"Live! do but live," cried I, in a burst of salutary tears; "and you shall find how dearly I love you still; and we shall be so happy!—happier than ever!"

He shook his head mournfully, and said he did not deserve to live, and to be so happy; and he humbly bowed to that chastising hand which, when he had escaped punishment for real errors, made him fall the victim of an imaginary one.

The surgeons now came to examine the wound a second time, and confirmed their previous sentence, that the wound was mortal; on which he desired to be left alone with me, and I was able to suppress my feelings that I might sooth his during this overwhelming interview.

These moments are some of the dearest and most sacred in the stores of memory—but I shall not detail them; suffice that I was able, in default of better aid, to cheer the death-bed of the beloved sufferer, and breathe over him, from the lips of agonizing tenderness, the faltering but fervent prayer.

That duty done, my fortitude was exhausted, I saw before me, not the erring husband—the being who had blighted my youth by anxiety, and wounded all the dearest feelings of my soul; but the playfellow of my childhood, the idolized object of my youthful heart, and the husband of my virgin affections! and I was going to lose him! and he lay pale and bleeding before me! and his last fond lingering look of unutterable love was now about to close on me for ever!

"She has forgiven me!" he faltered out; "and Oh! mayst Thou forgive my trespasses against thee!—Helen! it is sweet and consoling, my only love, to die here," said he, laying his cheek upon my bosom:—and he spoke no more!

Alas! I could not have the sad consolation, when I recovered my recollection, to carry his body to England, to repose by those dear ones already in the grave; but I do not regret it now. Since then, the hands of piety have planted the rough soil in which he was laid; flowers bloom around his grave; and when five years ago I visited Paris, with my own hands I strewed his simple tomb with flowers that spring from the now hallowed soil around.

Object of my earliest and my fondest love never, no never, have forgotten thee! nor can I ever forget! But, like one of the shades of Ossian, thou comest over my soul, brightly arrayed in the beams of thy loveliness; but all around thee is dark with mists and storms!

To conclude.—I have only to add, that after two years of seclusion, and I may say of sorrow, and one of that dryness and desolation of the heart, when it seems as if it could love no more, that painful feeling vanished, and I became the willing bride of De Walden; that my beloved uncle lived to see me the happy mother of two children; and that my aunt gossips, advises and quotes, as well and as constantly as usual; that on the death of his uncle and his mother, my husband and I came to reside entirely in England; that Lord Charles Belmour, with a broken constitution and a shattered fortune, was glad at last to marry for a nurse and a dower, and took to wife a first cousin who had loved him for years,—a woman who had sense enough to overlook his faults in his good qualities, and temper enough to bear with the former; and he grows every day more happy, more amiable, and more in love with marriage.

For myself, I own with humble thankfulness the vastness of the blessings I enjoy; and though I cannot repent that I married the husband of my own choice, I confess I have never been so truly happy as with the husband of my mother's:—for though I feel that it is often delightful to forgive a husband's errors, she, and she alone, is truly to be envied, whose husband has no errors to forgive.

THE END.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE Missing punctuation has been added and superfluous punctuation removed (most frequently quotation marks). Period spellings have been retained, although a number of obvious typographical errors were corrected. Hyphenation is inconsistent throughout, and a number of words occur in various spellings. The name of one historical figure appears both as Hebert and as Herbert in the original, and has been changed to Hébert. Otherwise, no corrections have been made to the French. The following additional changes have been made and can be identified in the body of the text by a grey dotted underline.

I went to down dinner I went down to dinner

and as i If addressed an inferior and as if I addressed an inferior

We were asked to stay dinner We were asked to stay to dinner

a mono-drame, a a ballet of action a mono-drame, a ballet of action

the impractible Lord Charles the impracticable Lord Charles

(NB impracticable here has its old meaning of unmanageable)

were a tearful one fails where a tearful one fails

as little attention as as I can as little attention as I can

One passage had a line of text out of sequence:

returned in much agitation from his walk, but I experienced at sight of Pendarves; and on inquiry saw it was of an opposite nature to that which he I found that he had, as he said, met that good young man, Count De Walden.

The corrected passage reads:

returned in much agitation from his walk, but I saw it was of an opposite nature to that which he experienced at sight of Pendarves; and on inquiry I found that he had, as he said, met that good young man, Count De Walden.