it Avas not desertion, — that is a cruel word, — it was self-pres-
ervation and common prudence."

"Well," said I, complaisantly, "you apply words better
than I applied them. And how long have you been returned
to England?"

"Some few weeks, Count, not more. I was in London when
you arrived; I heard of that event; I immediately repaired
to your hotel; you were gone to my Lord Bolingbroke's; I
followed you thither; you had left Dawley when I arrived
there; I learned your route and followed you. Pavhleu and
morbleu ! I find you, and you take me for a highwayman! "

" Pardon my mistake : the clearest-sighted men are subject
to commit such errors, and the most innocent to suffer by
them. So ^loutr^wW. jjersuaded you to leave England; did he
also persuade you to return? "

" Xo : I was charged by the Institute with messages to him
and others. But we are near the town, Count, let us defer
our conversation till then."

We entered D , put up our horses, called for an apart-
ment, — to which summons Oswald added another for wine,
— and then the virtuous Marie commenced his explanations.
I was deeply anxious to ascertain whether Gerald had ever
been made acquainted with the fraud by which he had ob-
tained possession of the estates of Devereux; and I found
that, from Desmarais, Oswald had learned all that had oc-
curred to Gerald since Marie had left England. From Os-
wald's prolix communication, I ascertained that Gerald was,
during the whole of the interval between my uncle's death
and my departure from England, utterly unacquainted with
the fraud of the will. He readily believed that my uncle had
found good reason for altering his intentions with respect to
me; and my law proceedings, and violent conduct towards
himself, only excited his indignation, not aroused his suspi-
cions. During this time he lived entirely in the country, in-
dulging the rural hospitality and the rustic sports which he
especially affected, and secretly but deeply involved with
Montreuil in political intrigues. All this time the Abbe



452 DEYEREUX.

made no further use of him than to borrow whatever sums he
required for his purposes. Isora's death, and the confused
story of the document given me by Oswald, Montreuil had in-
terpreted to Gerald according to the interpretation of the
world; namely, he had thrown the suspicion upon Oswald, as
a common villain, who had taken advantage of my credulity
about the will, introduced himself into the house on that
pretence, attempted the robbery of the most valuable articles
therein, — which, indeed, he had succeeded in abstracting, —
and who, on my awaking and contesting with him and his
accomplice, had, in self-defence, inflicted the wounds which
had ended in my delirium and Isora's death. This part of
my tale Montreuil never contradicted, and Gerald believed it
to the present day. The affair of 1715 occurred; the govern-
ment, aware of Gerald's practices, had anticipated his design
of joining the rebels; he was imprisoned; no act of overt
guilt on his part was proved, or at least brought forward;
and the government not being willing, perhaps, to proceed to
violent measures against a very young man, and the head of
a very powerful house, connected with more than thirty
branches of the English hereditary nobility, he received his
acquittal just before Sir William Wyndham and some other
suspected Tories received their own.

Prior to the breaking out of that rebellion, and on the eve
of Montreuil's departure for Scotland, the priest summoned
Desmarais, whom, it will be remembered, I had previously
dismissed, and whom Montreuil had since employed in vari-
ous errands, and informed him that he had obtained for his
services the same post under Gerald which the Fatalist had
filled under me. Soon after the failure of the rebellion, Dev-
ereux Court was destroyed by accidental fire ; and Montreuil,
who had come over in disguise, in order to renew his attacks
on my brother's coffers (attacks to which Gerald yielded very
sullenly, and with many assurances that he would no more
incur the danger of political and seditious projects), now ad-
vised Gerald to go up to London, and, in order to avoid the
suspicion of the government, to mix freely in the gayeties of
the court. Gerald readily consented ; for, though internally



DEVEREUX. 453

convinced that the charms of the metropolis were not equal
to those of the country, yet he liked change, and Devereux
Court being destroyed, he shuddered a little at the idea of re-
building so enormous a pile. Before Gerald left the old tower
{my tower) which was alone spared by the flames, and at
which he had resided, though without his household, rather
than quit a place where there was such "excellent shooting,"
Montreuil said to Desmarais, *'This ungrateful seigneur de
villa f/e already shows himself the niggard; he must know
what we know, — that is our only sure hold of him, — but he
must not know it yet;" and he proceeded to observe that it
was for the hotbeds of courtly luxury to mellow and hasten
an opportunity for the disclosure. He instructed Desmarais
to see that Gerald (whom even a valet, at least one so artful
as Desmarais, might easily influence) partook to excess of
every pleasure, — at least of every pleasure which a gentle-
man might without derogation to his dignity enjoy. Gerald
went to town, and very soon became all that Montreuil
desired.

Montreuil came again to England; his great project, Al-
beroni's project, had failed. Banished France and Spain,
and excluded Italy, he was desirous of obtaining an asylum in
England, until he could negotiate a return to Paris. For the
first of these purposes (the asylum) interest was requisite;
for the latter (the negotiation) money was desirable. He
came to seek both these necessaries in Gerald Devereux.
Gerald had already arrived at that prosperous state when
money is not lightly given away. A dispute arose; and
Montreuil raised the veil, and showed the heir on what terms
his estates were held.

Kightly Montreuil had read the human heart ! So long as
Gerald lived in the country, and tasted not the full enjoy-
ments of his great wealth, it would have been highly perilous
to have made this disclosure; for, though Gerald had no great
love for me, and was bold enough to run any danger, yet he
was neither a Desmarais nor a ^lontreuil. He was that most
capricious thing, a man of honour; and at that day he would
instantly have given up the estate to me, and Montreuil and



454 DEVEREUX.

the philosopher to the hangman. But, after two or three
years of every luxury that wealth could purchase ; after liv-
ing in those circles, too, where wealth is the highest possible
merit, and public opinion, therefore, only honours the rich,
fortune became far more valuable and the conscience far less
nice. Living at Devereux Court, Gerald had only 30,000(^.
a year; living in London, he had all that 30,000Z. a year can
purchase : a very great difference this indeed ! Honour is a
fine bulwark against a small force; but, unbacked by other
principle, it is seldom well manned enough to resist a large
one. When, therefore, Montreuil showed Gerald that he
could lose his estate in an instant; that the world would never
give him credit for innocence, when guilt would have con-
ferred on him such advantages ; that he would therefore part
with all those et cwtera which, now in the very prime of life,
made his whole idea of human enjoyments ; that he would no
longer be the rich, the powerful, the honoured, the magnificent,
the envied, the idolized lord of thousands, but would sink at
once into a younger brother, dependent on the man he most
hated for his very subsistence, — since his debts would greatly
exceed his portion, — and an object through life of contemptu-
ous pity or of covert suspicion; that all this change could
happen at a word of Montreuil's, what wonder that he should
be staggered, — should hesitate and yield? Montreuil ob-
tained, then, whatever sums he required; and through Ger-
ald's influence, pecuniary and political, procured from the
minister a tacit permission for him to remain in England,
under an assumed name and in close retirement. Since then,
Montreuil (though secretly involved in treasonable practices)
had appeared to busy himself solely in negotiating a pardon
at Paris. Gerald had lived the life of a man who, if he has
parted with peace of conscience, will make the best of the
bargain by procuring every kind of pleasure in exchange ; and
le petit Jean Desmarais, useful to both priest and spendthrift,
had passed his time very agreeably, — laughing at his employ-
ers, studying philosophy, and filling his pockets ; for I need
scarcely add that Gerald forgave him without much difficulty
for his share in the forgery, A man, as Oswald shrewdly



DEVEREUX. 455

observed, is seldom inexorable to those crimes by which he
has profited. "And where lurks Montveuil now?" I asked;
"in the neighbourhood of Devereux Court?"

Oswald looked at me with some surprise. " How learned
you that, Sir? It is true. He lives quietly and privately
iu that vicinity. The woods around the house, the caves in
the beach, and the little isle opposite the castle, afford him in
turn an asylum; and the convenience with which correspond-
ence with France can be there carried on makes the scene of
his retirement peculiarly adapted to his purpose."

I now began to question Oswald respecting himself; for I
was not warmly inclined to place implicit trust in the ser-
vices of a man who had before shown himself at once mer-
cenary and timid. There was little cant or disguise about
that gentleman; he made few pretences to virtues which he
did not possess; and he seemed now, both by wine and famil-
iarity, peculiarly disposed to be frank. It was he who in
Italy (among various other and less private commissions) had
been appointed by Montreuil to watch over Aubrey; on my
brother's death he had hastened to England, not only to ap-
prise Montreuil of that event, but charged with some especial
orders to him from certain members of the Institute. He
had found Montreuil busy, restless, intriguing, even in se-
clusion, and cheered by a recent promise, from Fleuri him-
self, that he should speedily obtain pardon and recall. It
was, at this part of Oswald's story, easy to perceive the causes
of his renewed confidence in me. Montreuil, engaged in new
plans and schemes, at once complicated and vast, paid but a
slight attention to the wrecks of his past projects. Aubrey
dead, myself abroad, Gerald at his command, — he perceived,
in our house, no cause for caution or alarm. This, appar-
ently, rendered him less careful of retaining the venal ser-
vices of Oswald than his knowledge of character should have
made him; and when that gentleman, then in London, acci-
dentally heard of my sudden arrival in this country, he at
once perceived how much more to his interest it would be to
serve me than to maintain an ill-remunerated fidelity to Mon-
treuil. In fact, as I have since learned, the priest's discre-



456 DEVEREUX.

tion was less to blame than I then imagined; for Oswald was
of a remarkably impudent, profligate, and spendthrift turn;
and his demands for money were considerably greater than
the value of his services; or perhaps, as Montreuil thought,
when Aubrey no longer lived, than the consequence of his
silence. When, therefore, I spoke seriously to my new ally
of my desire of wreaking ultimate justice on the crimes of
Montreuil, I found that his zeal was far from being chilled
by my determination, — nay, the very cowardice of the man
made him ferocious; and the moment he resolved to betray
Montreuil, his fears for the priest's vengeance made him
eager to destroy where he betrayed. I am not addicted to
unnecessary procrastination. Of the unexpected evidence I
had found I was most eager to avail myself. I saw at once
how considerably Oswald's testimony would lessen any diffi-
culty I might have in an explanation with Gerald, as well as
in bringing Montreuil to justice: and the former measure
seemed to me necessary to insure, or at least to expedite, the
latter. I proposed, therefore, to Oswald, that he should im-
mediately accompany me to the house in which Gerald was
then a visitor; the honest Marie, conditioning only for an-
other bottle, which he termed a travelling comforter, readily
acceded to my wish. I immediately procured a chaise and
horses ; and in less than two hours from the time we entered
the inn we were on the road to Gerald. What an impulse to
the wheel of destiny had the event of that one day given !

At another time, I might have gleaned amusement from the
shreAvd roguery of my companion, but he found me then but a
dull listener. I served him, in truth, as men of his stamp
are ordinarily served: so soon as I had extracted from him
whatever was meet for present use, I favoured him with little
further attention. He had exhausted all the communications
it was necessary for me to know; so, in the midst of a long
story about Italy, Jesuits, and the wisdom of Marie Oswald,
I affected to fall asleep ; my companion soon followed my ex-
ample in earnest, and left me to meditate, undisturbed, over
all that I had heard, and over the schemes now the most
promising of success. I soon taught myself to look with a



DEVEREUX. 457

lenient eye on Gerald's after-connivance in Montreuil's for-
gery ; and I felt that I owed to my surviving brother so large
an arrear of affection for the long injustice 1 had rendered
him that I was almost pleased to find something set upon the
opposite score. All men, perhaps, would rather forgive than
be forgiven. I resolved, therefore, to affect ignorance of
Gerald's knowledge of the forgery; and, even should he con-
fess it, to exert all my art to steal from the confession its
shame. From this train of reflection my mind soon directed
itself to one far fiercer and more intense ; and I felt my heart
pause, as if congealing into marble, when I thought of Mon-
treuil and anticipated justice.

It was nearly noon on the following day when we arrived

at Lord 's house. We found that Gerald had left it the

day before, for the enjoyment of the lield-sports at Devereux
Court, and thither we instantly proceeded.

It has often seemed to me that if there be, as certain an-
cient philosophers fabled, one certain figure pervading all
nature, human and universal, it is the circle. Eound, in one
vast monotony, one eternal gyration, roll the orbs of space.
Thus moves the spirit of creative life, kindling, progressing,
maturing, decaying, perishing, reviving and rolling again,
and so onward forever through the same course; and thus
even would seem to revolve the mysterious mechanism of
human events and actions. Age, ere it returns to "the second
childishness, the mere oblivion " from which it passes to the
grave, returns also to the memories and the thoughts of youth :
its buried loves arise; its past friendships rekindle. The
wheels of the tired machine are past the meridian, and the
arch through which they now decline has a correspondent
likeness to the opposing segment through which they had
borne upward in eagerness and triumph. Thus it is, too, that
we bear within us an irresistible attraction to our earliest
home. Thus it is that we say, "It matters not where our
midcourse is run, but we will die in the place where we were
born, — in the point of space whence began the circle, there
also shall it end!'''' This is the grand orbit through which
Mortality passes only once ; but the same figure may pervade



458 DEVEREUX.

all through which it moves on its journey to the grave. Thus,
one peculiar day of the round year has been to some an era,
always colouring life with an event. Thus, to others, some
peculiar place has been the theatre of strange action, influenc-
ing all existence, whenever, in the recurrence of destiny, that
place has been revisited. Thus was it said by an arch-sorcerer
of old, whose labours yet exist, — though perhaps, at the mo-
ment I write, there are not three living beings who know of
their existence, — that there breathes not that man who would
not find, did he minutely investigate the events of life, that,
in some fixed and distinct spot or hour or person, there lived,
though shrouded and obscure, the pervading demon of his fate ;
and whenever, in their several paths, the two circles of being
touched, that moment made the unnoticed epoch of coming
prosperity or evil. I remember well that this bewildering
yet not unsolemn reflection, or rather fancy, was in my mind,
as, after the absence of many years, I saw myself hastening
to the home of my boyhood, and cherishing the fiery hope of
there avenging the doom of that love which I had there con-
ceived. Deeply, and in silence, did I brood over the dark
shapes which my thoughts engendered ; and I woke not from
my revery, till, as the gray of the evening closed around us,
we entered the domains of Devereux Court. The road was
rough and stony, and the horses moved slowly on. How fa-
miliar was everything before me! The old pollards which
lay scattered in dense groups on either side, and which had
lived on from heir to heir, secure in the little temptation they
afforded to cupidity, seemed to greet me with a silent but in-
telligible welcome. Their leaves fell around us in the autumn
air, and the branches as they waved towards me seemed to
say, " Thou art returned, and thy change is like our own : the
green leaves of thy heart have fallen from thee one by one;
like us thou survivest, but thou art desolate ! " The hoarse
cry of the rooks, gathering to their rest, came fraught with the
music of young associations on my ear. Many a time in the
laughing spring had I lain in these groves, watching, in
the young brood of those citizens of air, a mark for my child-
ish skill and careless disregard of life. We acquire mercy as



DEVEREUX. 459

we acquire thought: I would not now have harmed one of
those sable creatures for a king's ransom!

As we cleared the more wooded belt of the park, and entered
the smooth space, on which the trees stood alone and at rarer
intervals, while the red clouds, still tinged with the hues of
the departed sun, hovered on the far and upland landscape, —
like Hope flushing over Futurity, — a mellowed yet rapid
murmur, distinct from the more distant dashing of the sea,
broke abruptly upon my ear. It was the voice of that brook
whose banks had been the dearest haunt of my childhood;
and now, as it burst thus suddenly upon me, I longed to be
alone, that I might have bowed down my head and wept as if
it had been the welcome of a living thing! At once, and as
by a word, the hardened lava, the congealed stream of the
soul's Etna, was uplifted from my memory, and the bowers
and palaces of old, the world of a gone day, lay before me !
With how wild an enthusiasm had I apostrophized that stream
on the day in which I first resolved to leave its tranquil re-
gions and fragrant margin for the tempest and tumult of the
world. On that same eve, too, had Aubrey and I taken sweet
counsel together; on that same eve had we sworn to protect,
to love, and to cherish one another ! — and now ! — I saw the
very mound on which we had sat, — a solitary deer made it
his couch, and, as the carriage approached, the deer rose, and
then I saw that he had been wounded, perhaps in some con-
test with his tribe, and that he could scarcely stir from the
spot. I turned my face away, and the remains of my ances-
tral house rose gradually in view. That house was indeed
changed ; a wide and black heap of ruins spread around ; the
vast hall, with its oaken rafters and huge hearth, was no
more, — I missed that, and I cared not for the rest. The long
galleries, the superb chambers, the scenes of revelry or of
pomp, were like the court companions who amuse, yet attach
us not; but the hall, the old hall, — the old, hospitable hall,
— had been as a friend in all seasons, and to all comers, and
its mirth had been as open to all as the heart of its last
owner! My eyes wandered from the place where it had been,
and the tall, lone, gray tower, consecrated to my ill-fated



460 DEVEREUX.

namesake, and in which my own apartments had been situated,
rose like the last of a warrior band, stern, gaunt, and solitary,
over the ruins around.

The carriage now passed more rapidly over the neglected
road, and wound where the ruins, cleared on either side, per-
mitted access to the tower. In two minutes mxore I was in
the same chamber with my only surviving brother. Oh,
why — why can I not dwell upon that scene, that embrace,
that reconciliation? — alas! the wound is not yet scarred
over.

I found Gerald, at first, haughty and sullen; he expected
my reproaches and defiance, — against them he was hardened;
he was not prepared for my prayers for our future friend-
ship, and my grief for our past enmity, and he melted at
once!

But let me hasten over this. I had well-nigh forgot that,
at the close of my historj'-, I should find one remembrance so
endearing, and one pang so keen. Kapidly I sketched to
Gerald the ill fate of Aubrey, but lingeringiy did I dwell
upon Montreuil's organized and most baneful influence over
him, and over us all; and I endeavoured to arouse in Gerald
some sympathy with my own deep indignation against that
villain. I succeeded so far as to make him declare that he
was scarcely less desirous of justice than myself; but there
was an embarrassment in his tone of which I was at no loss
to perceive the cause. To accuse Montreuil publicly of his
forgery might ultimately bring to light Gerald's latter knowl-
edge of the fraud. I hastened to say that there was now no
necessity to submit to a court of justice a scrutiny into our
private, gloomy, and eventful records. No, from Oswald's
communications I had learned enough to prove that Boling-
broke had been truly informed, and that Montreuil had still,
and within the few last weeks, been deeply involved in
schemes of treason, full proof of which could be adduced, far
more than sufficient to insure his death by the public execu-
tioner. Upon this charge I proposed at the nearest town (the

memorable seaport of ) to accuse him, and to obtain a

warrant for his immediate apprehension; upon this charge I



DEVEREUX. 461

proposed alone to proceed against him, and by it alone to take
justice upon his more domestic crimes.

My brother yielded at last his consent to my suggestions.
"I understand," said I, "that Montreuil lurks in the neigh-
bourhood of these ruins, or in the opposite islet. Know you
if he has made his asylum in either at this present time?"

"jSTo, my brother," answered Gerald, "but I have reason to
believe that he is in our immediate vicinity, for I received a

letter from him three days ago, when at Lord 's, urging

a request that I would give him a meeting here, at my earli-
est leisure, previous to his leaving England."

"Has he really then obtained permission to return to
France?"

" Yes, " replied Gerald, " he informed me in this letter that
he had just received intelligence of his pardon."

" May it fit him the better, " said I, with a stern smile, " for
a more lasting condemnation. But if this be true we have
not a moment to lose : a man so habitually vigilant and astute
will speedily learn my visit hither, and forfeit even his ap-
pointment with you, should he, which is likely enough, enter-
tain any suspicion of our reconciliation with each other;
moreover, he may hear that the government have discovered
his designs, and may instantly secure the means of flight.

Let me, therefore, immediately repair to , and obtain a

warrant against him, as well as officers to assist our search.
In the meanwhile you shall remain here, and detain him,
should he visit you; but where is the accomplice? — let us
seize him instantly, for I conclude he is with you."

"What, Desmarais?" rejoined Gerald. "Yes, he is the
only servant, besides the old portress, which these poor
ruins will allow me to entertain in the same dwelling with

myself; the rest of my suite are left behind at Lord 's.

But Desmarais is not now within; he went out about two
hours ago."

"Hal " said I, "in all likelihood to meet the priest; shall
"we wait his return, and extort some information of Mon-
treuil's lurking-hole?"

Before Gerald could answer, we heard a noise without, and



462 DEVEREUX.

presently I distinguished the bland tones of the hypocritical
Fatalist, in soft expostulation with the triumphant voice of