Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 60, No. 369, July 1846

"Father, you cannot mean it!" cried Rupert in an agony of sorrow.

"Father!" said the old lord, repeating the word; "in virtue of what filial act do you claim such a kindred with me? Call that man father whose bankrupt fortune and reputation have had such marvellous power to wean you from your duty. Mark me, Sinclair – you were the first to violate the tie between us, I will be the last to restore or reunite it. Leave me. I cannot bear to look upon you."

"My mother!" inquired Sinclair, in a voice that dared not rise above a whisper.

"Name not that poor broken-hearted woman," replied Lord Railton: "spare me and her the pang of that inquiry. You have killed her."

"Oh, no, no, impossible!" ejaculated Sinclair. "Let me see her, and obtain her forgiveness, if I am driven afterwards from your door."

"She lies upon a bed of sickness, placed there by yourself. She will never rise again. Your wife must be fair indeed, if her beauty can atone for such a murder."

"Oh, you are unjust, most cruel and unjust!"

"You have taught us such injustice and cruelty as we practise. Begone, sir! As long as we live, we must not meet again. If you remain in England, I shall go abroad. If you travel, I remain in England. The sea shall be between us. I reproach myself with nothing. I denied you nothing. I knew my duty towards you, and performed it. Your mother lived only for your happiness. We have been cursed and disappointed. I forget you from this hour. Had I received intelligence this morning of your death, it would have given me no pain, evoked no sorrow. You are dead to me. Come not again across this threshold and I will endeavour to forget that I was not always childless."

And so saying, Lord Railton put an end to the interview by quitting the apartment. Grief, in the bosom of Rupert, had already given place to offended pride and resentment – such resentment, at least, as his mild nature understood. Whatever might have been his offence, he felt that it did not, could not deserve the vindictive hatred which burned no less in his father's countenance than in his terrible denunciations. What! was it a crime to link one's fate with virtuous innocence and beauty, such as hers who called him husband? If it was a fault to carve one's own way to happiness, did it deserve a harsher condemnation than that apportioned to the felon? The image of Elinor rose for the protection of the youth, and armed him with courage for the trial of that hour. He came a suppliant; but he returned in triumph: he came acknowledging his offence and suing for forgiveness; he returned justified and self-acquitted. Deprived of love and friendship at the hearth and home of his youth, he appreciated at even more than their value the joys that had been created for him in the palace of his own bright home, where a divinity presided as queen. The punishment he received for her dear sake, rendered her, if that were possible, the object still more of his passionate regard. He would have made any sacrifice to appease the anger of his father and the offended pride of his mother – he did not believe in the dangerous illness of the latter – but repulsed like a dog from their side, he deemed himself absolved from further trials of their tenderness, additional exercise of his own forbearance and filial duty.

It was during the day of his visit to Grosvenor Square that Sinclair was honoured with a return visit from the attorney of Lord Railton. That gentleman had received instructions that very morning to pay to the order of Mr Rupert Sinclair the sum of one thousand pounds per annum, in quarterly payments of two hundred and fifty pounds each: "But really," as the legal gentleman said to Rupert, upon breaking the matter to him, "he could not reconcile it to his sense of duty, and to the esteem which it was natural for him to entertain towards every member of Lord Railton's family – to perform his very unthankful office without using all his humble efforts to bring about a reconciliation, which in every respect was so very desirable. God forbid that business should ever prevent him from doing his duty as a Christian."

It need hardly be said that Mr Crawly, the attorney in question, was too keen a judge of things in general to throw dirt in the face of the rising sun, simply because he had worshipped the setting luminary a few hours before. Like all who depended more or less upon the estates of the Railton family for their support, it was of the highest consequence to maintain a good understanding with either party. If Lord Railton fed Mr Crawly now, Rupert Sinclair was expected to feed by and by Crawly's son and heir, who was preparing himself for the paternal stool by a short round of folly and extravagance at the university. Who could tell? Lord Railton might die to-morrow – he had had a squeak or two – and Crawly had been called to make his will: or he might forgive his son – or twenty things might happen to remove present differences, and restore the divided interest to its first integrity. Crawly had boasted to his relations and friends for the first twenty years of his official career, that he had never made one enemy; and when he set up his carriage in the prime of life, he invented his own arms and crest, and assumed for his motto the words, "always agreeable."

"It really is, my dear Sinclair," said Crawly, "a thousand pities that we cannot bring about a more satisfactory state of things; but I do hope that time will do wonders. Some excuses must be made for Lord Railton. Remember his age."

[He had said the same thing to Lord Railton in the morning: "Some excuses must be made for Mr Sinclair, my lord. Remember his youth!"]

"I cannot but think, Mr Crawly," answered Rupert, "that I have been treated with unmerited harshness."

"I cannot say, Mr Sinclair – I do not think it would become me to reply – that you have been treated handsomely."

[Crawly, Crawly! you spoke those words in Grosvenor Square!]

"I accept the allowance, sir, and will make the most of it. You may assure my father that I shall not prefer any further claims upon his bounty, or force myself again into his presence."

"As for bounty, my dear Mr Sinclair, you must permit me to state that the expression is hardly a correct one. The property of his lordship descends to you, and you are perfectly justified in spending freely what is your own."

["Mr Crawly," said Lord Railton, in Grosvenor Square that morning, foaming with rage, "I will deprive him of every shilling that is not his own. I have been economical for his sake; I will be extravagant to spite him."

"My lord," replied Crawly, "you are perfectly justified in spending freely what is your own."]

"May I take the liberty, Mr Sinclair," said the lawyer after a pause, "to inquire what your present views may be?"

"I am undecided, sir. I know not whether I shall remain here or go abroad. My father's reception of me has staggered and confounded me. I would have consulted his wishes had he received me as his son. I have now to satisfy only my own convenience."

"I shall pay your annuity, Mr Sinclair, into your banker's regularly every quarter-day. The first payment will be made in advance. I need not assure you, I trust, that I act in this most painful business rather as a mediator and a friend than a hired agent. There may be a time when an additional advance may be both convenient and acceptable. I have known you long, Mr Rupert. I know you to be a man of honour. I have only to add, that at such times you will confer a favour upon me by making me your banker, and commanding my purse."

I wonder if this was the reason why Mr Crawly suggested to Lord Railton the propriety of grinding Mr Sinclair down to as small a sum as possible. If so, if it were merely to give himself the opportunity of acting like a second father to the castaway, the recommendation cannot be too highly applauded.

"Thank you, sir; I shall not trouble you. I know my income, and I shall take care to keep my ambition within its bounds. I have had but few desires, I have now fewer than ever. A humble cottage and contentment are to be prized far beyond a palace and its harassing cares. I do not want the world to administer to my happiness. I am the happiest of men at home. To have that home invaded by the vulgar pleasures of life, would be to rob me of its charm!"

Now nothing could have been more satisfactory than this sentiment, had it but been responded to by her upon whom not only the annual expenses of Mr Rupert Sinclair's household depended, but his every movement, wish, and thought. Unfortunately for the domestic husband, the wife understood the bliss of love in a cottage no more than a nightingale may be supposed to appreciate the advantages of imprisonment in a cage of gold. She was born, and had been educated, in the world. It was the scene of her triumphs, the home of her affections. She had played no unimportant part in it; her sway had been acknowledged, her beauty had gained its victory there. Home! she had never known any other, and what right had Sinclair to suppose that she was adapted for a narrower? He had met her in dissipation, but had he won her from it? Hardly; since a few days only had intervened between the hour of their meeting, and the still more luckless hour of their union. Was it to be imagined, could it in fairness be expected, that this young creature, all life all fascination and vanity, with her heart attuned to the joys of fashion, with the object of her life attained – with power and position now, and wealth and rank to come, would forego all the advantages within her reach, all the influence that she felt, and all the pleasure that it was simply to ask for, in order to obtain "Love in a cottage?" Rupert Sinclair! pull down the thatch, and build some marble hall for the fairy you have caught – not chained!

Within six months of his marriage, the Honourable Rupert Sinclair was living at the rate of – not one – but five thousand a-year. Persuaded by his wife, (who learnt any thing but quiet submission from the tyranny of Lord Railton, and whose determination to go abroad was relinquished the moment she discovered her absence from England would be agreeable to her husband's family,) Rupert had taken a mansion in town, and Mrs Rupert Sinclair was the admired of all admirers, a leader of fashion, and the proclaimed beauty of her day. Rupert had been dragged into the vortex, with no power to hold back, even had he been willing to interfere with those delights which gained him a smile of approbation, and expressions of gratitude, cheaply purchased at any cost or sacrifice of his. True he was fearfully in debt; true Mr Crawly had been summoned oftener than once to the rescue; true that wily gentleman had advanced heavy sums of money, taking particular care, however, to be amply secured by legal documents, and more than amply repaid by the exaction of illegal interest. It was perhaps natural for Sinclair to believe, as debts accumulated upon debts, that the hour of his estrangement from his parents was drawing rapidly to a close, and that, although his way of living could not but aggrieve and offend his stern and angry father, yet it was impossible nature could suffer him much longer to withhold his paternal and forgiving hand. Mental reasoning of this character is the last resource of the culpable and the self-deluded. Lord Railton, faithful to his threat, went abroad; Lady Railton was sufficiently recovered to accompany him; and both quitted England without deigning to notice the spend-thrifts, whose extravagance and need were soon the common talk of scandalmongers, dissatisfied tradesmen, and spiteful serving-men. Yet there was no flinching on the part of Rupert. A cloud of anxiety might sit temporarily on his brow, a sigh now and then escape him; but he uttered no remonstrance, and took no pains to stem the tide of folly and prodigality that flowed unceasingly within his walls. His love for Elinor had increased rather than diminished since their marriage. He was proud of the homage of mankind, and knew her worthy of the highest. Why should he seek to restrain the innocent pleasures of a woman for whose gratification and happiness he lived? Why curtail the joys in which she had participated almost from infancy? why prevent her from crowning a scene, for the adornment of which she was created and eminently fitted?

And where was General Travis during this brief season of intoxication and wanton waste? At Calais, whither his liabilities had banished him, and were likely to detain him for some time to come. There was no doubt of his ruin. He lived with his melancholy-looking wife and younger daughter, upon a pittance secured upon the life of the former, but hardly sufficient to support them in decency. Yet they maintained, even in their reverses, a style that to a degree reflected on the scene of their exile the brilliancy of their brighter years. Could it be that the substance of poor Rupert Sinclair was ministering here also to the vices of this unhappy family? I fear there is no doubt of it. The general was as huge a braggart as ever. He insisted upon drawing a line midway between the highest and the lowest of the swindling fraternity to which he belonged, and by whom he was surrounded, and suffered intercourse to exist only with the favoured members of the upper class. He was prating for ever of his son-in-law, his connexions, his influence with the ministry through the potent Lord Railton, and was most lavish of his promises of preferment to any credulous individual whom he could persuade to favour him with the eternal loan of a five-pound note. General Travis had, not unaccountably perhaps, acquired much power over the mind of Sinclair. Expelled from his natural counsellors, who, in their best days, had been any thing but faithful advisers, – harassed and tormented by growing cares, it is not to be wondered at, that he should seek counsel and aid from one whom he believed to be a thorough man of the world – who was bound to him by the closest ties, and of whose integrity and honour he had not the remotest suspicion. It was General Travis who instructed Sinclair in the recondite science of raising money – and of staving off the attacks of tradesmen with the weapons of generous usurers: who taught him that still more marvellous art of civilized life, of living upon one thousand a-year more sumptuously than your neighbour with ten; and who day after day persuaded him, by arguments which I cannot attempt to recite, that by forestalling his inheritance in his youth, he would not materially affect the property which must accrue to him in his age. It may be that the arguments would have been more severely tested had they come from any other than Elinor's father – had they not been employed to increase the comforts and desires of Elinor herself. But whether this be so or not, it is certain that Rupert Sinclair, for a long time, was a helpless victim in the hands of a bold and ruthless destroyer.

Chance, I have hinted at the beginning of this chapter, brought Rupert and myself together at singular times and places, and made me an actor in his history whether I would or not. Since his first letter to me, I had heard from him but once; of him, alas! I had heard too much. He was in the height of his giddy career, when I passed through London for the first time since his marriage, and resolved to pay him a visit. I arrived late in the evening, and I had but a few hours at my command, for early in the morning I was to start for France by the Calais packet. When I reached my hotel, I sent my card to the residence of my friend, who instantly invited me to his too hospitable roof. There was a gay and brilliant assembly in his house that evening, and, as usual, Elinor outshone the multitude in beauty and animation. She received me cordially, and kindly held out her snow-white hand at my approach, and greeted me with a smile of fascination that robbed me of whatever displeasure I had brought with me on account of her proceedings. How could I reproach Sinclair for submitting to the spell that governed him, when it was impossible for me – a stranger, and one certainly not prepossessed in her favor – to resist it?

Sinclair was much altered in appearance. He looked jaded and unhappy. There was nothing in his countenance harmonizing with the scene around him. He seldom spoke, and to all my questions he returned evasive answers, seeking rather to direct his discourse to matters in which neither of us found a personal interest, than to his own affairs, which at the time had far more interest for me than my own.

"I am glad you are here to-night, Wilson," said Rupert, as we sat together. "To-morrow I leave town for a few days, and we should not have met had you arrived a day later."

"I am off to France myself to-night for a week or more, and – "

As I spoke, I saw the colour in Sinclair's cheek rapidly changing. He was evidently surprised and chagrined by the intelligence.

"Can I serve you," said I at once, taking advantage of my opportunity, "by remaining in town?"

"No, no, I thank you. What route do you take?"

"By packet to Calais, and from Calais to Paris by the formidable diligence. Can I help you at the seat of politeness and art?"

"No, I thank you," replied Sinclair, changing colour again. "You are aware that my father is in Paris?"

"So I have heard. It is said that his lordship" —

"Do not speak of it," he said, mildly interrupting me. "Whatever may happen to me, I cannot but think that the blame must rest ultimately there."

"Do you fear evil, then?" I eagerly inquired.

Mr Crawly came up at this moment, with his lady upon his arm, and Crawly, junior, lounging in his immediate rear. The latter was an Adonis in his way – got up with a perfect contempt of expense and all propriety. Crawly beckoned to Sinclair, who at once quitted my side and walked over to him, whilst I was left in possession of Mrs Crawly and the hopeful. I escaped as soon as I could, and seeing no more of Sinclair, took my departure at a comparatively early hour.

Three nights after this, I was roused from sleep in my bed at the Hotel Louis Seize, (a comfortable hotel in those days, bordering on the marketplace in Calais,) by a murmuring sound which at first I believed to be nothing more than a portion of an unsatisfactory dream in which I had once again found myself with Rupert and his lady in London. Satisfying myself that the dream and the sound were distinct, I was already again midway between the lands of life and death, when the tones of a voice roused me almost like a cannon-shot from my couch, and caused me seriously to inquire whether I was sleeping or waking, dreaming or acting. I could have sworn that the voice I had heard belonged to Rupert Sinclair. I jumped from my bed, and struck a light. It was twelve o'clock by my watch. For a few seconds all was as silent as the grave; then I heard most distinctly a step along the passage, into which my bed-room conducted – the sound of a door opening, closing, and immediately a heavy tread in the adjoining room. Two chairs were then drawn close to a table; upon the latter a rough-voiced man knocked with his fist, and exclaimed at the same moment —

"There are the papers, then!"

Surely I had heard that voice before. To whom could it belong? Whilst I still puzzled my brains to remember, another voice replied. It was impossible to mistake that. Most assuredly it was Rupert Sinclair's.

"I see them!" it said; every syllable bringing fresh perspiration on my brow.

How came he here? what was his business? and with whom? A thin partition merely divided my bed-room from that in which the speakers were. Had I been inclined to close my ears against their words, it would have been difficult. Anxious, and even eager, to obtain knowledge of the movements of my friend, I made no scruple of listening most attentively to every word. Who knew but he was in the hands of sharpers, and might I not have been providentially sent to his rescue? At all events I listened, and not a syllable did I suffer to escape me.

"I know, my dear young friend," began the rougher voice – whose but General Travis's? – "that you are anxious to do what is best for us all. Your interest, you know, is my daughter's, and my daughter's is, of course, mine. We are all in one boat."

"Yes, undoubtedly," said Rupert.

"These debts are very large," continued the general.

"Yes," replied Sinclair; "and some of them must be discharged forthwith. Crawly is impatient and angry, and accuses me of having used him ill."

"Crawly is a villain," said the general hurriedly; "he has made a fortune out of you, and now wishes to back out. The interest alone that he has exacted has been enough to ruin you."

"Your messenger, you say, failed to see my father?"

"Yes. His lordship closed his doors upon him, and took no notice of his letter, in which he asked that some amicable arrangement might be made with respect to the property that must evidently come to you."

There succeeded to this a few sentences in an under tone from either party, which I could not make out.

"Then what is to be done?" murmured Sinclair again in a tone of entreaty.

"Don't be advised by me, my friend," said the general in a subdued voice, which I strained my ears to catch; "God forbid that you should reproach me hereafter for advice which I tender solely with a view to your peace of mind and comfort. Heaven knows you have had little peace of late!"

Rupert sighed heavily.

"I have for the last week been turning the matter over and over seriously. As I said before, I can have no object but your well-doing, and – naturally – my child's – my child's, Sinclair – your loving, and I know, beloved wife."

"I believe it," said Rupert.

"Is any one aware of your visit here?"

"Not a creature."

"Crawly?"

"Was with me the very night I started, but he does not suspect. He believes that I am now in England."

"Now, my dear friend, I don't think I ought to say what" —

As ill luck would have it, I coughed. The general ceased upon the instant, and opened his door hastily. I blew out my light, and held my breath.

"What was that?" asked the general in a whisper.

Both listened for a few seconds, and then the general proceeded, still whispering.

"There was a man in London whom I found in my reverses faithful and considerate; an honest man in a world of dishonesty and knavery. He is well to do in life, and he has visited me here. Nay, he is here now – has been here some days; is in this very hotel."

"What of him?" asked Rupert.

"We are as brothers, and I have entrusted him with the history of your affairs. He is willing to assist and relieve you; and he can do it, for he has a mint of money."

"I must borrow no more, sir," eagerly interposed Sinclair. "My liabilities are even now greater than I can bear. My income will not pay the interest of the money that has been advanced."

"And therefore comes my friend in the very nick of time to save you. I agree with you that it would be ridiculous to think of further loans. Your only plan now is to sell out and out. This you may do advantageously, relieve yourself of every incumbrance, and retain sufficient for the future, if you will be but moderately careful, and invest your capital with caution."

"How do you mean?" inquired my friend.

The general whispered lower than ever, as though ashamed that even the bare walls should witness his heartless proposition. I gathered his suggestion from the quick and anxious answer.

"What!" exclaimed Sinclair, "sell my inheritance, part with my birth-right?"

"No! neither sell nor part with it – but forestall and enjoy it."

I heard no more. There came a gentle knock at the door of the room in which Rupert and his father-in-law were speaking; the door softly opened, and another visitor arrived. Sinclair's name was mentioned by way of introduction; then the stranger's, which escaped me; and shortly afterwards the whole party quitted the apartment, as it seemed, maintaining a dead silence – for, listen as eagerly as I would, not a syllable could I gather. Repose was impossible that night. After keeping my position for about half an hour, I hastily dressed, and sallied forth in quest of information. I descended, and inquired of the first servant whom I could summon, the names of the English gentlemen who were then staying in the house. My answer was very unsatisfactory.

"There was Milor Anglais," said the man who was the great referee of the house in all matters pertaining to the English tongue, "friend of Mons. le General; the gentleman as come to-morrow; Monsieur Jones who vos arrive yesterday; Monsieur Smith, his ami, and Monsieur Sir John Alderman, Esquire, vith his madame and petite famille. There vos none more."