Misfortunes, saith the adage, never come singly. There is littledoubt that troubles are exceedingly gregarious in their nature, andflying in flocks, are apt to perch capriciously; crowding on theheads of some poor wights until there is not an inch of room lefton their unlucky crowns, and taking no more notice of others whooffer as good resting-places for the soles of their feet, than ifthey had no existence. It may have happened that a flight oftroubles brooding over London, and looking out for Joseph Willet,whom they couldn"t find, darted down haphazard on the first youngman that caught their fancy, and settled on him instead. Howeverthis may be, certain it is that on the very day of Joe"s departurethey swarmed about the ears of Edward Chester, and did so buzz andflap their wings, and persecute him, that he was most profoundlywretched.
It was evening, and just eight o"clock, when he and his father,having wine and dessert set before them, were left to themselvesfor the first time that day. They had dined together, but a thirdperson had been present during the meal, and until they met attable they had not seen each other since the previous night.
Edward was reserved and silent. Mr Chester was more than usuallygay; but not caring, as it seemed, to open a conversation with onewhose humour was so different, he vented the lightness of hisspirit in smiles and sparkling looks, and made no effort to awakenhis attention. So they remained for some time: the father lying ona sofa with his accustomed air of graceful negligence; the sonseated opposite to him with downcast eyes, busied, it was plain,with painful and uneasy thoughts.
"My dear Edward," said Mr Chester at length, with a most engaginglaugh, "do not extend your drowsy influence to the decanter.
Suffer THAT to circulate, let your spirits be never so stagnant."
Edward begged his pardon, passed it, and relapsed into his formerstate.
"You do wrong not to fill your glass," said Mr Chester, holding uphis own before the light. "Wine in moderation--not in excess, forthat makes men ugly--has a thousand pleasant influences. Itbrightens the eye, improves the voice, imparts a new vivacity toone"s thoughts and conversation: you should try it, Ned."
"Ah father!" cried his son, "if--"
"My good fellow," interposed the parent hastily, as he set down hisglass, and raised his eyebrows with a startled and horrifiedexpression, "for Heaven"s sake don"t call me by that obsolete andancient name. Have some regard for delicacy. Am I grey, orwrinkled, do I go on crutches, have I lost my teeth, that you adoptsuch a mode of address? Good God, how very coarse!"
"I was about to speak to you from my heart, sir," returned Edward,"in the confidence which should subsist between us; and you checkme in the outset."
"Now DO, Ned, DO not," said Mr Chester, raising his delicate handimploringly, "talk in that monstrous manner. About to speak fromyour heart. Don"t you know that the heart is an ingenious part ofour formation--the centre of the blood-vessels and all that sort ofthing--which has no more to do with what you say or think, thanyour knees have? How can you be so very vulgar and absurd? Theseanatomical allusions should be left to gentlemen of the medicalprofession. They are really not agreeable in society. You quitesurprise me, Ned."
"Well! there are no such things to wound, or heal, or have regardfor. I know your creed, sir, and will say no more," returned hisson.
"There again," said Mr Chester, sipping his wine, "you are wrong.
I distinctly say there are such things. We know there are. Thehearts of animals--of bullocks, sheep, and so forth--are cooked anddevoured, as I am told, by the lower classes, with a vast deal ofrelish. Men are sometimes stabbed to the heart, shot to the heart;but as to speaking from the heart, or to the heart, or being warmhearted,or cold-hearted, or broken-hearted, or being all heart, orhaving no heart--pah! these things are nonsense, Ned."
"No doubt, sir," returned his son, seeing that he paused for him tospeak. "No doubt."
"There"s Haredale"s niece, your late flame," said Mr Chester, as acareless illustration of his meaning. "No doubt in your mind shewas all heart once. Now she has none at all. Yet she is the sameperson, Ned, exactly."
"She is a changed person, sir," cried Edward, reddening; "andchanged by vile means, I believe."
"You have had a cool dismissal, have you?" said his father. "PoorNed! I told you last night what would happen.--May I ask you forthe nutcrackers?"
"She has been tampered with, and most treacherously deceived,"
cried Edward, rising from his seat. "I never will believe that theknowledge of my real position, given her by myself, has worked thischange. I know she is beset and tortured. But though our contractis at an end, and broken past all redemption; though I charge uponher want of firmness and want of truth, both to herself and me; Ido not now, and never will believe, that any sordid motive, or herown unbiassed will, has led her to this course--never!"
