# Duty and Inclination/Chapter 12

CHAPTER XII.
"If stern remorse,
With iron grasp, the tortured bosom wring,
Ah, then, even fancy speeds the venom's curse,
Even fancy points with rage the maddening sting."
Beattie.
Returned to his home, the fond, the devoted husband of Angelina, in the retirement of his chamber, beheld in all its enormity the injustice which had been done her, and to which he had been himself so greatly yet unconsciously accessory. He who, as a lion roused from its den in defence of its mate, would have upheld the honour of his wife from the slightest imputation,—he it was whom a mistaken judgment, taking its rise from that unconquerable timidity which ever preponderated over him when under the anticipation of his father's displeasure, had caused to shrink from a candid avowal of his marriage, and that at a time when it was of the greatest importance to have acknowledged it. That lovely woman, whom, as the object of his choice and dearest affections, he should have exulted under other circumstances to ​have introduced to an admiring world, equally as to every branch of his family, his fair, honourable and legitimate spouse,—alas! that he had been so imprudent, so weak as to seclude her in oblivion during the first critical months of his marriage, as a being of whom he had been ashamed, and afterwards, by the ambiguity of his explanation, to leave his father under the cruel and fatal supposition that his connection with her was but illegal!—his innocent and deserving wife no better treated than had she sunk so low as to become the object of a criminal amour! It may easily be imagined that such reflections, impressed on the mind of De Brooke since his last interview with his father, were of a nature too poignant for time even to ameliorate,—leaving him the prey of a gloom and despondence more than seemed natural to one who, from habitual cheerfulness of temper and elasticity of spirit, had ever before possessed, in a degree uncommon even in youth, the happy art of dissipating anxieties and forgetting cares. His hilarity, however, was now banished, and a nervous irritability succeeded, which could not fail to alarm the ever-watchful tenderness of his wife.
But not to amplify our narrative and enter into details respecting the sorrows and vicissitudes of De Brooke and his consort, let us, in following ​those events the most important in our history, pass over several years of trial and discomfiture, and proceed to that epoch when they had become the parents of three children—in addition to their first-born, little Aubrey, two daughters some years younger.
One afternoon at this period, having experienced during the hour of repast a feeling amounting to suffocation, De Brooke arose from the table unrefreshed; and wishing to fly from himself, but more from her whose unconscious manners and affectionate concern did but act as so many probes and bitter reproaches to his heart, laying his hand upon his hat, he was silently and sorrowfully quitting the room, when Mrs. De Brooke, springing from her seat, caught hold of him, imploring him not to leave her.
"Where", exclaimed she, "where would you go at this unseasonable hour?"
"Business, my dear," he replied, in tones of grief and impatience; "business the most urgent and instant: suffer me to go."
"No, no; not in such a state as this! You are not well; your hand is feverish! What can urge you? nothing but your own agitated fancy. Stay, I conjure you! Yield yourself to my care to-night; to-morrow you may be better. Why ​absent yourself from me? why that averted look? Speak, speak, my Aubrey! Am not I your friend, your best of friends?—why then shun me with that mysterious air? You have some secret grief you would fain conceal; withdraw not from me your confidence; let me share your pains as I have hitherto shared your pleasures. Is it your father who thus disturbs your peace?"
"Question me not, I entreat you, my dearest love", rejoined De Brooke, with a look of increased distraction; "another time, and your curiosity shall be fully satisfied—but now 'tis impossible! Detain me not; one instant longer and I shall be too late!"
He tore himself from her tender grasp—he rushed precipitately along the hall, opened the door, and as it closed after him, its reverberation no longer sounding on the ear of his distressed wife, she started from her listening attitude—she flew to the window: De Brooke caught her eye—it strained to behold him. Hurrying onwards, he was nearly lost to her view, when two fellows abruptly coming in face of him gave an instant check to his progress. He was undone! Angelina's ill-timed soothings had been the cause of this fatal mischief; a moment sooner, and he ​might have escaped from that rude detention of which his wife was then witness.
Anxious to discover the bent of her husband's steps, with an involuntary movement she had thrown open the casement. In apparent expostulation with those rough men, De Brooke slowly approached towards home: he perceived his wife—that form so dear to his view, yet which thus presented communicated a deeper sadness to his soul; essaying to surmount it, he waved his hand in token of peace; the hue of his countenance, however, bore but little analogy to the action.
"But one moment is all I ask, to say a few parting words to my wife." These last sounds, as they fell audibly on the ear of Mrs. De Brooke, penetrated her very soul.
Her husband knocked at the door—it was opened—the men pushed forward after their captive; fearful to lose sight of him, they pursued him even to the apartment of Mrs. De Brooke. Alarmed, confused at an intrusion so unceremonious, a faint apprehension of the truth stole across her, that those men, so daring in their aspect, were civil officers sent to arrest the person of her husband; and yet her total ignorance as to such proceedings obscured her suspicions, and caused ​her to see as through a mist. He besought her to tranquilize herself. A catastrophe so afflicting in its nature, and one so calculated to excite the amazement of his wife, unmanned him—not upon his own account, but from the distressing event about to be revealed in a manner so harsh and abrupt.
"My dear," said he, endeavouring to compose himself, "these persons have some particular business with me; I must go with them immediately."
"Go where? it is impossible!", exclaimed she; "they cannot insist upon your going with them in such a state as this, at so late an hour of the evening,—such disorder in your looks!"
Thus was she imploring, whilst the bailiffs, for such they were, began to express impatience of delay; when, just at that moment, Mrs. Philimore was announced. Her visit could not have been better timed for De Brooke, who, seizing the occasion, approached her, whispered a few words in her ear, commended his wife to her friendship, and passing the man in waiting, told them to follow, when he was recalled by an exclamation of grief from Mrs. De Brooke;—allowing himself but one parting embrace he burst from her.
Leaving the house he hastened towards a stand of hackney-coaches, entered the first that presented ​itself, anxious to conceal himself from the possibility of observation, beset as he was by two such ungracious companions. The driver was ordered to take the road to one of their houses, but De Brooke countermanding this direction, the coach proceeded to the Bench. In the mean time Mrs. De Brooke remained in a state which it is more easy to conceive than describe. Mrs. Philimore left nothing unsaid that could in any way calm her, or dispose her mind to view this event in a light less sorrowful, as an accidental misfortune to which so many were every day exposed, and of which so many examples are every day occurring in the capital; that a short interval given towards the procuring of bail might effect the release of her husband. Mrs. De Brooke, who had hitherto sat motionless, apparently absorbed in reflection, no sooner caught the last words of her friend, than the tears, before suppressed, rolled in torrents from her eyes.
"His release!" echoed she, "'tis then to prison they have dragged him! And must he there pass the night, in so gloomy, so dreary, and so comfortless a place?"
"Moderate your feelings, my dear Mrs. De Brooke", continued Mrs. Philimore; "your fears and uneasiness magnifv the evil."
​ She then essayed to tranquillize her, by assuring her that early the following morning Mr. Philimore "would call upon the Colonel to offer him his assistance, and would make it a pleasure to do everything in his power to serve him. She then, by a well-managed appeal to her maternal feelings, by degrees led her into another train of thought.
Suddenly rising from her seat and seizing a lighted candle, Mrs. De Brooke observed she had quite forgotten her little ones, their usual hour of rest having passed; those precious innocents, she considered, might have been deprived of slumber in their expectation of receiving as usual her last affectionate caress. Mrs. Philimore rose to follow, and they entered the nursery together; drawing near their respective couches, they found each child wrapt in a soft repose. The contemplation of her infants, the sweet composure of their looks, communicated to Mrs. De Brooke, as from sympathy, a heavenly serenity; and in bending over them she breathed a secret prayer, that an all-merciful Providence would bless her helpless babes and not desert their unhappy father. In leaving the apartment, Mrs. Philimore perceiving her friend thus resigned to her destiny, availed herself of the occasion to take her leave, with the assurance of ​renewing her visit the next morning; at the same time entreating her not to relapse into dejection, but to consider the present crisis of her husband's affairs, as the necessary means by which he would be restored to happiness and tranquillity.
Notwithstanding, however, this consolatory exhortation of her friend, short and painful was the repose of Mrs. De Brooke. She rose at an early hour, having determined after a hasty breakfast to set off to see her husband. A witness of the sorrowful scene which had taken place the preceding evening, but not a passive one, it was to the vigilance of his ever faithful servant Robert, who had anxiously followed through various turnings and windings the coach conveying his master to prison, that Mrs. De Brooke was indebted for a knowledge of the direction she was to pursue. At the first dawn he had been up, and had stolen slowly out of the house to retrace the path he had trodden the night before. Hovering about those impenetrable walls, within whose gloomy precincts was confined his beloved master, he awaited in sad expectation the first opening of the gates, in order to gain the earliest admittance. Having fulfilled his object, he returned, with moistened brow and breathless haste, in time to deliver a letter with ​which he was charged for his mistress, and to put a stop to the preparations she was making to visit her husband.
Unfolding the paper, she ran over its contents, which were couched in the most soothing terms possible; De Brooke assured her that the chief subject of his regret arose from the abruptness with which he had been obliged to leave her; that as to himself, he had philosophy sufficient to endure a temporary ill, for as a passing cloud, such he considered his present misfortune to be, and conjured her also to regard it in no other light; for, that the more courage she displayed, the less he should have reason to repine; the burden of self-reproach being aggravated by the reflection that it was himself who was the author of all the uneasiness she sustained. He then exhorted her to repose in the friendship of Mr. and Mrs. Philimore, and by no means to make any attempt at seeing him, as, under the present circumstances, their meeting could not but be attended with painful emotions; that if he could not as soon as he expected effect his liberation, he would himself be the first to solicit her coming to see him. He then concluded by assuring her he was well, as to her additional satisfaction Robert could testify.
​ Such was the tenor of her husband's letter: scarcely, however, had she given it a second perusal, and received from it some degree of comfort, than Robert again appeared. Abruptly advancing, but stopping ere he drew near her, dismay over-spreading each sable feature, he stammered forth something, but his words failed him: "My dear missus, dese be sad crosses", said at last poor Robert; he walked mournfully aside, and then returned to where he stood before; he was spared, however, the pain of further explanation by the entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Philimore, who could not but perceive the confusion reigning over the countenances of both mistress and servant, nor were they ignorant of the cause. With his head bent down, Robert slowly and silently quitted the apartment.
An execution had taken place in the house; two bailiffs had planted themselves in the passage, and prevented the free ingress of Mr. and Mrs. Philimore in their ascent leading to the sitting-room of Mrs. De Brooke, who they supposed would be the first to open to them this new subject of distress. Alarmed at the insinuations of Robert, but far from penetrating into the real cause of his mysterious manner, Mrs. De Brooke still preserved ​silence upon a topic that appeared so important to her visitors. Hearing a bustle below, and Robert's voice in contention with the unwelcome intruders, Mrs. Philimore, exchanging looks with her husband, approached her friend, tenderly saying, "Are you not aware of the danger of delay with regard to the seizure of your goods and furniture?" The truth thus instantly rushing upon her mind, still wholly a stranger to such proceedings, Mrs. De Brooke found herself involved in a perplexity, which Mrs. Philimore hastily sought to lessen, by telling her that she and their family had also known calamity, and that they had experienced similar circumstances to those to which she was then exposed.
"All that remains for you", continued she, "is to secrete as many valuables as you can."
"But in so doing we shall defraud our creditors," hastily replied Mrs. De Brooke.
"At all events your jewel-case," rejoined Mrs. Philimore, "your watch, those miniatures," pointing to a couple of beautiful medallions suspended over the chimney-piece, the likenesses of herself and husband.
The noise of footsteps ascending did not allow her time to hesitate; Mrs. Philimore quickly ​detached the miniatures; they were concealed beneath her garments; a few jewels and her watch, the presents of De Brooke on her marriage, were deposited with Mr. Philimore.
The bailiffs before mentioned here burst abruptly into the apartment, followed by Robert, who had done all in his power to prevent the intrusion. Perfectly collected, Mrs. De Brooke, addressing Robert, mildly said, "Since resistance is fruitless, my honest friend, allow these men to proceed in what appears to be their duty; having visited this chamber, conduct them through the others." Softened by such complacent acquiescence, the men submissively bowed, after which they took an inventory, and placed seals upon every cabinet, bureau, and article of value which the house contained.
Thus was Mrs. De Brooke, to her great inconvenience, debarred from the use of many articles, ornamental or useful, deemed essential to comfort; but such privations, as we before observed, by a mind like hers, were but little regarded. She had derived a sensible consolation from the letter of her husband, and Mr. Philimore having intimated that he was about calling to see him, awaited her commands. Forgetful of his injunctions in her anxiety ​to see her husband, she earnestly expressed a desire to accompany Mr. Philimore, a step from which the latter exerted the full force of his eloquence to dissuade her; representing that her sudden and unexpected appearance might not only by the excitement agitate his feelings, but by diverting his attention from objects immediately connected with his interests, embarrass his plans, and thus prolong the period of his captivity.
Yielding to such prudent advice, she contented herself by writing a few hasty lines in answer to the letter she had received; she dwelt forcibly on her wish to see him, stating that the sad necessity, whatever it might be, which kept them asunder, for however short a period, was, and would continue to be her only affliction. She added, that the cherished hope of a speedy reunion, which their present separation must enhance, would support her under far greater inconveniences than had befallen her, and what was the most painful to her to contemplate, the privations and trials to which he was hourly exposed. But little acquainted with the extent of her husband's debts, she touched upon the subject of the execution which had taken place as but a momentary difficulty, vainly supposing that an entire sale of their ​property might afford a sum sufficient to restore, what she so devoutly wished, her husband to his home, to herself and children, and if to plain unostentatious life, still at least to peace, tranquillity, and independence.