CHAPTER CCVI.

CHARLES HATFIELD IN LONDON AGAIN.

The information which Charles Hatfield had received respecting his

father’s health, was too true. Indeed, the accounts were purposely

mitigated in order to alarm him as little as possible; and on his

arrival at Lord Ellingham’s mansion in Pall Mall, he found Mr. Hatfield

confined to his bed.

Charles was greatly shocked at this circumstance: for he could not

help fancying that his conduct had contributed mainly to undermine

his father’s health; but Mr. Hatfield reassured him on that head by

declaring that a severe cold was the commencement of his illness.

“Were I thrown upon this bed of sickness by any fault of yours,

Charles,” he said, pressing his son’s hand affectionately in both his

own, “your behaviour during your short sojourn in Italy would speedily

raise me from it. Not only have the newspapers mentioned your name in

a manner highly creditable to you: but General Markham has sent us

accounts of the most satisfactory nature concerning you.”

These words were gratifying indeed to the young man.

“I can assure you, my revered parent,” he said, “that I am indeed

fully and completely changed. The image of that vile woman whom we

will not name, is loathsome and abhorrent to me--and I would as

readily come in contact with a serpent, as meet her again. Respecting

that insane ambition which animated me at the same time I formed that

disastrous attachment,--an ambition which prompted me to aspire to

a noble title,--it has all vanished as if it had never been. I have

contemplated Republican institutions--I have seen a mighty Prince and

all his family lay aside their high rank without regret and abandon

their titles with cheerfulness and at their own free will,--I have

likewise beheld the magnates of the land following the same example,

so that the equality of citizenship may be fully established;--and

I am now astonished that I could ever have aspired to mere titular

distinction. My eyes have been opened to the fact that men may be great

and rise to fame, without those adventitious aids which savour of

feudal barbarism;--and I am prouder of that rank of _Captain_ which the

battle of Sabino gave me in the army of Republican Castelcicala, than

I could possibly be were the coronet of Ellingham placed upon my brow.

Oh! how happy should I feel, could we all proceed to Castelcicala and

settle for life in that beautiful city of Montoni which I love so well:

yes--all of us to fix our habitation there,” continued Charles, with

the enthusiasm that was characteristic of his nature,--“you--my dear

mother, who received me so kindly--the excellent Earl and his amiable

Countess--myself--”

“And what is to become of poor Lady Frances?” asked Mr. Hatfield, with

a smile in spite of his severe indisposition. “Wherefore is she not

included in your list? Do you think that the Earl and the Countess

would leave their amiable and lovely daughter behind them?”

Charles Hatfield blushed deeply as his father thus addressed him.

“Well, my dear boy--you make no reply,” resumed Mr. Hatfield, with the

smile--and a smile of ineffable satisfaction it was--still playing

upon his pale countenance: “has Lady Frances offended you? Did she not

receive you on your arrival ere now with as much kindness as the rest?”

“Oh! yes--yes,” exclaimed Charles; “and she appeared to me more

exquisitely beautiful than ever! Fool that I was--insensate

dolt--idiot--madman, ever to place myself in a position which----”

“Do not excite yourself thus, my dear boy,” interrupted Mr. Hatfield.

“You admire Lady Frances?” he observed, after a short pause, and now

attentively watching his son’s countenance.

“My God! do not ask me that question, my dear father!” ejaculated

Charles, with an expression of deep anguish on his features. “I love

my beautiful cousin--I love her--and she cannot be mine! Oh! since I

have been absent I have pondered on her image--I have cherished it as

if it were that of a guardian angel! I have compared the amiability and

excellence of Frances with the character of _that woman_--and you may

judge how resplendently the charming girl shines by means of such a

contrast!”

“And you may hope--yes, you may hope, Charles,” said Mr. Hatfield,

raising himself partially up in the bed. “Happiness yet awaits you.”

“Happiness--hope--my dear father!” ejaculated Charles; “you speak in

enigmas--you----”

“Nay--I speak only what I mean; and all I say is intelligible,”

interrupted Mr. Hatfield. “I tell you that you may hope for

happiness--that Lady Frances may yet become your wife!”

“Is it possible?” cried the young man, clasping his hands in the

wildness of his joy. “But how? Is that woman dead?” he demanded,

speaking with strange rapidity of utterance.

“No--she is not dead,” responded his father: “but she has married

again!”

“Married!” ejaculated Charles. “And yet I do not see how that

circumstance will alter my position,” he added, in a desponding tone.

“Listen attentively--and do not excite yourself at one moment, and in

the next give way to despair,” said Mr. Hatfield.

Charles seated himself at his father’s bed-side, and prepared to hear

with attention the words that were about to be addressed to him.

“Some time ago--when it was first resolved that you should proceed to

Italy for a short time,” said Mr. Hatfield, “the Earl of Ellingham

communicated to me the generous views which he entertained with regard

to you. He observed that, as you had already discarded the woman who

had ensnared you, and as she had agreed never more to molest you, you

were morally severed in respect to the matrimonial bond. He moreover

declared that should this woman contract another marriage and thereby

prove that such severance was complete, it would be a despicable

fastidiousness and a contemptible affectation to tell you _that you

must never know matrimonial happiness, but that you must remain in your

present false position, a husband without a wife, for the remainder of

your days_. Those were the very words which his lordship used, Charles,

on the occasion to which I am alluding.”

“Oh! am I to understand--” exclaimed the young man.

“Silence!” interrupted Mr. Hatfield: “be not impatient nor

impetuous--but hear me out. Lord Ellingham continued to observe that

if the woman should contract a new marriage, and if _you_, Charles,

manifested contrition for the past,--if your conduct were such as to

afford sure guarantees for the future,--and if your attachment for

Lady Frances should revive,--under all those circumstances the Earl

declared that he should not consider himself justified in stamping the

unhappiness alike of yourself and his daughter by refusing his consent

to your union.”

“Do I hear aright?” exclaimed Charles, a giddiness coming over him

through excessive joy. “Oh! what generosity on the part of the Earl!”

“Yes--his sentiments on this subject were fraught with liberality,”

returned Mr. Hatfield. “He argued in the following manner:--A young man

is ensnared into an alliance with a woman whom he believed to be pure,

but whom in a few hours he discovered to be a demon of pollution. They

separate upon written conditions of the most positive character,--a

private arrangement being deemed preferable to the public scandal of an

appeal to the tribunals. This woman marries again--and every remnant

of a claim which she might have had upon the individual whom she had

ensnared and deluded, ceases at once. There is a complete snapping of

the bond--a total severance of the tie; and her conduct by the fact

of the second marriage proves that she so understands it. The law may

certainly proclaim the first marriage to be the only legal one: but

morality, which holds marriage to be a covenant between two parties,

revolts against the principle which the code establishes. It is upon

these grounds that the Earl of Ellingham will give you the hand of his

lovely and amiable daughter.”

It were useless to attempt to describe the joy which filled the soul

of Charles Hatfield when these tidings met his ears. He seized his

father’s hand and pressed it to his lips with grateful fervour: then,

promising to return in a few minutes, he flew to the library where he

understood the Earl to be at the moment; and casting himself at the

feet of that good nobleman, he implored pardon for his past conduct,

declaring that nothing should induce him to swerve from the path of

rectitude in future.

The Earl of Ellingham raised the contrite young man--embraced him

affectionately--and bade him throw a complete veil over all that

related to his unfortunate marriage. His lordship then repeated, but

more concisely, the observations which Mr. Hatfield had already made

to his son; and at the conclusion of the interview he said, “And now,

Charles, if your inclinations really and truly prompt you to take the

step, you have my permission to solicit Lady Frances to allow you to

become the suitor for her hand.”

Captain Hatfield expressed his liveliest gratitude in suitable terms;

and hastening back to his father, he narrated all that had just

occurred between himself and the Earl. Mr. Hatfield was cheered and

delighted by the spectacle of his son’s happiness, and bade him repair

to the drawing-room to pass an hour with the ladies.

We need scarcely state that Lady Georgiana was much pleased by

the return of Charles to England, especially as he had so highly

distinguished himself in the Neapolitan campaign. Nor less was the

Countess of Ellingham--the amiable Esther--gratified by an event which

restored the missing one to the family circle: while Lady Frances

attempted not to conceal the joy that the young soldier’s presence

afforded her.

It is not, however, our purpose to dwell upon this subject:--for we

have now to relate an incident which led to consequences of great

importance to several persons who have figured in our narrative.

The day after Charles Hatfield’s arrival in London, he was proceeding

on foot up Regent Street, in order to pay a visit to his tailor for

the purpose of making some additions to his wardrobe, when he met

Captain Barthelma: for Laura’s husband had lost his title of Count

of Carignano, in consequence of the establishment of the Republic in

Castelcicala.

The young Italian was alone; and the meeting between the two was

most friendly and cordial,--for during the short time that they were

acquainted, Charles had observed many excellent qualities on the part

of Barthelma, who on his side was enraptured with the heroic conduct

that Captain Hatfield had displayed at the battle of Sabino, a full

narrative of which had duly appeared in the English newspapers.

Taking the arm of Charles, Captain Barthelma walked with him up Regent

Street; and for some time they conversed upon the late Neapolitan

campaign--the glorious destinies of Republican Castelcicala--the noble

conduct of President Markham--and various other matters connected with

the Italian’s native land.

“It has grieved me greatly in one sense,” observed Barthelma, “that

I should have been absent from my post about the person of General

Markham at a time when such momentous incidents were taking place. But

on the other hand I rejoice in my withdrawal from that hero’s service,

inasmuch as I thereby secured the hand of one of the most lovely--nay,

_the_ most lovely woman in the world.”

[Illustration]

“I congratulate you most sincerely upon having formed an alliance which

appears to afford you so much happiness,” answered Charles; “and I hope

to have the honour of being presented to the signora--for I presume you

have espoused a lady belonging to your own country.”

“No--she is an Englishwoman,” returned Captain Barthelma; “and you have

seen her.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Charles.

“Yes--you have seen her,” repeated the Italian. “But tell me--do you

recollect that day when you, Lieutenant Di Ponta, and myself walked

together in the Champs Elysées in consequence of a mysterious note

which we received from a pretended Spanish refugee----”

“Oh! yes--yes--I well remember that day!” exclaimed Captain Hatfield.

“Indeed, how could I ever forget it?”

“You speak with excitement, my dear friend,” said Barthelma, surprised

at his companion’s manner, but entertaining not the slightest suspicion

of the real cause of his agitation.

“Ah! if you only knew all!” observed the young man. “But I will tell

you enough to warn you against falling into the power of the vilest

woman that ever wore an angel shape to conceal a demon heart: I will

reveal to you sufficient to place you on your guard against that syren,

should you ever happen to encounter her. For her disposition is such

that, to gratify her wantonness, her caprice, or her avarice, she would

as readily prey upon a married as on an unmarried man.”

“Indeed! you interest me,” said the Castelcicalan, still altogether

unsuspicious of the real meaning of the allusion.

“Yes--but the interest will soon become of an appalling character,”

resumed Charles, speaking in a tone of deep solemnity. “For there is in

the world a woman whose loveliness is so superhuman and whose witchery

is so irresistible that she would move the heart of an anchorite.

This woman was born in Newgate, where her mother was incarcerated on

a charge of forgery, and whence she was soon afterwards transported

to Australia. The child was called _Perdita_, or ‘The Lost One;’ and

the mother took the babe with her to her place of exile. Years passed

away--and Perdita had grown up to a lovely girl. But the natural

wantonness of her disposition manifested itself at a very early age;

and her profligacy soon became notorious at Sydney. Well, in due time

the mother returned to England, Perdita accompanying her; and in London

did those women commence their grand scheme of preying upon the public.

Alas! shall I confess how weak--how mad--how insensate I was? But the

delirium has passed away--and I now look back upon it with a loathing

which prevents me from contemplating it coolly. For I was ensnared by

that vile Perdita--and I became her victim. I proceeded with her to

Paris; and my father followed to rescue me from ruin. He discovered the

place of our abode, and painted the character of that woman in such

frightful--such appalling colours, without the least exaggeration,

that I was reduced to despair on account of the conduct which I had

pursued. I quitted Paris--returned to London--and was then received

into the service of General Markham. But you ere now asked me if I

remembered the day when yourself Di Ponta and I walked together in the

Champs Elysées. You shall now judge whether I have reason to retain

the incident in my memory. For you, Barthelma, cannot have forgotten

that lady who so much attracted your notice, and who purposely let fall

her parasol----But, heavens! what is the matter with you?” ejaculated

Captain Hatfield, perceiving that his companion started as if a ghastly

spectre had suddenly sprang up before him.

“My God! is it possible?--that woman--in the Champs Elysées--” gasped

the young Italian, a deadly pallor overspreading his countenance, while

he staggered backward and would have fallen had not Charles sustained

him by the arm.

“That woman--for a lady I can scarcely call her--was Perdita Mortimer,”

said Hatfield, emphatically.

“Oh! malediction upon the hateful syren!” exclaimed Barthelma, terribly

excited.

“Compose yourself!--what is the matter?” cried Charles. “You will

attract observation--the people will notice you----”

“I am composed--yes, I am cool and collected now,” murmured the

unhappy young Italian, all his tremendous imprudence bursting upon

his comprehension like a thunder-storm. “Here--let us pass up this

street--it is comparatively deserted--and we can converse more at

our ease,” he faltered painfully, as he dragged his companion up New

Burlington Street.

A suspicion had in the meantime flashed to the imagination of Charles

Hatfield. Was it possible that Barthelma could have married the

profligate Perdita, or Laura? He himself had not learnt from his father

how he knew that the syren-demoness was married again, or whom she

had thus ensnared;--and the Italian’s sudden excitement could not be

accounted for otherwise than by the fact that he had made her his wife.

“My God! this intelligence is overwhelming!” murmured Captain

Barthelma. “Oh! my dear friend,” he exclaimed, turning with the

abruptness of an almost maddening excitement towards Hatfield, “pity

me--pity me; that woman of whom you have spoken is----”

“Is what?” demanded Charles impatiently.

“My wife!” responded Barthelma;--and the moment the words were uttered

his excitement gave way to a blank despair.

“Malediction upon my communicativeness--my insane garrulity!”

ejaculated Charles. “I shall never--never forgive myself for having

made these most uncalled-for revelations!”

“Do not blame yourself, my dear friend,” returned the young Italian,

in a tone of the deepest melancholy: “you knew not how painfully your

words would affect me--you could not anticipate that the warning which

you generously intended to convey would come far too late!”

“And, after all, there may be some error--some mistake,” cried Charles,

catching at a straw on behalf of his afflicted companion: “the woman

whom I mean may not be the same as the lady whom you have espoused----”

“Yes--yes: ’tis the same!” ejaculated the Italian, impatiently: “Laura

Mortimer--the beauteous creature whom we saw in the Champs Elysées, and

whose mother met with a horrible death some months ago.”

“Ah! that old woman is no more!” exclaimed Charles. “But of what nature

was the death of which you speak so shudderingly?”

“The frightful incident occurred when you were in Italy,” answered

Barthelma. “Some villain broke a bottle of aqua-fortis or vitriol over

her head--and she died in fearful agonies. But I must leave you now, my

dear friend,” said the Castelcicalan, with wild abruptness of manner;

and hastily wringing both of Hatfield’s hands, he darted away and was

out of sight in a few moments.