This eBook was produced by Pat Castevens
and David Widger
There would have been nothing in what had chanced to justify thesuspicions that tortured me, but for my impressions as to the characterof Vivian.
Reader, hast thou not, in the easy, careless sociability of youth,formed acquaintance with some one in whose more engaging or brilliantqualities thou hast,—not lost that dislike to defects or vices which isnatural to an age when, even while we err, we adore what is good, andglow with enthusiasts for the ennobling sentiment and the virtuousdeed,—no, happily, not lost dislike to what is bad, nor thy quick senseof it,—but conceived a keen interest in the struggle between the badthat revolted, and the good that attracted thee, in thy companion?Then, perhaps, thou hast lost sight of him for a time; suddenly thouhearest that he has done something out of the way of ordinary good orcommonplace evil; and in either—the good or the evil—thy mind runsrapidly back over its old reminiscences, and of either thou sayest, "Hownatural! Only, So-and-so could have done this thing!"
Thus I felt respecting Vivian. The most remarkable qualities in hischaracter were his keen power of calculation and his unhesitatingaudacity,—qualities that lead to fame or to infamy, according to thecultivation of the moral sense and the direction of the passions. Had Irecognized those qualities in some agency apparently of good,—and itseemed yet doubtful if Vivian were the agent,—I should have cried, "Itis he; and the better angel has triumphed!" With the same (alas! with ayet more impulsive) quickness, when the agency was of evil, and theagent equally dubious, I felt that the qualities revealed the man, andthat the demon had prevailed.
Mile after mile, stage after stage, were passed on the dreary,interminable, high north road. I narrated to my companion, moreintelligibly than I had yet done, my causes for apprehension. TheCaptain at first listened eagerly, then checked me on the sudden."There may be nothing in all this," he cried. "Sir, we must be menhere,—have our heads cool, our reason clear; stop!" And leaning backin the chaise, Roland refused further conversation, and as the nightadvanced, seemed to sleep. I took pity on his fatigue, and devoured myheart in silence. At each stage we heard of the party of which we werein pursuit. At the first stage or two we were less than an hour behind;gradually, as we advanced, we lost ground, despite the most lavishliberality to the post-boys. I supposed, at length, that the merecircumstance of changing, at each relay, the chaise as well as thehorses, was the cause of our comparative slowness; and on saying this toRoland as we were changing horses, somewhere about midnight, he at oncecalled up the master of the inn and gave him his own price forpermission to retain the chaise till the journey's end. This was sounlike Roland's ordinary thrift, whether dealing with my money or hisown,—so unjustified by the fortune of either,—that I could not helpmuttering something in apology.
"Can you guess why I was a miser?" said Roland, calmly.
"A miser? Anything but that! Only prudent,—military men often areso."
"I was a miser," repeated the Captain, with emphasis. "I began thehabit first when my son was but a child. I thought him high-spirited,and with a taste for extravagance. 'Well,' said I to myself, 'I willsave for him; boys will be boys.' Then, afterwards, when he was no morea child (at least he began to have the vices of a man), I said tomyself, 'Patience! he ma