Secresy; or, Ruin on the Rock

LETTER XII

FROM SIBELLA VALMONT TO CAROLINE ASHBURN

Hail, dearest Caroline! – Yes, peace and liberty, with every blessing for which Sibella pants, will enter when the 'heavy gates of Valmont castle fly back' to receive her Clement.

I do not count the minutes, for that would be to make time more tedious, but I walk with a quicker step, with a firmer mien. I am ever seeking change of place, and sleep and I are almost unacquainted.

Yet other countenances wear the uniformity they did before. No matter! – but a short time; and, when I went to compare my own transports, I can look on the eye, or read the heart of Clement, and find them more than equalled.

My thoughts haste so pressingly to the future, that it requires an effort stronger than you can conceive, (you who expect no Clement) to turn them back to the detail you require.

I cannot be minute as to a conversation in which the hermit (as you call him) was chief speaker; for some parts of it I have forgotten, and others I did not understand.

He spoke with a rapidity which made him almost unintelligible; and his pauses seemed rather the effect of sudden anxiety, than of attention to my answers; he talked of escapes and accidents in a disjointed manner; so that, from his broken sentences, one might have supposed he meant I had placed him in hazard, and that I had conducted him to the Armoury. That which I remember most clearly was, the earnestness with which he urged me to lay no future restraint on myself. He said his interruptions were now ended – but, he added, and several times repeated, we should one day or other meet again; he then spoke something of dangers, but I know not whether they related to himself or me.

He was very pale, wildness and apprehension were marked on his features. He wore his hermit's hat and cloak, but the former was quite mis-shapen, and both disfigured by dust and cobwebs. Once, in the vehemence of his speech, he raised his arm, the folds of his cloak became loosened, and I saw a sword glitter beneath it.

I left him in the Armoury, nor have I entered it since. The wood is all my own again. No figure glides upon me but that my imagination loves to form.

On the day succeeding that in which I found the hermit in the Armoury, I saw Mrs. Valmont walking on the terrace. I went to her, and spoke of the circumstance. She appeared agitated by my words; she grasped my hand, and said the finger of heaven was in it; and she talked further in a strange way, of something that she called it, and it. She would not be me, she said, for worlds. I do fear the disorder has affected her intellects.

But a little interval between me and perfect happiness! I cannot write. You know, Caroline, I love you, but now, indeed, I cannot write.

Dearest Caroline, adieu.

LETTER XIII

FROM CLEMENT MONTGOMERY TO ARTHUR MURDEN

'Tis all gone, Murden. The pinnacle of my hopes and expectations is crumbled to the dust. Where shall I turn me, or what consolation shall I ask? Arthur, do not bestow on me that insolent pity which only augments misfortune.

I am not the same Clement Montgomery you formerly knew, brought up in the castle, with homage and respect, afterward introduced into the circles of fashion, as Mr. Valmont's heir, and supported with an allowance equal to that expectation; no, I am only one to whom he gave an accidental kindness, on whom he bestowed temporary favours, and whom he now condemns to the abhorred life of care, and plodding with the lower orders of mankind.

Cursed be the hour in which I entered that inn, from whence I wrote you my last letter! in that hour my misfortunes began. When I arrived at the castle, Mr. Valmont was from home. Every creature rejoiced in my arrival. Even the insensible Mrs. Valmont lavished caresses on me, and praised the improvements of my person. Ah! but how can I tell you of Sibella's joy? I know nothing that describes it: so unrestrained, so exquisitely soft and tender, exquisitely delicate in all its effusions!

She appeared to me quite a new creature. I could not but acknowledge to myself, that her charms surpassed even the faithless Janetta's charms. I loved her the first moment I beheld her better than I had ever loved her before; and I in secret cursed myself for having sacrificed my innocence, and cursed you also, Arthur, who once said, forget her in other arms.

One hour I passed in heaven, and then Mr. Valmont returned home. Ross came with him. I saw them ride over the bridge, and I trembled with apprehension. Mr. Valmont did not leave me long in doubt; for, when I would have hastened to the library, I was stopped by his gentleman who denied me admittance.

Three days Mr. Valmont preserved his inflexible resentment; and these three days were passed with Sibella. She knew not why her uncle was in anger with me, and she reviled him and cheered me with her smiles, and sweet sounds of love, that I might not droop at my reception. She bade me talk of the world. Alas, it was an alluring theme, and I talked with more ardor than discretion of its abounding delights. I did not tell her though, Arthur, of all the delights I had tasted there.

On the fourth morning, a messenger came to summon me to the library. I turned pale, I loitered. 'Go! fly, Clement!' said Sibella: 'Cast away these apprehensions. Recollect, my dear, dear Clement, that my uncle's favourite maxim is, that disappointment should be always the forerunner of pleasure. Who knows but Mr. Valmont at this moment waits to bestow happiness on us?'

I went. With very different forebodings from Sibella's I entered Mr. Valmont's presence. He received me like a stern haughty judge; I stood an abashed fearful culprit.

He bitterly inveighed against my want of duty, in resting so long in that inn so near his castle, after two years absence. He demanded the reasons of my conduct; and I stammered an incoherent something about want of horses, and having had letters to write. He saw I lied. He knew I lied.

'Well, Sir,' said he, after a pause, 'we will pass that by for the present. Now give me an account of your travels, and their effect upon your opinions.'

No matter what I said, Arthur. 'Tis enough to tell you of the manner. It seems I had not rancour enough for Mr. Valmont; I could not belie my feelings with sufficient warmth. I could not renounce enormities I had never known, and which have no existence but in his own inflated imagination.

Sensible, that the manner of my description, and Mr. Valmont's expectations, bore no sort of affinity, I became more and more confused; until one of those frowns and gestures, which at nine years old made me tremble for my life, now imposed on me a sudden silence. My sentence remained unfinished, and Mr. Valmont leaning upon the table, beat an angry tattoo with the fingers of his right hand. His eyes rolled from one object to another, without resting upon any thing.

It might be a minute or more, perhaps, in my estimation it was an age, that we remained thus. Suddenly Sibella opened the door and entered a little way, in a light and cheerful manner; but seeing the state we were in, she hesitated, turned an enquiring look upon me, and then made a graceful bend to Mr. Valmont.

'How now, Sibella?' said he, 'who bid you come hither?'

'I came, Sir – ' she replied, in a sweet but irresolute accent, and then she again looked at me.

'I say, by what authority do you come, since you have not mine?'

While Mr. Valmont sternly asked that question, she kept her eyes fixed on my pale perplexed countenance.

'Ah, Sir,' said she anxiously, 'don't you love Clement now?'

Mr. Valmont made no reply for two or three seconds. I dared not look up to see whether he was more, or less angry.

'Tell me, child,' said he presently, to Sibella, 'what has that boy said to you, since he returned so affectionately, so dutifully, so speedily, to Valmont castle?'

Sibella paused: 'Tell me no falsehoods,' said he still more sternly.

'Falsehoods!' she repeated in a forcible tone, the colour mounting higher in her cheeks, 'Sir, I have nothing to do with falsehoods. I paused, because I thought I could not readily collect the matter of our conversations into the compass of one answer. I might, indeed have done it, for they have been uniform. We have talked, Sir, of our unchanging truth. Of times past, and times to come. Of the world, of its pleasures, and its virtues. Of – '

'Enough of it.' cried Mr. Valmont, darting on me a glance of extreme wrath; 'You talked, you say, of times that are to come. Pray, who endowed you with the gift of foretelling what times are to come?'

'Sir, our endowments are perfectly natural. We do not presume to tell of the future, except as far as it is confined to the feelings of our own hearts. We know, fully and entirely know, that our hearts must cease to throb with life, when that love is extinguished, which was born and nurtured to its growth, under the encouragement of your approbation – do not frown on me, Sir, – I – I – '

Mr. Valmont did not speak while Sibella made a faultering stop. She shortly went on again thus:

'I confess, Sir, that I do fear you. Habit is prevalent with me, and I still tremble at your frowns. I would not offend you, but I must expostulate. Oh be not, I intreat you, be not angry with Clement for loving me! He must love me. Our love is the very soul of our being. Give us then, Sir, new life! Unalloyed felicity! Say – '

She seized my hand, and leading me close up to Mr. Valmont, she added, with rapid vehemence:

'Say now, that he is mine, and I am his for ever!'

Her emphasis made me tremble. I had neither power to brave him, and speak with her, nor attempt conciliating him, by withdrawing my hand from her's.

In a much less angry tone, although she had been so much more bold, than he had used to me, Mr. Valmont said,

'You are strangely presumptuous, child. Have I not told you, I have other designs. Have I not a right over you?'

'No, you have none!' replied Sibella, abruptly: 'No right to the exercise of an unjust power over me! Why dream of impossibilities, and talk of other designs? I tell you, Sir, I have looked on every side, and I find it is your caprice, and no principle of reason in you, that forbids our union.'

Had you seen him, Arthur, you could alone judge of the rage into which this daring speech threw Mr. Valmont. He sprang up, My caprice! he vociferated, and after bestowing on Sibella an execration, he rushed past us out of the library.

Sibella, neither abashed nor terrified, would have me go with her into the park, but I dared not; fearing that Mr. Valmont might think I joined in braving him if he saw us together. I endeavoured to persuade her it was necessary I should remain in the library, and proper that she should leave me. The lovely romantic girl called me weakly timid, and left me somewhat displeased.

I sat out the time of Mr. Valmont's absence from the library, full two hours, Arthur. When he came in, he said, 'Go, Sir. I shall have occasion for you by and by.'

So much prudence had I, that I did not go near Sibella, but shut myself, for the rest of the day, in my chamber, and sent her word it was by Mr. Valmont's order. My servant found her weeping, with her little favourite Fawn in her arms.

At six o'clock in the evening, I was again commanded to appear before Mr. Valmont, which I did with the most humble and submissive deportment I could possibly assume.

Before he spoke to me, he ordered Andrew to stand without the door, to oppose Sibella, if she attempted to enter the library. Thus he began.

'Little did I expect, Clement, when I sent you from Valmont castle, guarded by the lessons of my wisdom and experience, that you would return with inclinations so different to those I would have had you possess. Your folly is excessive, and it will work its own punishment.'

And on this theme he laboured most abundantly; it would weary you were I to repeat it all. The second part of his subject commenced thus.

'You know, young man, (I am young man now, Arthur), that I have been a friend to you, a more than common friend. Such a one as you will not readily find among those people you admire, with equal mischief to yourself, and ingratitude to me. You – '

Pshaw! I have not patience to recount the dull monotony of his charges, let me at once proceed to the distracting summing up of the whole.

He told me, Arthur, that he was about to send me again from Valmont castle. Ay, but how? Not with affluence at my command, and honours in my possession, no, like a poor discarded wretch, condemned to disgrace and slavery.

Yes, by heaven! Mr. Valmont, with a brow and heart of marble, told me, he had determined, as the best means of promoting my happiness that I should go to London; and there choose for myself a profession, hereafter to live by it; and that his friendship and assistance would always be mine, according to the decency and propriety of my deportment. I thought I should have sunk upon the floor, Arthur.

The barbarian went on to torture me: In my castle you remain but one month from this day. And then I shall give you L.50 which will be sufficient for you, while you prepare your plans, and what future services you require, must be regulated by your deserts, young man.'

'I think,' continued Mr. Valmont, 'it is my lot to receive nothing but disobedience and ingratitude from those to whom I have shown most kindness. You heard the insolence with which Sibella, to-day dared to arraign my conduct. Tell her from me, Clement, that she almost urged me to counteract the great good I intend her. But I will not be rash. Tell her, that implicit obedience, and humble submission may expiate her offence. I declare solemnly, that if she dares enter into my presence to plead for you, while you stay in the castle, she shall that instant be confined close prisoner in her chamber, and shall see you no more. If she becomes modest, temperate, and submissive, and things turn out as I expect, she will live yet to be very happy with the husband I intend her.'

Much longer did he enlarge upon Sibella's offence, his anger, her expected penitence, and his future designs for her. I heard him but imperfectly. The other part of his harangue had conjured up a horrible fiend. Dead-eyed poverty glared before me.

At length, he stumbled on a supposition, that Sibella would attempt to leave the Castle with me; and I readily promised, as he desired, that I would neither make, nor assist in the attempt, but would inform him if she resolved on so dangerous and mad an enterprise.

Not one consolating hint did my ready obedience purchase. He said, indeed, that the propriety of my present deportment merited commendation. And he dismissed me. After four hours of this cruel interviews' duration, he permitted me to stagger, sick, oppressed, drooping, dying, to my chamber, and seek rest, if I could find it.

I number the moments with more exactness than the sands of an hour-glass. One month is wasted now to one fortnight, and the end of that fortnight is wretchedness certain and endless.

I have not told Sibella, yet she sees misery in my looks. She hears it in my sighs, and the contagion has reached her. We meet but seldom. Complaint and remonstrance have usurped the place of transport and endearment. To her I attribute my sorrows to my jealousy of this rival, to whom Mr. Valmont dooms her. Alas, my jealousy has but a small share in them. Two years back, but to have dreamed another had gained possession of her charms would have driven me mad. Now I know it an inevitable certainty, and my feeble jealousy has none of the fierce characteristics of that raging passion: no, it is just fitting the groveling lover who is condemned to earn his abject livelihood.

She has seen him too. Mr. Valmont, in his own inexplicable way, has contrived two whimsical meetings for them. She does not conjecture this. Having related the circumstance, it is removed from her thoughts, and she mourns my supposed jealousy, as a cruel misfortune.

My impending fate she must know sooner or later, and this very morning, when she quits her apartments to go to the wood, I am resolved to follow, and tell her my despair. Perhaps she will join in seeming to renounce me, and thus so far conciliate Mr. Valmont, that some pity may arise for me in his obdurate breast.

You, Arthur, may perhaps be as insensible to the calamities of your friend as you have hitherto appeared to his pleasures. I have seen some letters that speak of you, and by them, I learn you are not less inexplicable to others than to me. Who is this Miss Ashburn that Sibella rapturously speaks of? I think I should not like her. She appears to have far-fetched ideas. I wonder Mr. Valmont should have suffered her and Sibella's intercourse. Are you, Murden, in love with this lady? Answer me these questions, and above all, assure me that you will not breathe a whisper of this change in my affairs to any living creature.

Sibella this instant crosses the lawn, I depart on my desperate errand.

I have performed my task, and gained nothing by it. No nothing. She will not, cruel as she is, she will not soothe Mr. Valmont, by pretending to renounce me. By heaven, I do not believe she loves me! Scarcely did she betray a particle of surprise, not one of grief. When I declared myself disinherited, I expected to have seen her frantic.

Well, then, it is all at an end! Ay, ay, she is wise. She talks of love to amuse me, and already prepares to yield herself to the wealthy lover Mr. Valmont provides. Oh, distraction! They will live in splendor and happiness, while I, an outcast, the contemned, unpitied, and forgotten.

Farewel! Would I could say for ever!

LETTER XIV

FROM SIBELLA VALMONT TO CAROLINE ASHBURN

Why in that moment should I turn coward, and rush from my purposes? Why did imagination cast an unusual gloom around me? Why did I sigh and tremble? Such alone ought to be the emotions of a guilty mind, and surely I am blameless.

I am about to do nothing rash, I obey no impulse of passion, I have not separated duty and pleasure. I have examined the value of the object I would obtain with calmness; and whatever view I take of the means, still duty points to the part I have chosen.

Oh, Caroline, could I once have imagined that I should require hours to deliberate whether I ought to become the bride of Clement!

No longer the animated noble Clement, whose love, the very essence of his existence, soared beyond murmurs, jealousies, and fears, whose eye ever spoke the fulness of content, he is now wan, desponding, as ardent, yet less chaste, misled by the wild creations of his distempered fancy, ashamed of poverty, brooding over imaginary evils; over doubts, fears, jealousies!

What a dark and fatal cloud must have overspread the mind of Clement, ere he could fear Sibella, for her love is not a mutable passion, it is incorporate with her nature. My love and reason have become one, my fancy only subservient to its predominant command. Clement still loves, and I know he would view the fairest beauty, the brightest grace, with an unmoved look, with an unpalpitating heart, for who that loved could be faithless!

But 'tis this cold, this cruel uncle has done it all. He heaps secret on secret, uncertainty on uncertainty, till the poor youth, bewildered, surrounded, overwhelmed, sinks the victim of conjecture.

He is no longer Mr. Valmont's heir, and he shudders at the prospect of earning his future subsistence. Mr. Valmont tells him we shall not be united, and forgetting that we are not the puppets of his power, even this useless threat, Clement loads with terror. Another separation too is about to take place, and he has not once looked forward to the hour, when we shall wash away the remembrance in tears of joy at our re-union.

And shall I be content merely to deplore my former Clement, giving nothing, to restore him? Oh, no! – I had written to him, I had even ascended the stairs to his apartment, when a sudden terror seized upon me. I hastily hid the billet from my view, and with the restlessness of an anxious mind, first sought the wood, and then my chamber.

The billet lies before me, I have examined its purport. It calls on Clement to become my husband. For ought I to withhold myself from giving him the fullest proof of my affection, from renovating him by this proof, because Mr. Valmont cruelly commands it? Surely I ought not. Mr. Valmont's presence and benediction might adorn with one more smile the nuptial hour, but 'tis our hearts alone that can bind the vow. If Clement's is not in unison with mine, if he feels the necessity of other ties, he will refuse the offer, and point out to me that I have erred.

My courage rises. The paleness of fear on my cheek gives way to the glow of hope. I shall forget that absence, misfortune, and pain, have intervened and live over again those hours of joy and peace, when our bosoms heaved no sigh, save the rich sigh of transport and confidence.

I go; and to-morrow will I, though now forbidden his presence, go to my uncle, and conjure him to convince himself that power and command are useless, when reason and conviction oppose them. Adieu.

LETTER XV

FROM CLEMENT MONTGOMERY TO ARTHUR MURDEN

Read the inclosed, dear Arthur, and imagine my sudden transition from despair to rapture. I was sitting, mute in anguish, when the divine form of my Sibella appeared at my chamber door. She held to me a paper, and as I took it, she turned away sighing deeply. Read, read, I say, and partake if you can my feelings. But though I tell you, I have just arisen from her arms, with your cold killing indifference it is impossible you can form the shadow of a resemblance to those transports which wrap my senses in delirium.

Did you think I had not dared to follow? O, Yes! It was not to face the stern Mr. Valmont; no, it was in secret to receive Sibella to my arms, whom I love more than life. It was to outplot Mr. Valmont. To enjoy a glorious though secret triumph over this rival, this chosen, this elected of Mr. Valmont's favour. How could I, with youth glowing in my veins, love throbbing in my heart, reject the tempting offer, though multitudes of dangers threatened at a distance.