“We were both on our trial—he and I.”
“Everybody knows that he bribed and that you did not.”
“Yes;—and everybody despises me and pats him on the back. I am sick of the whole thing. There is no honesty in the life we lead.”
“You got your seat at any rate.”
“I wish with all my heart that I had never seen the dirty wretched place,” said he.
“Oh, Phineas, do not say that.”
“But I do say it. Of what use is the seat to me? If I could only feel that anyone knew—”
“Knew what, Phineas?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I understand. I know that you have meant to be honest, while this man has always meant to be dishonest. I know that you have intended to serve your country, and have wished to work for it. But you cannot expect that it should all be roses.”
“Roses! The nosegays which are worn down at Westminster are made of garlick and dandelions!”
XLV
Some Passages in the Life of Mr. Emilius
The writer of this chronicle is not allowed to imagine that any of his readers have read the wonderful and vexatious adventures of Lady Eustace, a lady of good birth, of high rank, and of large fortune, who, but a year or two since, became almost a martyr to a diamond necklace which was stolen from her. With her history the present reader has but small concern, but it may be necessary that he should know that the lady in question, who had been a widow with many suitors, at last gave her hand and her fortune to a clergyman whose name was Joseph Emilius. Mr. Emilius, though not an Englishman by birth—and, as was supposed, a Bohemian Jew in the earlier days of his career—had obtained some reputation as a preacher in London, and had moved—if not in fashionable circles—at any rate in circles so near to fashion as to be brought within the reach of Lady Eustace’s charms. They were married, and for some few months Mr. Emilius enjoyed a halcyon existence, the delights of which were, perhaps, not materially marred by the necessity which he felt of subjecting his young wife to marital authority. “My dear,” he would say, “you will know me better soon, and then things will be smooth.” In the meantime he drew more largely upon her money than was pleasing to her and to her friends, and appeared to have requirements for cash which were both secret and unlimited. At the end of twelve months Lady Eustace had run away from him, and Mr. Emilius had made overtures, by accepting which his wife would be enabled to purchase his absence at the cost of half her income. The arrangement was not regarded as being in every respect satisfactory, but Lady Eustace declared passionately that any possible sacrifice would be preferable to the company of Mr. Emilius. There had, however, been a rumour before her marriage that there was still living in his old country a Mrs. Emilius when he married Lady Eustace; and, though it had been supposed by those who were most nearly concerned with Lady Eustace that this report had been unfounded and malicious, nevertheless, when the man’s claims became so exorbitant, reference was again made to the charge of bigamy. If it could be proved that Mr. Emilius had a wife living in Bohemia, a cheaper mode of escape would be found for the persecuted lady than that which he himself had suggested.
It had happened that, since her marriage with Mr. Emilius, Lady Eustace had become intimate with our Mr. Bonteen and his wife. She had been at one time engaged to marry Lord Fawn, one of Mr. Bonteen’s colleagues, and during the various circumstances which had led to the disruption of that engagement, this friendship had been formed. It must be understood that Lady Eustace had a most desirable residence of her own in the country—Portray Castle in Scotland—and that it was thought expedient by many to cultivate her acquaintance. She was rich, beautiful, and clever; and, though her marriage with Mr. Emilius had never been looked upon as a success, still, in the estimation of some people, it added an interest to her career. The Bonteens had taken her up, and now both Mr. and Mrs. Bonteen were hot in pursuit of evidence which might prove Mr. Emilius to be a bigamist.
When the disruption of conjugal relations was commenced, Lady Eustace succeeded in obtaining refuge at Portray Castle without the presence of her husband. She fled from London during a visit he made to Brighton with the object of preaching to a congregation by which his eloquence was held in great esteem. He left London in one direction by the 5 p.m. express train on Saturday, and she in the other by the limited mail at 8:45. A telegram, informing him of what had taken place, reached him the next morning at Brighton while he was at breakfast. He preached his sermon, charming the congregation by the graces of his extempore eloquence—moving every woman there to tears—and then was after his wife before the ladies had taken their first glass of sherry at luncheon. But her ladyship had twenty-four hours’ start of him—although he did his best; and when he reached Portray Castle the door was shut in his face. He endeavoured to obtain the aid of blacksmiths to open, as he said, his own hall door—to obtain the aid of constables to compel the blacksmiths, of magistrates to compel the constables—and even of a judge to compel the magistrates; but
