Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone. Reid Mayne
that your visits here are no longer either welcome or desirable.”
“I learnt that much yesterday,” said I, imitating in a slight degree the air of sneering indifference, in which Mrs Hyland addressed me. “To-day I have called for an explanation. Your own words imply that I was once welcome; and I wish to know why such is no longer the case.”
“The explanation is then, that you have proved unworthy of our friendship. There is no explanation that you can give, that will remove the impression from my mind that you have been guilty of ingratitude and dishonesty towards those who were your best friends; and I do not wish to be pained by listening to any attempt you may make at an apology.”
I became excited. Had the speaker been a man, my excitement would have assumed the shape of anger.
“I only ask,” I replied, endeavouring, as much as possible, to control my feelings, “I only ask, what justice to you, as well as myself, demands you to give. All I require is an explanation; and I will not leave the house, until I have had it. I insist upon knowing of what I am accused.”
Mrs Hyland, apparently in high displeasure at the tone I had assumed, turned suddenly away from me, and glided out of the room.
To calm my excitement, I took up a paper, and read, or attempted to read.
For nearly half an hour I continued this half involuntary occupation. At the end of that time, I stepped up to the fire-place, caught hold of the bell pull, and rang the bell.
“Tell Miss Lenore,” said I, when the servant made her appearance, “that I wish to see her; and that all the policemen in Liverpool cannot put me out of this house, until I have done so.”
The girl flounced back through the door; and shortly after Lenore, with half of a smile on her beautiful face, entered the room.
She appeared less reserved than on the interview of the day before; and, if possible, more lovely. I was too happy to interpret from her deportment, that she had not yet entirely forgotten the past; and that what I now wished to know, she would not hesitate to reveal.
“Lenore,” said I, as she entered, “in you I hope still to find a friend – notwithstanding the coldness with which you have treated me; and from you I demand an explanation.”
“The only explanation I can give,” said she, “is, that mamma and I have probably been deceived. There is one who has accused you of ingratitude, and other crimes as bad – perhaps worse.”
“Adkins!” I exclaimed. “It is Adkins, the first mate of the ‘Lenore!’”
“Yes, it is he who has brought the accusation; and, unfortunately, whether false or no, your conduct has been some evidence of the truth of the story he has told us. Oh! Rowland, it was hard to believe you guilty of ingratitude and crime; but your long absence, unexplained as it was, gave colour to what has been alleged against you. You have never written to us: and it will be nearly impossible for you to be again reinstated in the good opinion of my mother.”
“In yours, Lenore?”
She blushingly held down her head, without making reply.
“Will you tell me of what I am accused?” I asked.
“I will,” she answered. “And, Rowland, before I hear one word of explanation from you learn this; I cannot believe you guilty of any wrong. I have been too well acquainted with you to believe that you could possibly act, under any circumstances, as you have been accused of doing. It is not in your nature.”
“Thank you, Lenore!” said I, with a fervour I could not restrain myself from showing. “You are now as you have ever been, more beautiful than anything in the world, and wise as you are beautiful.”
“Do not talk thus, Rowland! Nothing but your own words can ever change the opinion I had formed of your character – long ago, when we were both children. I will tell you why my mother is displeased with you. There are more reasons than one. First, when my father died in New Orleans, Mr Adkins brought back the ship; and you did not return in it. We were surprised at this; and called Mr Adkins to account for not bringing you home. He did not appear willing to give us any satisfaction concerning you; but we would insist on having it; and then, with apparent reluctance, he stated that he had not wished to say anything against you – fearing that from our known friendship for you, it might be unpleasant for us to hear it. He then told us, that you had not only neglected, and proved cruel to my father – when on his death-bed – but, that, as soon as it became certain there was no hope of his recovery, you behaved as though you thought it no longer worth while to trouble yourself with a man, who could not live to repay you. He said that you had previously deserted from the ship, and left my father – notwithstanding his earnest entreaties that you should remain with him. It cannot be true. I know it cannot be true; but so long as my mother thinks there is a particle of truth in Mr Adkins’ statement, she will never forgive you. Your accuser has also stated that when you left the ship, you took with you what was not your own; but this he did not tell us until several months had elapsed, and there appeared no probability of your returning.”
“What has become of Mr Adkins now?” I asked.
“He is on a voyage to New Orleans in the ‘Lenore.’ He obtained my mother’s confidence, and is now in command of the ship. Lately he has been trying to make himself more disagreeable to myself – by professing for me – what he, perhaps, believes to be an affection. Oh! it is too unpleasant to dwell upon. My mother listens, I fear, too consentingly, to all he has to say: for she is grateful to him for his kindness to my father before he died – and for the interest he appears ever since to have taken in our welfare. His manner towards us has greatly changed of late. Indeed, he acts as if he were the head of our family, and the owner of the vessel. I believe he is expected to return to Liverpool at any time: as the time for the voyage has expired, and the ship has been due for some days.”
“I wish he were in Liverpool now” said I. “When he does arrive, I will make him prove himself a liar. Lenore! I have ever been treated with the greatest kindness by your father and mother. It is not in my nature to be either ungrateful or dishonest. Your father’s ship was my home, I did not leave that home without good reason. I was turned out of it by the very villain who has accused me. I shall stay in Liverpool until he returns; and when I have exposed him, and proved myself still worthy of your friendship, I shall again go forth upon the world with a light heart, as I can with a clear conscience.”
Requesting Lenore to tell her mother that she had been deceived – and that I should stay in Liverpool till I proved that such was the case – I arose to take my departure. I lingered only to add: that I would not again annoy them with my presence until the return of the ship – when I should challenge Adkins to appear before them, and prove him guilty of the very crimes he had charged against myself – ingratitude and dishonesty.
With this promise did I close my interview with Lenore.
Volume One – Chapter Eleven.
On the Track of Mr Leary
After leaving Mrs Hyland’s house, I had much to occupy my thoughts. The principal subject that engaged their attention was the wonderful beauty of Lenore.
She was beautiful; and she professed to be my friend. But while I felt a consoling pride in possessing the friendship of one so lovely, there was much that was unpleasant in the thought that her mother could, even for an instant, have believed me guilty of the grave charges brought against me by Adkins.
To be thought ungrateful by one who had treated me with so much kindness, and more especially one who was the mother of Lenore, was a reflection full of bitterness.
Adkins had now done enough to make me his deadly enemy. He had never used me well aboard ship; and would have caused me still more trouble there had he not been restrained by his fear of Captain Hyland. He had turned me out of the ship in New Orleans. He had returned to Liverpool, and accused me of the basest of crimes.
But what was still more unpleasant to dwell upon; he was endeavouring to deprive me of what was of almost equal consequence with my character – of her whom I had hoped might one day become my wife. Yes, there could be no doubt