Eugene Aram, Book 3.

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EUGENE ARAM

By Edward Bulwer-Lytton

BOOK III.

CHAPTER I.

FRAUD AND VIOLENCE ENTER EVEN GRASSDALE.--PETER'S NEWS.
--THE LOVERS' WALK.--THE REAPPEARANCE.

AUF.--"Whence comest thou--what wouldst thou?"
--Coriolanus.

One evening Aram and Madeline were passing through the village in their
accustomed walk, when Peter Dealtry sallied forth from The Spotted Dog,
and hurried up to the lovers with a countenance full of importance, and a
little ruffled by fear.

"Oh, Sir, Sir,--(Miss, your servant!)--have you heard the news? Two
houses at Checkington, (a small town some miles distant from Grassdale,)
were forcibly entered last night,--robbed, your honour, robbed. Squire
Tibson was tied to his bed, his bureau rifled, himself shockingly
confused on the head; and the maidservant Sally--her sister lived with
me, a very good girl she was,--was locked up in the--the--the--I beg
pardon, Miss--was locked up in the cupboard. As to the other house, they
carried off all the plate. There were no less than four men, all masked,
your honour, and armed with pistols. What if they should come here! such
a thing was never heard of before in these parts. But, Sir,--but, Miss,--
do not be afraid, do not ye now, for I may say with the Psalmist,

'But wicked men shall drink the dregs
Which they in wrath shall wring,
For I will lift my voice, and make
Them flee while I do sing!'"

"You could not find a more effectual method of putting them to flight,
Peter," said Madeline smiling; "but go and talk to my uncle. I know we
have a whole magazine of blunderbusses and guns at home: they may be
useful now. But you are well provided in case of attack. Have you not the
Corporal's famous cat Jacobina,--surely a match for fifty robbers?"

"Ay, Miss, on the principle of set a thief to catch a thief, perhaps she
may; but really it is no jesting matter. Them ere robbers flourish like a
green bay tree, for a space at least, and it is 'nation bad sport for us
poor lambs till they be cut down and withered like grass. But your house,
Mr. Aram, is very lonesome like; it is out of reach of all your
neighbours. Hadn't you better, Sir, take up your lodgings at the Squire's
for the present?"

Madeline pressed Aram's arm, and looked up fearfully in his face. "Why,
my good friend," said he to Dealtry, "robbers will have little to gain in
my house, unless they are given to learned pursuits. It would be
something new, Peter, to see a gang of housebreakers making off with a
telescope, or a pair of globes, or a great folio covered with dust."

"Ay, your honour, but they may be the more savage for being
disappointed."

"Well, well, Peter, we will see," replied Aram impatiently; "meanwhile we
may meet you again at the hall. Good evening for the present."

"Do, dearest Eugene, do, for Heaven's sake," said Madeline, with tears in
her eyes, as they, now turning from Dealtry, directed their steps towards
the quiet valley, at the end of which the Student's house was situated,
and which was now more than ever Madeline's favourite walk, "do, dearest
Eugene, come up to the Manor-house till these wretches are apprehended.
Consider how open your house is to attack; and surely there can be no
necessity to remain in it now."

Aram's calm brow darkened for a moment. "What! dearest," said he, "can
you be affected by the foolish fears of yon dotard? How do we know as
yet, whether this improbable story have any foundation in truth. At all
events, it is evidently exaggerated. Perhaps an invasion of the poultry-
yard, in which some hungry fox was the real offender, may be the true
origin of this terrible tale. Nay, love, nay, do not look thus
reproachfully; it will be time enough for us when we have sifted the
grounds of alarm to take our precautions; meanwhile, do not blame me if
in your presence I cannot admit fear. Oh Madeline, dear, dear Madeline,
could you know, could you dream, how different life has become to me
since I knew you! Formerly, I will frankly own to you, that dark and
boding apprehensions were wont to lie heavy at my heart; the cloud was
more familiar to me than the sunshine. But now I have grown a child, and
can see around me nothing but hope; my life was winter--your love has
breathed it into spring."

"And yet, Eugene--yet--" "Yet what, my Madeline?"

"There are still moments when I have no power over your thoughts; moments
when you break away from me; when you mutter to yourself feelings in
which I have no share, and which seem to steal the consciousness from
your eye and the colour from your lip."

"Ah, indeed!" said Aram quickly; "what! you watch me so closely?"

"Can you wonder that I do?" said Madeline, with an earnest tenderness in
her voice.

"You must not then, you must not," returned her lover, almost fiercely;
"I cannot bear too nice and sudden a scrutiny; consider how long I have
clung to a stern and solitary independence of thought, which allows no
watch, and forbids account of itself to any one. Leave it to time and
your love to win their inevitable way. Ask not too much from me now. And
mark, mark, I pray you, whenever, in spite of myself, these moods you
refer to darken over me, heed not, listen not--Leave me! solitude is
their only cure! promise me this, love--promise."

"It is a harsh request, Eugene, and I do not think I will grant you so
complete a monopoly of thought;" answered Madeline, playfully, yet half
in earnest.

"Madeline," said Aram, with a deep solemnity of manner, "I ask a request
on which my very love for you depends. From the depths of my soul, I
implore you to grant it; yea, to the very letter."

"Why, why, this is--"began Madeline, when encountering the full, the
dark, the inscrutable gaze of her strange lover, she broke off in a
sudden fear, which she could not analyse; and only added in a low and
subdued voice, "I promise to obey you."

As if a weight were lifted from his heart, Aram now brightened at once
into himself in his happiest mood. He poured forth a torrent of grateful
confidence, of buoyant love, that soon swept from the remembrance of the
blushing and enchanted Madeline, the momentary fear, the sudden
chillness, which his look had involuntarily stricken into her mind. And
as they now wound along the most lonely part of that wild valley, his arm
twined round her waist, and his low but silver voice pouring magic into
the very air she breathed--she felt perhaps a more entire and unruffled
sentiment of present, and a more credulous persuasion of future,
happiness, than she had ever experienced before. And Aram himself dwelt
with a more lively and detailed fulness, than he was wont, on the
prospects they were to share, and the security and peace which retirement
would instill into their mode of life.

"Is it not," said he, with a lofty triumph that we shall look from our
retreat upon the shifting passions, and the hollow loves of the distant
world? We can have no petty object, no vain allurement to distract the
unity of our affection: we must be all in all to each other; for what
else can there be to engross our thoughts, and occupy our feelings here?

"If, my beautiful love, you have selected one whom the world might deem a
strange choice for youth and loveliness like yours; you have, at least,
selected one who can have no idol but yourself. The poets tell you, and
rightly, that solitude is the fit sphere for love; but how few are the
lovers whom solitude does not fatigue! they rush into retirement, with
souls unprepared for its stern joys and its unvarying tranquillity: they
weary of each other, because the solitude itself to which they fled,
palls upon and oppresses them. But to me, the freedom which low minds
call obscurity, is the aliment of life; I do not enter the temples of
Nature as the stranger, but the priest: nothing can ever tire me of the
lone and august altars, on which I sacrificed my youth: and now, what
Nature, what Wisdom once were to me--no, no, more, immeasurably more than
these, you are! Oh, Madeline! methinks there is nothing under Heaven like
the feeling which puts us apart from all that agitates, and fevers, and
degrades the herd of men; which grants us to control the tenour of our
future life, because it annihilates our dependence upon others, and,
while the rest of earth are hurried on, blind and unconscious, by the
hand of Fate, leaves us the sole lords of our destiny; and able, from the
Past, which we have governed, to become the Prophets of our Future!"

At this moment Madeline uttered a faint shriek, and clung trembling to
Aram's arm. Amazed, and roused from his enthusiasm, he looked up, and on
seeing the cause of her alarm, seemed himself transfixed, as by a sudden
terror, to the earth.

But a few paces distant, standing amidst the long and rank fern that grew
on either side of their path, quite motionless, and looking on the pair
with a sarcastic smile, stood the ominous stranger, whom the second
chapter of our first volume introduced to the reader.

For one instant Aram seemed utterly appalled and overcome; his cheek grew
the colour of death; and Madeline felt his heart beat with a loud, a
fearful force beneath the breast to which she clung. But his was not the
nature any earthly dread could long abash. He whispered to Madeline to
come on; and slowly, and with his usual firm but gliding step, continued
his way.

"Good evening, Eugene Aram," said the stranger; and as he spoke, he
touched his hat slightly to Madeline.

"I thank you," replied the Student, in a calm voice; "do you want aught
with me?"

"Humph!--yes, if it so please you?"

"Pardon me, dear Madeline," said Aram softly, and disengaging himself
from her, "but for one moment."

He advanced to the stranger, and Madeline could not but note that, as
Aram accosted him, his brow fell, and his manner seemed violent and
agitated; but she could not hear the words of either; nor did the
conference last above a minute. The stranger bowed, and turning away,
soon vanished among the shrubs. Aram regained the side of his mistress.

"Who," cried she eagerly, "is that fearful man? What is his business?
What his name?"

"He is a man whom I knew well some fourteen years ago," replied Aram
coldly, and with ease; "I did not then lead quite so lonely a life, and
we were thrown much together. Since that time, he has been in unfortunate
circumstances--rejoined the army--he was in early life a soldier, and had
been disbanded--entered into business, and failed; in short, he has
partaken of those vicissitudes inseparable from the life of one driven to
seek the world. When he travelled this road some months ago, he
accidentally heard of my residence in the neighbourhood, and naturally
sought me. Poor as I am, I was of some assistance to him. His route
brings him hither again, and he again seeks me: I suppose too that I must
again aid him."

"And is that indeed all," said Madeline, breathing more freely; "well,
poor man, if he be your friend, he must be inoffensive--I have done him
wrong. And does he want money? I have some to give him--here Eugene!" And
the simple-hearted girl put her purse into Aram's hand.

"No, dearest," said he, shrinking back; "no, we shall not require your
contribution; I can easily spare him enough for the present. But let us
turn back, it grows chill."

"And why did he leave us, Eugene?"

"Because I desired him to visit me at home an hour hence."

"An hour! then you will not sup with us to-night?"

"No, not this night, dearest."

The conversation now ceased; Madeline in vain endeavoured to renew it.
Aram, though without relapsing into any of his absorbed reveries,
answered her only in monosyllables. They arrived at the Manor-house, and
Aram at the garden gate took leave of her for the night, and hastened
backward towards his home. Madeline, after watching his form through the
deepening shadows until it disappeared, entered the house with a listless
step; a nameless and thrilling presentiment crept to her heart; and she
could have sate down and wept, though without a cause.

CHAPTER II.

THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN ARAM AND THE STRANGER.

The spirits I have raised abandon me,
The spells which I have studied baffle me.
--Manfred.

Meanwhile Aram strode rapidly through the village, and not till he had
regained the solitary valley did he relax his step.

The evening had already deepened into night. Along the sere and
melancholy wood, the autumnal winds crept, with a lowly, but gathering
moan. Where the water held its course, a damp and ghostly mist clogged
the air, but the skies were calm, and chequered only by a few clouds,
that swept in long, white, spectral streaks, over the solemn stars. Now
and then, the bat wheeled swiftly round, almost touching the figure of
the Student, as he walked musingly onward. And the owl [Note: That
species called the short-eared owl.] that before the month waned many
days, would be seen no more in that region, came heavily from the trees,
like a guilty thought that deserts its shade. It was one of those nights,
half dim, half glorious, which mark the early decline of the year. Nature
seemed restless and instinct with change; there were those signs in the
atmosphere which leave the most experienced in doubt, whether the morning
may rise in storm or sunshine. And in this particular period, the skiey
influences seem to tincture the animal life with their own mysterious and
wayward spirit of change. The birds desert their summer haunts; an
unaccountable inquietude pervades the brute creation; even men in this
unsettled season have considered themselves, more (than at others)
stirred by the motion and whisperings of their genius. And every creature
that flows upon the tide of the Universal Life of Things, feels upon the
ruffled surface, the mighty and solemn change, which is at work within
its depths.

And now Aram had nearly threaded the valley, and his own abode became
visible on the opening plain, when the stranger emerged from the trees to
the right, and suddenly stood before the Student. "I tarried for you
here, Aram," said he, "instead of seeking you at home, at the time you
fixed; for there are certain private reasons which make it prudent I
should keep as much as possible among the owls, and it was therefore
safer, if not more pleasant, to lie here amidst the fern, than to make
myself merry in the village yonder."

"And what," said Aram, "again brings you hither? Did you not say, when
you visited me some months since, that you were about to settle in a
different part of the country, with a relation?"

"And so I intended; but Fate, as you would say, or the Devil, as I
should, ordered it otherwise. I had not long left you, when I fell in
with some old friends, bold spirits and true; the brave outlaws of the
road and the field. Shall I have any shame in confessing that I preferred
their society, a society not unfamiliar to me, to the dull and solitary
life that I might have led in tending my old bed-ridden relation in
Wales, who after all, may live these twenty years, and at the end can
scarce leave me enough for a week's ill luck at the hazard-table? In a
word, I joined my gallant friends, and entrusted myself to their
guidance. Since then, we have cruised around the country, regaled
ourselves cheerily, frightened the timid, silenced the fractious, and by
the help of your fate, or my devil, have found ourselves by accident,
brought to exhibit our valour in this very district, honoured by the
dwelling-place of my learned friend, Eugene Aram."

"Trifle not with me, Houseman," said Aram sternly; "I scarcely yet
understand you. Do you mean to imply, that yourself, and the lawless
associates you say you have joined, are lying out now for plunder in
these parts?"

"You say it: perhaps you heard of our exploits last night, some four
miles hence?"

"Ha! was that villainy yours?"

"Villainy!" repeated Houseman, in a tone of sullen offence. "Come, Master
Aram, these words must not pass between you and me, friends of such date,
and on such a footing."

"Talk not of the past," replied Aram with a livid lip, "and call not
those whom Destiny once, in despite of Nature, drove down her dark tide
in a momentary companionship, by the name of friends. Friends we are not;
but while we live, there is a tie between us stronger than that of
friendship."

"You speak truth and wisdom," said Houseman, sneeringly; "for my part, I
care not what you call us, friends or foes."

"Foes, foes!" exclaimed Aram abruptly, "not that. Has life no medium in
its ties?--pooh--pooh! not foes; we may not be foes to each other."

"It were foolish, at least at present," said Houseman carelessly.

"Look you, Houseman," continued Aram drawing his comrade from the path
into a wilder part of the scene, and, as he spoke, his words were couched
in a more low and inward voice than heretofore. "Look you, I cannot live
and have my life darkened thus by your presence. Is not the world wide
enough for us both? Why haunt each other? what have you to gain from me?
Can the thoughts that my sight recalls to you be brighter, or more
peaceful, than those which start upon me, when I gaze on you? Does not a
ghastly air, a charnel breath, hover about us both? Why perversely incur
a torture it is so easy to avoid? Leave me--leave these scenes. All earth
spreads before you--choose your pursuits, and your resting place
elsewhere, but grudge me not this little spot."

"I have no wish to disturb you, Eugene Aram, but I must live; and in
order to live I must obey my companions; if I deserted them, it would be
to starve. They will not linger long in this district; a week, it may be;
a fortnight, at most; then, like the Indian animal, they will strip the
leaves, and desert the tree. In a word, after we have swept the country,
we are gone."

"Houseman, Houseman!" said Aram passionately, and frowning till his brows
almost hid his eyes, but that part of the orb which they did not hide,
seemed as living fire; "I now implore, but I can threaten--beware!--
silence, I say;" (and he stamped his foot violently on the ground, as he
saw Houseman about to interrupt him;) "listen to me throughout--Speak not
to me of tarrying here--speak not of days, of weeks--every hour of which
would sound upon my ear like a death-knell. Dream not of a sojourn in
these tranquil shades, upon an errand of dread and violence--the minions
of the law aroused against you, girt with the chances of apprehension and
a shameful death--" "And a full confession of my past sins," interrupted
Houseman, laughing wildly.

"Fiend! devil!" cried Aram, grasping his comrade by the throat, and
shaking him with a vehemence that Houseman, though a man of great
strength and sinew, impotently attempted to resist.

"Breathe but another word of such import; dare to menace me with the
vengeance of such a thing as thou, and, by the God above us, I will lay
thee dead at my feet!"

"Release my throat, or you will commit murder," gasped Houseman with
difficulty, and growing already black in the face.

Aram suddenly relinquished his gripe, and walked away with a hurried
step, muttering to himself. He then returned to the side of Houseman,
whose flesh still quivered either with rage or fear, and, his own self-
possession completely restored, stood gazing upon him with folded arms,
and his usual deep and passionless composure of countenance; and
Houseman, if he could not boldly confront, did not altogether shrink
from, his eye. So there and thus they stood, at a little distance from
each other, both silent, and yet with something unutterably fearful in
their silence.

"Houseman," said Aram at length, in a calm, yet a hollow voice, "it may
be that I was wrong; but there lives no man on earth, save you, who could
thus stir my blood,--nor you with ease. And know, when you menace me,
that it is not your menace that subdues or shakes my spirit; but that
which robs my veins of their even tenor is that you should deem your
menace could have such power, or that you,--that any man,--should
arrogate to himself the thought that he could, by the prospect of
whatsoever danger, humble the soul and curb the will of Eugene Aram. And
now I am calm; say what you will, I cannot be vexed again."

"I have done," replied Houseman coldly; "I have nothing to say;
farewell!" and he moved away among the trees.

"Stay," cried Aram in some agitation; "stay; we must not part thus. Look
you, Houseman, you say you would starve should you leave your present
associates. That may not be; quit them this night,--this moment: leave
the neighbourhood, and the little in my power is at your will."

"As to that," said Houseman drily, "what is in your power is, I fear me,
so little as not to counterbalance the advantages I should lose in
quitting my companions. I expect to net some three hundreds before I
leave these parts."

"Some three hundreds!" repeated Aram recoiling; "that were indeed beyond
me. I told you when we last met that it is only by an annual payment I
draw the little wealth I have."

"I remember it. I do not ask you for money, Eugene Aram; these hands can
maintain me," replied Houseman, smiling grimly. "I told you at once the
sum I expected to receive somewhere, in order to prove that you need not
vex your benevolent heart to afford me relief. I knew well the sum I
named was out of your power, unless indeed it be part of the marriage
portion you are about to receive with your bride. Fie, Aram! what,
secrets from your old friend! You see I pick up the news of the place
without your confidence."

Again Aram's face worked, and his lip quivered; but he conquered his
passion with a surprising self-command, and answered mildly, "I do not
know, Houseman, whether I shall receive any marriage portion whatsoever:
If I do, I am willing to make some arrangement by which I could engage
you to molest me no more. But it yet wants several days to my marriage;
quit the neighbourhood now, and a month hence let us meet again. Whatever
at that time may be my resources, you shall frankly know them."

"It cannot be," said Houseman; "I quit not these districts without a
certain sum, not in hope, but possession. But why interfere with me? I
seek not my hoards in your coffer. Why so anxious that I should not
breathe the same air as yourself?"

"It matters not," replied Aram, with a deep and ghastly voice; "but when
you are near me, I feel as if I were with the dead; it is a spectre that
I would exorcise in ridding me of your presence. Yet this is not what I
now speak of. You are engaged, according to your own lips, in lawless and
midnight schemes, in which you may, (and the tide of chances runs towards
that bourne,) be seized by the hand of Justice."

"Ho," said Houseman, sullenly, "and was it not for saying that you feared
this, and its probable consequences, that you well-nigh stifled me, but
now?--so truth may be said one moment with impunity, and the next at
peril of life! These are the subtleties of you wise schoolmen, I suppose.
Your Aristotles, and your Zenos, your Platos, and your Epicurus's, teach
you notable distinctions, truly!"

"Peace!" said Aram; "are we at all times ourselves? Are the passions
never our masters? You maddened me into anger; behold, I am now calm: the
subjects discussed between myself and you, are of life and death; let us
approach them with our senses collected and prepared. What, Houseman, are
you bent upon your own destruction, as well as mine, that you persevere
in courses which must end in a death of shame?"

"What else can I do? I will not work, and I cannot live like you in a
lone wilderness on a crust of bread. Nor is my name like yours, mouthed
by the praise of honest men: my character is marked; those who once knew
me, shun now. I have no resource for society, (for I cannot face myself
alone,) but in the fellowship of men like myself, whom the world has
thrust from its pale. I have no resource for bread, save in the pursuits
that are branded by justice, and accompanied with snares and danger. What
would you have me do?"

"Is it not better," said Aram, "to enjoy peace and safety upon a small
but certain pittance, than to live thus from hand to mouth? vibrating
from wealth to famine, and the rope around your neck, sleeping and awake?
Seek your relation; in that quarter, you yourself said your character was
not branded: live with him, and know the quiet of easy days, and I
promise you, that if aught be in my power to make your lot more suitable
to your wants, so long as you lead the life of honest men, it shall be
freely yours. Is not this better, Houseman, than a short and sleepless
career of dread?"

"Aram," answered Houseman, "are you, in truth, calm enough to hear me
speak? I warn you, that if again you forget yourself, and lay hands on
me--" "Threaten not, threaten not," interrupted Aram, "but proceed; all
within me is now still and cold as ice. Proceed without fear of scruple."

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