William Watson - Trevethlan - A Cornish Story. Volume 1

Nor let it be supposed that this devotion was entirely due to the place. Proud and reserved as had been its recent master, he was far from being wholly unamiable; even his children, to whom he behaved with uniform harshness, regarded him with as much affection as awe; and his dependents, whom he treated with almost as constant kindness, served him with real attachment. Well did Griffith recollect the day, although it was five and thirty years past, and he was scarcely twenty at the time, when Mr. Trevethlan galloped into the court-yard with his horse in a foam, on his return from Pendarrel, ordered his carriage, paced impatiently up and down the great hall while it was being prepared, and departed to London without uttering another word. Well, too, did the steward remember his father's grief, as missive after missive came to Trevethlan in the few following years, of which the constant burden was "money, money." Mortgage Tresylty, sell Penrevil, fell Withewood; so it went on, until the extensive domain, once appended to the castle, was reduced to its immediate precincts. Then Mr. Trevethlan came home, and lived during the remainder of his days in the secluded manner, which has already been sufficiently described.

Randolph Trevethlan was just of age when his father died; his sister, two years younger. Their singular education had impressed peculiarities upon each of them; but, trained so entirely together, their habits and dispositions had grown into a conformity almost perfect. Their pursuits, their wishes, their attachments were always the same. Their father never allowed them to set foot on any ground which had been alienated from the castle; and as such surrounded it at a short distance, their inland walks were restricted within a very narrow cordon. But the beach, no man's land, was open to their rambles: a winding stair led from the castle to a portal cut in the face of the rock on which it stood, and a flight of steps descended from this doorway to the shingles, washed by the waves which rolled eternally from the farthest Atlantic. Not far to the south, the rock formed a narrow promontory of inconsiderable height, but running out some distance into the sea. The rough granite afforded good footing, and with a little exertion, it was not difficult to reach the extremity, where there was a small cave. Randolph smoothed the ruggedness of the way, and this recess, which they called Merlin's Cave, became the favourite resort of himself and Helen. From it, they looked straightforward past Mousehole and the Logan Rock to the meeting of sea and sky, while a turn to the right, showed them St. Michael's Mount and the beautiful woods over Penzance. Here, in the warm season, they often sat for many hours together, reading the legends of Cornubia, and of Armorica across the waters. Here, in the winter, when the wind blew heavily from the west, they came to admire the huge swell of the ocean thundering idly on the granite beneath their feet. It might be thought that such a life would produce a dreamy and feeble turn of mind, ill-calculated to withstand the buffets of the world. And it will be found, in fact, that this result did in some degree follow. But the lessons and conversation of Polydore Riches, and the cold cynicism of Mr. Trevethlan, furnished a partial antidote to its enervating tendency. It made the brother and sister highly enthusiastic, but it did not entirely substitute romance for reality. They knew very little of the world, yet the castles which they built in the air, were of brick and mortar, not of crystal and vapour. The plan which Randolph disclosed to his dying father, had been often discussed between himself and Helen. An old edition of Blackstone's Commentaries, and one, equally out of date of Burn's Justice, which he found in the library, attested by their wear and tear, the diligence of the young student, who little thought of the depth to which he must dive, to find the sands of the legal Pactolus. To go to London, to take some suburban lodging, to dwell in frugal retirement, was the scheme arranged by Randolph and Helen Morton . Mr. Griffith and Polydore would be their only confidants; the former would introduce Randolph to the family lawyer, of course in his feigned name, who would procure his admission at an Inn of Court; five years—that was the bitter in the cup—five long years would qualify him for the bar: and then, he should stretch forth his hand and collect the golden grains. When a sufficiency of the commodity was stored up, Randolph and Helen Trevethlan would arrive one fine day at Trevethlan Castle, which would have been gradually restored to receive them, and there would be ringing of bells and firing of cannon; a new flag would fly from the lofty watch-tower; Griffith and his wife would weep for joy; Polydore would give them his blessing; and the sun of Trevethlan, long hidden by clouds, would shine out with a glory never to be again obscured.

These visions were interrupted by Mr. Trevethlan's illness and death. The preparations necessary for the funeral devolved upon the steward and his wife. Mrs. Griffith produced some velvet which had once been black, wherewith to hang the state chamber, and a few tapers lighted up the solemn mockery. The orphan brother and sister sat afar in those rooms, which have been already described as overlooking a small flower garden. The blinds, lowered reverentially, debarred the occupants from beholding the prospect, and seemed to sever them from all communion with the world. They leant against each other in sad silence, as if they were too feeble to sustain themselves apart, and required mutual support. Little had they thought how much the loss, even of their father, could add to the loneliness of Trevethlan Castle. And the scheme on which they had so long and so often dwelt in Merlin's Cave, and which then seemed so simple and feasible, now assumed a hard and perplexing aspect. The edifice, which at a distance looked fair and stately, presented on a nearer view the whited wall of the sepulchre.

Wrapped in such reverie, with their arms twined around each other, they were sitting side by side, the day preceding that appointed for the funeral, when the chaplain entered with a letter in his hand. Very rare, indeed, was the arrival of such a missive at the castle, and Polydore's appearance roused the mourners from their lethargy. He delivered the epistle to Randolph, and retired with delicate kindness. It was dated from May Fair, London, and was to the following effect:—

"My Dear Nephew,

"The estrangement, which has so long and so unhappily divided our families, cannot deter me from offering you and my niece, the sincere condolence both of Mrs. Trevethlan Pendarrel and of myself, on the recent melancholy event.

"Most deeply do I regret that a pressure of engagements will prevent me from attending the last obsequies of my lamented relative; but Mrs. Trevethlan Pendarrel intends to have the pleasure of calling at Trevethlan Castle before many days have elapsed, and of making the acquaintance of her nephew and niece.

"Fearing that circumstances may render the funeral an embarrassment, and awaiting a satisfactory arrangement for the comfort of yourself and your sister, I have ventured to direct my bankers, Messrs.–, to honour the drafts of Mr. Randolph Trevethlan to the amount of £500.

"Mrs. Trevethlan Pendarrel unites in the regard with which

Helen watched her brother's face as he read this effusion of sympathy, and was almost alarmed at the change which came over it. He held the letter at arm's length, and gazed upon it: the lessons of the portrait-gallery crowded thickly upon him, and those of the library were forgotten.