VI.
Miss Kate Battledown's screams, as she ran down the corridor, must speedilyhave summoned the household; and then the dreadful news was told, notlosing anything of its horror, we may be sure, in the recital; and thenappeared poor Archie in confirmation. The greatest confusion andbewilderment prevailed. No one comprehended anything. It was not knownwhat had happened. What was this story about Archie's having suddenlyappeared, where before there had been only empty air--just as his greatgrandfather, Sir Charles, had done before him? Kate, to whom we may pardona little incorrectness or exaggeration under the circumstances, solemnlyasseverated that she had been looking straight at the centre of the room,and that nobody was there; and that all at once "Archie grew together outof nothing!" Such is the version of her words given by Lady Malmaison in aletter to her sister, Miss Tremount, of Cornwall, soon after theoccurrence. Miss Tremount, it may be remembered, had intimated years agoher intention of making Archibald her heir; and Lady Malmaison's letter isan amusing and rather ingenious attempt to convey the information aboutpoor Archie, in such a way as not to frighten off this inheritance. DoctorRollinson, she wrote, had seen dear Archie, and had said that what hadhappened was only what might have been expected; and that the dear child'shealth would certainly not suffer, but, on the contrary, be strengthened,and his life prolonged. For that there could be no doubt that poor Archiehad been laboring under an almost unnatural excitement, or tension of thenerves, during the last few years, which had caused Lady Malmaison thegreatest anxiety; and she was truly thankful, for her part, that thingshad come out no worse than they had. She could feel secure, now, that herdarling Archie would live to be a quiet, good, sensible English gentleman,fitted to discharge efficiently, and conscientiously, an Englishgentleman's duties, whether it were to manage an estate, or--or in factwhatever it might be. And then came the little story about the mysteriousapparition of Archie out of vacancy, which Lady Malmaison treatedhumorously; though in her own heart she was very much scared at it, andwas moreover privately convinced that Archie was, and would remain, verylittle better than an idiot all his life long. Now, it is well known thatEnglish country gentlemen are never idiotic.
What was the elder Dr. Rollinson's real opinion about Archie's relapse? Theonly direct evidence worth having on this point--his own--is unfortunatelynot forthcoming, and we are obliged to depend on such inaccurate orinterested hearsay as has just been quoted above. It seems likely that hecame to the conclusion that stupidity was the boy's normal condition andthat his seven years of brilliance had been something essentially abnormaland temporary, and important only from a pathological point of view.Indeed, there was nothing in the transmuted Archibald's condition that wassusceptible of being treated as a disease. He was as healthy as theaverage of boys of fourteen (if he were a boy of fourteen, and not a childof seven). He knew nothing, and had retained nothing, of his other life;he had to be taught his letters--and a terrible job that was, by allaccounts; he occasionally expressed a desire to see his nurse Maggie--who,the charitable reader will rejoice to hear, had been honestly marriedsince we last heard of her. He was greatly puzzled to find himself so muchtaller than when he last knew himself; and it was a long time before hecould be induced to recognize his own reflection in the looking-glass.Needless to say that everything connected with the secret chamber and thesilver rod was completely erased from his mind; and though he had beenfound with the rod in his hand, he could not tell what it was or where hegot it.
In this connection, however, I will mention something which, if it be true,throws a new and strange light upon his psychological condition. There isreason to believe that he visited the secret chamber in a somnambulisticstate. The evidence on which this supposition is founded appears, at thisdistance of time, rather imperfect; but it is certain that a few weeksafter the boy's entrance upon his unintelligent state, the silver rod waslost sight of; and it is almost certain that during the time of itsdisappearance it was lying in its hidden receptacle under the floor besidethe mantelpiece. But in that case, who but Archibald could have put itthere? and when could he have put it there save in his sleep? It is knownthat he was a somnambulist during his unenlightened period, though neverin his alternate state; and if he, as a somnambulist, remembered thehiding-place of the rod, it follows that he must also have remembered therod's use, and visited the secret chamber. Thus it would seem that only inthe boy's waking hours was he oblivious and stupid; in his dreams hetruly lived and was awake! Here, then, is a complication of absorbinginterest, which I will leave for physicians and metaphysicians to fightout between themselves. For my part, I can only look on in respectfulbewilderment.
But we must leave Archibald for the present, and occupy our minds with theproceedings of the other personages of this drama. An era of disaster wasin store for most of them. It is curious to note how the proverb thatmisfortunes never come single was illustrated in the case of these people.Fate seems to have launched its thunderbolts at them all at once, as ifmaking up for lost time; or like a playwright, who clears his stage of allsecondary and superfluous characters, and leaves a free field wherein thetwo or three principal people may meet and work out their destinyunimpeded.
Colonel Battledown fought under Wellington against Soult at Orthez; and ina charge of the French cavalry the gallant officer and genial gentlemanwas cut in the head by a sabre-stroke and ridden down; and when picked upafter the battle he was dead. He was buried on the spot; the practice ofsending the corpses of heroes and others careering over the face of theearth, in search of a spot of loam worthy to receive them, was not at thattime so fashionable as it has since become. But the news of his death camehome, and put his friends in mourning, and made Mistress Kate the heiressof a great property at the age of fourteen. But she was older than heryears, and was generally considered to be "just the sort of person to bean heiress," whatever that may be. I suppose she was exceedingly handsome,with a proper sense of her importance, and a capacity of keeping an eyeupon what she considered her interests. At the same time many actions ofhers indicate that she was occasionally liable to ungovernable impulses,and that her temper was fitful and wayward. Such a woman would make acapital heroine for a modern novel; she would stand a lot of analyzing.
The tender relations which had subsisted between her and Archibald wereperforce broken off. What can you do with a lover who suddenly ceases tohave the most distant recollection of you, who does not believe you whenyou tell him your name, and whose only associations with that name dateseven years back and are disagreeable? Nobody can blame Kate for givingArchibald up; she would have been more than human if she could haveintrusted her heart to the keeping of a half-witted wizard, whosemysterious likeness to, or connection with, a charming young gentlemanrendered him only the more undesirable. Poor Kate! If she gave her heartto Archibald, and then Archibald became somebody else, what shall we saybecame of her heart? Must it not have been irretrievably lost, and shallwe be surprised if we hereafter detect in her a tendency to heartlessness?
The next one to drop was Sir Clarence Butt Malmaison. The jolly baronet wasnever the same man after the relapse of his second son, whom he had grownto love more than his first-born, and to whose future he had lookedforward with much ambitious anticipation. He used to sit for hours at atime sadly watching the child's sluggish gambols about the nursery floor;ever and anon trying to arouse in his darkened mind some sparks of theformer brightness, and, when the effort failed, sighing heavily, sometimeswith tears trickling down his ruddy old cheeks. If Archibald had neverpassed through that period of deceptive promise, it is probable that hewould have received a fair amount of affection as he was, and he would atall events not have committed the unpardonable offence of inspiring hopeswhich were not destined to be fulfilled. Sir Clarence felt like the man inthe fairy tale who received from the fairy a purse of gold, but on openingthe purse to handle the money, found nothing in his grasp but a bunch ofyellow autumn leaves. The heroic end of his friend the Colonel served toaugment the baronet's depression of spir
its; nor was his gloom lightenedby the reflection that Kate's inheritance of the estate would now in noway advantage Archibald. So, what with one thing and another, it must beconfessed that Sir Clarence ended by taking too much wine after dinner.And the more wine he drank, the less inclination did he feel to keep uphis hardy outdoor habits of riding and shooting; and, consequently, themore moody and plethoric he became. At length he nearly quarrelled withDr. Rollinson because the latter told him plainly that the bottle would behis coffin; and a few days later he did quarrel, and very violently too,with the Honorable Richard Pennroyal. This gentleman, it seems, had riddenover to Malmaison and stayed to dinner; and at dessert the conversationgot round to the present melancholy condition of local affairs.
"Everything's going to the dogs!" cried poor Sir Clarence, with an oath;"and no gentleman, by ---, ought to condescend to exist!"
"Come, Malmaison," said Pennroyal, smiling and cracking filberts, "you'regoing too far. Things are not so bad. And there are compensations!"
"Compensations? What compensations? What the devil do you mean?"
"Ha, ha! Well, for instance, about the poor Colonel. Of course, we're alldooced sorry to lose the Colonel; fine old chap, and a good hand atpiquet. But after all he had to go some time; and then what happens? Thefair Miss Battledown becomes the richest heiress in the three counties."
"Ay, and what's the compensation in that? What good does her being anheiress do me? Can my boy marry her? Answer me that!"
"Well, I should fancy not; but somebody else can."
"Somebody else? Who, I'd like to know?" bawled Sir Clarence. "Let me seethe scoundrel who'll dare to marry Kate Battledown--let me see him!"
"I hear you quite plainly, Malmaison; and I wouldn't exert myself so muchif I were you--you know what the doctor said. As for Miss Battledown,surely she has a right to marry whom she pleases, hasn't she?"
"No, she has not!" returned the baronet, getting angrier than ever. "Shebelongs to my Archibald; and if any scoundrel--"
"Really, you are intolerable, Sir Clarence," interrupted Pennroyal, stillsmiling, but not a pleasant smile. "A man whose temper is faulty at thebest of times should be more careful to avoid whatever tends to make itworse;" and as Pennroyal said this he glanced significantly at thedecanter--of which, to do him justice, he was very sparing himself.
"Pennroyal!" said the old baronet, drawing himself up with a good deal ofdignity, "your father and I were friends before you were born, and you'remy brother-in-law; but if you were not sitting at my table, I'd teach youbetter manners than to lecture your elders. I said I should like to seethe scoundrel who would dare to marry Kate Battledown--and--and what isthat to you?"
"Well, it's just this," returned Pennroyal, quietly; "I'm going to marryher myself!"
Sir Clarence started up from his chair with a tremendous oath--and sat downagain. He was putting a terrible restraint upon himself. Not for his lifewould he outrage the guest who was beneath his roof. His face became darkred, and the veins on his forehead and in his neck stood out and throbbedvisibly. His eyes were fixed staringly upon the impassable visage of theHonorable Richard, and he drew his breath with difficulty. There was apause of some duration, broken only by this stertorous breathing, and bythe deliberate cracking of the guest's filberts. At last, with a tragiceffort of courtesy that was almost grotesque, the poor gentleman pushedthe decanter toward his brother-in-law and deadly enemy, accompanying theact by a rattling sound in the throat, probably intended as an invitationto help himself. But the struggle was too severe. The next moment thebaronet's eyes rolled wildly, a gasping noise broke from him, and he fellforward with his head on the table.
Mr. Pennroyal promptly arose and rang the bell. "Send for the doctor atonce," he said to the servant who appeared. "Sir Clarence has overdrunkhimself, or overeaten himself, I fancy. And help me to put him on the sofaand loosen his neckcloth. There--very distressing. Apply the usualremedies, while I step up-stairs and speak to Lady Malmaison."
The usual remedies availed little, and when Dr. Rollinson arrived, fourhours afterward, it was already evident that even he could be of no use.Sir Clarence never fully regained consciousness, and two days later heceased to breathe. There was an inquest, resulting in a verdict of deathby apoplexy, and followed by a handsome funeral. The widow of thedeceased, who was a lady of easily-stirred emotions and limited intellect,wept at short intervals during several weeks thereafter, and assured theHonorable Richard that she had no one in the world to depend on besideshim. Archibald, who had moved about the house during this season ofmourning with handsome vacant face and aimless steps, betrayed littlegrief at the family loss or comprehension of it; but whenever Pennroyalwas in the way, he followed him round with a dog-like fondness in strangecontrast with the vivid antipathy which he had manifested toward him inhis other phase of being. As for Archibald's brother, now a pale andslender but dignified youth of nineteen, he assumed the title of SirEdward, and the headship of the house, with a grave propriety of bearingthat surprised those who had only looked upon him as a moping scholar.Undemonstratively, but surely, he gave evidence that he understood theresponsibilities of his position, and that he knew how to make himselfrespected. He did not encourage his mother in her unrestrained dependenceupon Pennroyal; and between the latter and him there appears to havearisen a coolness more or less marked. Certainly, Pennroyal was far fromloving the ceremonious and punctilious young baronet, who would neitherdrink nor play cards. Toward Archibald, on the other hand, he exhibited acynical and contemptuous sort of good-humor; often amusing himself byasking the poor dull-witted youth all sorts of questions about eventswhich had occurred in his enlightened period, and concerning which, ofcourse, Archibald was unfathomably ignorant. The Honorable RichardPennroyal was not the first man who has failed to see whence his greatestdanger was to be expected.