The Wizard of West Penwith: A Tale of the Land's-End

"I don't know," replied his wife; "but I shouldn't wonder if he's gone down to the old place again, now the coast is clear. He'll be noted again in St. Just, now that the breeze is blown over, and the scent is in another quarter, as you do say it is."

"Right you are," rejoined the captain, looking more pleased than he had looked yet since his return. "And now I'll tell you our bit of spree." And he related to his wife the expedition to Ashley Hall, and how his companion had left the girl with the lady, thinking to frighten her into submission to their terms, and that, when she went back again the next day, to see how the land lay, she found the little door in the lane locked and barred on the inside, and when she applied for admission, at the front entrance, she was told that Mrs. Courland could not see her. "So she's in a fix," continued the man; "but she stayed behind, and she'll blow the gaff, if they don't come to, soon. I should have stopped too, but I thought my old friend might want to be off at once, and so I came back to get all things right and straight for the trip."

"And you'd better get things right and straight now," said his wife; "for he may be going off all the same, for what I do know."

CHAPTER XXV.

RETROSPECTION AND RECRIMINATION

Mr. Morley wrote to Lieut. Fowler from Ashley Hall, saying that he had found his brother and Josiah Trenow there, and that they had discovered a house, which they had every reason to believe was the scene of the murder. He informed his friend also that he and Josiah would remain there a little longer, to make further search, but that Frederick had gone down into Cornwall in search of a party who had slipped through their hands, so far.

In consequence of this letter, Lieut. Fowler was in daily expectation of seeing his friend Frederick Morley at Tol-pedn-Penwith. And the ladies at Pendrea-house were in anxious expectation too; for, now that they knew more of his history, which seemed so fraught with romantic interest, he had become quite a hero in their eyes. Day after day passed, but he did not arrive. The ladies were alarmed, and feared some accident had befallen him; but Fowler ridiculed this idea, and attributed his non-arrival to the strictness of the search he was no doubt making. Who the party was that Frederick was in search of, Fowler didn't know, for the finding of the box by Josiah had been kept a secret. The search after Mr. Freeman was merely to get his help to unravel the mystery of that document, which Josiah seemed to think, from his manner, he knew something about, although it was most probable, as Frederick suggested at first, that Mr. Freeman pretended to know more than he really did, in order to induce Josiah to leave the box and its contents with him. As a drowning man will catch at a straw, so did Frederick catch at this little incident, improbable as he really thought it, in the hope that it might assist him in his search, or that the conjuror, by his skill, might be able to give him some clue to the mystery. Fowler knew nothing of all this, nor did he know of his friend's devoted, and, it may be added, romantic, attachment to the daughter of the celebrated Land's-End conjuror. Had he known it, he would, no doubt, have tried to convince his friend of the folly and absurdity of such a connection. But love is blind; and it would probably have required more eloquence than Lieut. Fowler possessed to have persuaded Frederick Morley that the lovely and fascinating girl whom he loved so passionately from the first moment he saw her, as a schoolgirl, was unworthy of his affection, because her father did not move in the first circles of society. Luckily Fowler was ignorant of this attachment; and so his friend had been spared the annoyance of a discussion with him on the subject. The old squire was as anxious as any of them to see the young soldier once more. But he didn't come.

Miss Pendray's mind was ill at ease – that was evident to all who knew her. She still wandered over the cliffs, and braved the storm; but it was not now, as it used to be, for the sake of looking at the bold scenery. Her wanderings had now a more definite object; – she hoped, every time she climbed those lofty cliffs, that she should meet with someone to share her admiration of the beautiful scenery. She had become accustomed to those pleasant meetings with one of the opposite sex; and she felt a vacuum – a loneliness – that she had never felt before. The stranger whom she met at the ball, and who seemed so enamoured of her, had disappeared in a most unaccountable manner. She was beginning to like his attentions, although there was something in his manner, sometimes, which did not please her; – she told him as much, the last time she met him. Perhaps he was offended; for she had never seen him since the sudden appearance of that handsome man, who had intruded upon their privacy at the Logan Rock. It was a strange coincidence – those two men, meeting in that strange way. She was much struck with the appearance and gentlemanly manners of the gentleman with the white hair; – she couldn't put him out of her mind for the whole day; and, the next evening, when Lieut. Fowler brought him to Pendrea-house, after their return from St. Just, she thought him the most fascinating man she had ever seen. There was an open frankness and ease in his manner, which were wanting in Mr. Smith. As she reflected now on the difference between the two men, she felt that Mr. Smith's manners seemed put on for the occasion, and that he required to be on his guard, and to be always watching himself, as it were, to prevent some hidden vulgarity from peeping out under his apparently assumed garb of refinement. It was not so with Mr. Morley; – he was a gentleman intuitively, and, therefore, had no occasion to watch himself lest he should say or do, inadvertently, anything he would be ashamed of. Mr. Morley, too, was much struck with Miss Pendray's beauty; but he did not tell her so, point blank, as Mr. Smith had done on more than one occasion. He asked her to shew him some of her favourite scenes on the cliffs, with which he expressed himself highly delighted, and he pointed out beauties in the rocks and cliffs and headlands, which she had not observed before, and described to her, in glowing colours, some of the magnificent scenery he had himself witnessed in the East. And so they continued, day after day, to walk together – sometimes over the cliffs and sometimes on the smooth sands beneath – admiring the beauties of Nature, almost with the same eyes and the same thoughts. They seemed to have so many ideas in unison, and each became so fascinated with the other, that when the time arrived that Mr. Morley thought he must in duty visit his relatives, they parted, with sorrowing hearts, although neither of them knew what a pang the other felt at parting.

Miss Pendray had not been accustomed, in that out-of-the-way place, to meet with men of that stamp; – she had never before come into contact with a congenial spirit. Frederick Morley was better than most she had been in the habit of meeting; but he would, occasionally, appear so absorbed in his own thoughts, that he was, at times, scarcely companionable. Mr. Smith was bold and clever, evidently, and as romantic in his ideas and pursuits as she could possibly desire, and frequently fascinated her with his thrilling stories; but there was something in his manner sometimes that did not satisfy her; and his aversion to join their domestic circle seemed most strange.

Mr. Morley was quite different, in every respect; and, now that she wandered over the cliffs alone, day after day, she could reflect on the difference between the three men. She had always looked down with pity on her younger sister's susceptibility, and often upbraided her for exhibiting, so unreservedly, her attachment to Lieut. Fowler, who was not at all suited to her, either in age or position, Miss Pendray thought.

The gentle Blanche could now turn the tables on her more prudent and high-minded sister; for she saw that the handsome Mr. Morley had made a conquest, and that the majestic Maud watched his every look and action, and was pained, beyond measure, when, even in common politeness, he paid the slightest attention to anyone else.

While Maud and Mr. Morley were thus revelling in each other's society, over the bold cliffs and headlands, Blanche and her lover were taking their quiet walks along the rocks and sands beneath, where they would, ever and anon, stop and rest themselves, and look out on the broad ocean which lay before them, talking of the future, and hoping that all might turn out smoothly in the end; for, although Blanche quite understood what her lover meant now, and returned his love with the fondest affection, and wished to her heart that all could be settled at once, yet she was still afraid for her father to be spoken to on the subject, lest he should get angry, and forbid their intercourse altogether. Poor silly child! her timid nature feared she knew not what; and the more her lover urged her to allow him to ask her father's consent, the more did she recoil from the ordeal, dreading what the answer might be. She knew her sister's thoughts and opinions on the subject, and she feared her father might hold the same opinion, for they were much alike in pride and lofty bearing; and so her timid fear overcame her prudence, and she held her lover back from doing that which he well knew and felt he ought to do, in common honesty and honour. But he loved his darling Blanche too well to thwart her; and so the two went on in tender communing, and each day brought fresh arguments on either side – the one, in manly uprightness, urging the appeal to the father for his sanction to their union; the other, in timid maidenly reserve, dreading the answer her stern parent might give, and controlling her fond lover, who felt he could not disobey her.

"Only wait a little longer," she said, one day, as she sat listening to his arguments, and looking up at him so earnestly; – "you don't know papa so well as I do. In most things he is so kind; but I fear in this he would not be so."

"Why do you think so, dearest Blanche?" he replied, taking her hand in his; "he seems to like me, and is continually asking me to come to Pendrea-house. What objection can he have? have you ever heard him say he disliked me, or – "

"Oh! no! never," she replied; "but Maud and papa seem to hold the same opinions on many points; and she has spoken to me often of the disparity of age, and seemed so utterly against it, that I fear papa will think so too."

"It shall be exactly as you wish," said he; "but I would much rather know my fate at once, than wait in suspense; – what good end can it answer to delay it?"

"Oh! don't talk in that way," replied Blanche, bursting into tears; – "you know how much I should wish it settled, too; but then, if papa should be angry, and refuse to give his consent, I should never see you again. I cannot bear to think of that."

Poor little innocent timid Blanche! she knew not what troubles her timidity was bringing on them both. It was her first love; and, childlike, she thought only of her present pleasure. She felt like one in a pleasant dream, gliding through the air on azure clouds, wafted gently onwards by a zephyr's breeze, with her lover ever by her side to protect her from harm; and she feared lest the slightest change in their present position should cause an angry storm to rise, and overturn all their blissful happiness. She did not know, poor girl, in her ignorance, of the changes and chances that are continually going on in the world, where the greatest pleasures and the severest pains and trials last but for a season, and they are gone, and old Time keeps on the even tenor of his way, and pains and pleasures live only in the memory, and fade away as time rolls on, leaving, in the end, but a faint shadow of the past.

Blanche knew not this; and, anxious to secure present happiness, she induced her lover, in the very innocence of her young heart, by tears and entreaties, to delay his application to her father for a time, in defiance of his better judgment; for he was older, and knew the world much better than this poor innocent girl, but still he yielded, and they loved on in secret.

While Maud was so engrossed with Mr. Morley, there was no one to watch and overlook them; but when he was gone, it seemed to her as if all her occupation was gone too, – she had nothing left but to wander out alone and think of him whose image ever haunted her; – and, in her wanderings, she often surprised Blanche and her attendant lover, in one of their favourite haunts. And, wanting some better occupation, she would chide her sister when they were alone together. At first, Blanche didn't mind it much; but its frequent repetition angered her, and she spoke up sharply to her sister, contrary to her wont, which made Maud speak her mind more freely. And as they sat at work alone, one afternoon, she renewed the old subject: —

"I must tell you, Blanche," she began, "that I think it is very wrong in you to encourage Mr. Fowler to pay you such marked attention, when, perhaps, he means nothing, after all."

"I will not allow anyone, in my presence, to impeach Mr. Fowler's honour," replied Blanche, looking up from her work, her cheeks burning with indignant pride; "I have the most perfect confidence in his honourable intentions, and therefore I will not hear him traduced."

"There we differ," returned her elder sister, hastily; "and, let me tell you that, were his intentions ever so honourable, papa would never sanction the engagement of a daughter of his to Lieut. Fowler."

"And, pray, what would be the objection?" asked Blanche, indignantly.

"There are several," replied her sister; "I know papa's opinion of his position pretty well, for I have already sounded him on it."

"And what right, let me ask, had you to sound papa on a subject which you know nothing about?" asked Blanche; – "that subject has never been named by Mr. Fowler, either to you or to papa, that I am aware of."

"Then it ought to have been," replied Maud, "and that would have settled the matter at once. It is neither honourable nor manly in Mr. Fowler to ensnare your affections, and wish you to meet him clandestinely, as I fear and know you too often do. What his intentions are, I don't know; but, if I may judge from this circumstance, they cannot be honourable, and it is time papa took some measures to prevent it, before it is too late."

"I am surprised, Maud," replied her sister, coolly, "that you, above all others, should accuse me of doing the very thing that you have been doing yourself for the last two months."

"Me!" exclaimed the majestic Maud; "how dare you say such a thing?"

"Yes, you!" replied Blanche. "If I have walked occasionally with papa's old friend, Mr. Fowler, I have done so openly, and with him only, – while you have had three strings to your bow, two of whom I know you met clandestinely, often and often, my prudent sister. What has become of the stranger you met at the ball, who called himself 'Mr. Smith?' did you think your meetings with him were not known? And, having lost him, you carried on the same game with Mr. Morley. Did either of these gentlemen ask papa? If not, I say they ought to have done so, before they induced you to meet them so often, clandestinely, at the Logan Rock, – a nice secluded place for lovers to meet at, truly?"

The timid Blanche had never spoken so fearlessly and sharply to her sister before, and Maud was perfectly astonished. She felt conscious, all at once, that the tables were turned on her deservedly – for she had an inward conviction of the truth of what her sister had said; but, like most people whose minds are filled with one great and absorbing passion, she neither saw nor knew that her actions were observed and commented on by the lookers-on in the outer world. Although she looked upon the world in general with cold indifference, and would sit for hours as inanimate as a statue, her handsome features looking, in repose, like a piece of beautifully-chiselled, tinted, marble; yet, when anyone approached in whom she took a more than ordinary interest, or any subject was introduced which it pleased her to discuss, her countenance would light up instantaneously, and you might see the fire of her soul shine out with dazzling brilliancy, in her dark flashing eyes. Nothing, then, could control the ungovernable passion that dwelt within; and the longer it had lain dormant, the stronger would it now burst forth, seeing nothing but that one object on which her mind was then intent. With such an all-absorbing passion had she, during the last few days of his sojourn among them, loved Mr. Morley. At first she was passive; – she walked with him, and pointed out the beauties of the scenery, and listened to his description of the scenes he had passed through in India, with pleasure, certainly, but not with the rapture she now felt in all he said or did. She liked him, at first, as a highly-gifted gentlemanly companion, – when, all at once, she was seized with that ungovernable love for him, which prevented her from seeing anything else; nor did she care, in her mad passion, if the whole world was looking on, – she was blind to all but him. She, like Blanche, thought but of her present happiness, but, unlike Blanche, she thought not of her father's consent nor dissent; and so she was taken quite by surprise, when she found that all her doings had been seen and commented upon. She had been like a little playful child, who covers its head, and thinks, poor little innocent, that, because it cannot see the company around, it cannot be seen by them. Maud was shocked at the discovery. It roused another passion within her – that of anger; and, rising from her seat, with a haughty frown, she swept from the room, and left her poor timid sister trembling and frightened, wondering what she had said or done to cause such a terrible commotion within her sister's breast.

CHAPTER XXVI.

SQUIRE PENDRAY GETS ON HIS STILTS, AND VIEWS LIEUT. FOWLER FROM A LOFTY EMINENCE

When Lieut. Fowler called at Pendrea-house the next morning, to take Blanche out, as he had promised, to finish a sketch she was making of a scene near the Logan Rock, he was met at the door by the old squire himself, who, bowing stiffly asked his visitor to grant him a few minutes' conversation in the library.

"This is an odd reception," thought Fowler; "the old gentleman is up on his stilts this morning." But, however, as he knew the squire was very uncertain in his temper, he followed him in silence; and, when they had entered the room, the squire requested him to be seated, and, after a moment's pause, in which he seemed to be considering how he should begin, he said, rather abruptly, —

"I have not deserved this at your hands, Lieut. Fowler."

"What, sir?" said Fowler, in the greatest surprise.

"When you came into this district," continued the squire, without noticing Fowler's remark, "I invited you to my house; and my family and myself have tried to make it as agreeable as we could to you, as you seemed lonely up there by yourself; and the return I have had for all my kindness, has been your undermining the innocent simplicity of my youngest daughter, and, in an underhand and clandestine manner, gaining the affections of an unsophisticated, simple girl, and inducing her to meet you in bye-places unknown to her family."

"My dear sir!" exclaimed Fowler, scarcely knowing what he said – he was so taken by surprise; "I protest – "

"It is of no use your denying it," continued the squire; "for I am in possession of the fact that you have destroyed my child's peace of mind, without ascertaining whether your attentions would be agreeable to me or not."

"I acknowledge that I love your daughter, squire Pendray," replied Fowler; "but I hold her and all your family in too high respect to do anything underhand or clandestinely, to gain her affections; and I tell you, sir," he continued, rising with calm dignity, "I have not done so; and, if you had not been Blanche's father, I would not submit quietly to be taunted in this way. I should have communicated my feelings to you long ago, but – "

"But what, sir!" exclaimed the squire, rising from his seat also.

"But for a timid feeling which Blanche possesses," replied Fowler, "that – "

"Whatever fears Blanche might have had, sir, they ought not to have prevented you from acting as an honourable man and a gentleman. You are many years older than my daughter, Lieut. Fowler, and ought not to have led her away thus. It is well, perhaps, that the discovery has been made before it was too late. You have taken advantage of my hospitality, sir, and I desire you will not enter my doors again; and whatever there may have been between you and my daughter, it must cease. Sir, I wish you a very good morning." And, bowing to his visitor, the crusty old gentleman opened another door, which led to the upper part of the house, leaving Lieut. Fowler standing in the middle of the room, and wondering what could be the meaning of all this, and who could have informed the squire of his attachment to his daughter, and of their meetings. He was conscious of the rectitude and earnestness of his intentions, and knew, of course, that he had been prevented from making them known to her father, only by the earnest intreaty of Blanche herself. But he could not compromise her – indeed he had not an opportunity of doing so, even if he wished; for, before he had time to reply, or to defend himself, the old gentleman was gone, and there was no one to receive his explanation. At first he thought that, perhaps, Blanche might have been questioned by her father, and had been induced to confess their attachment and their frequent meetings, without having had the courage or the opportunity to explain the reason.

He could not remain in the house, of course, nor could he call again, after what had taken place; but he thought he should like to hear from Blanche herself how far she was implicated (unintentionally, he was quite sure) in divulging their secret, and thus causing his dismissal from a house which he had visited with so much pleasure ever since he had been in Cornwall. He determined, therefore, that he would see Blanche, if possible, before he left. So he rang the bell. The servant who answered it said, in reply to his request to see Miss Blanche for a moment, that she was confined to her room with a headache, and could not see him; so he had no alternative but to leave the house.

How little do we know what a day may bring forth! As he walked away from that house where he had been accustomed to be received almost as one of the family for a period of four or five years, Lieut. Fowler began to reflect on the changes and vicissitudes of human life, and how easily the merest trifle, light as air, will sometimes turn the scale. From his first introduction to squire Pendray, to the present time, they had been, as it were, boon companions; for the squire, although an old man, was a jolly companion over his wine, and would frequently, even then, at his advanced age, take his gun and have a day's sport with his friend, and keep up with him too, to the end of the day without flagging, and would enjoy the bachelors' dinner, and a glass of grog afterwards, at the lieutenant's little cabin, where the dinner was cooked by a jolly tar, and served up in sailor fashion, as much as if the table was spread with the daintiest dishes, and everything was done in the first style of fashion. And, only two days before, when Fowler dined at Pendrea-house, he thought, as they sat at their wine after dinner, that it was impossible his old friend could refuse him his daughter's hand, if he could only be permitted by her to ask the question; for he had been always treated more like a brother by the young ladies, than like a stranger. And now, without even allowing him an opportunity of explaining his conduct, or of exculpating himself from the insinuations thrown out against his character as a man of honour and a gentleman, he is unceremoniously expelled from the house, and forbidden all further intercourse with her for whom he would willingly lay down his life.

That some secret enemy had been at work, he had not the slightest doubt; but who it could be, he could not imagine. He was not, therefore, in a very serene state of mind, when he arrived home, as his men soon discovered. He ordered them out on night duty, and said he should himself take a long round and inspect all the outposts during the night.