Sylvester Sound the Somnambulist/Chapter 26

In the morning, while at breakfast, the eye of Sylvester rested upon the speech which he himself had delivered, and which he found ascribed to "An Hon. Member." He was struck with the speech: not because it developed any extraordinary talent, but because the words employed were those which he had been in the habit of employing, while the sentences were of his own construction. No man, perhaps, ever was, or ever will be, able to pass a speech of his own unnoticed. Both in speak​ing and writing, every man has a peculiar style—a style, of which the peculiarity of it cannot be at once perceived by others, is very soon discovered by himself. Hence, though unconscious of its being his own, Sylvester dwelt upon this speech, notwithstanding it was but an outline of the question at issue—an outline which left the filling up to the imagination. Still it is questionable whether even this piece of declamation could have been delivered by him in the house when awake. Had he been in reality a member—albeit he might have felt equally indignant at the mode in which the subject was discussed—his calm, retiring, diffident nature would, in all probability, have prompted him to be silent; but while asleep, every feeling, every idea of fear, was absent; he experienced no nervousness, no trepidation: whatever his imagination suggested, he did, regardless of all unfavourable consequences, seeing that Danger never presented itself then to his view.

Having read this speech again and again—suggesting improvements as he proceeded, precisely as if he had been conscious of its being his own—he was amazed by the sudden arrival of Mr. Scholefield, whose countenance denoted the most painful anxiety.

"Good God!" he exclaimed—"Sylvester, what have you been doing?"

"Doing?" echoed Sylvester, with an expression of wonder. "Explain."

"Where were you last night—or rather this morning?"

"Last night I was at the hotel—just above, with some friends."

"At what time did you leave those friends?"

"About twelve o'clock."

"Well, and where did you go then?"

"Where did I go? I came home and went to bed."

"Immediately?"

"Immediately."

"Sylvester," said Mr. Scholefield, with deep emotion, "confide in me. Disguise nothing from me. I have," he added, as tears sprang into his eyes—"I have towards you the feelings of a father."

"Why, how is this?" interrupted Sylvester. "What is the meaning of it all?"

"Sylvester, you have known me sufficiently long, I hope, to know that I am your friend; therefore conceal nothing from me."

"What have I to conceal? I am perfectly unconscious of having done anything which renders concealment necessary, or even expedient."

"Did you not visit Lady Julian last night?"

"Most certainly not. I have not seen Lady Julian since I left you."

"What! were you not there until three o'clock this morning?"

"There!—where?"

"At Sir Charles's house."

"No."

"Sylvester," resumed Mr. Scholefield, solemnly, "Sir Charles himself, on his return at that hour, saw you pass out at the garden-gate."

"No such thing!" exclaimed Sylvester, indignantly.

"He declares it to be a fact."

"Then he declares that which is false."

"But Thompson, his butler, saw you too."

​"Neither of them saw me. Neither could have seen me, for I was not there."

"Sylvester, their evidence is strong, and, I fear, too conclusive. Thompson undertakes to swear that he saw you coming from the ante-room which leads to Lady Julian's chamber."

"He does!"

"He does; and is, moreover, prepared to swear that he let you out. His statement is this: that being anxious to see the butler at the next house, he went and conversed with him, until he heard Sir Charles's carriage approaching; that he instantly returned, and on his return, found the door as he had left it, slightly open; that he then closed the door, until the carriage should be announced, and having occasion to go up-stairs, saw you coming from the ante-room alone; and that on seeing you he descended and let you out, just as the carriage drew up to the gate.

"It is false! every word of it! utterly false!"

"He declares every word of it to be true! He also declares every word of it to be true! He also declares that he should have spoken to you had he not felt that one of the other servants had let you in. In fact, having seen you there so frequently, and at almost all hours, both with me and alone, I don't suppose the idea of there being any impropriety in the visit for a moment occurred to him."

"Well, but why did not Sir Charles himself speak?"

"He did do so: at least, he says that he called to you before he could alight, and that you bowed and passed on; when, fearing that Lady Julian—who is in a delicate state still—had had a relapse, he went immediately up to her chamber, and had she not at once denied that you had been there, no more would have been thought of the matter."

"She was justified in denying it! She was bound to deny it! I had not been there. If I had, be assured that to you I would, under existing circumstances, confess it."

"I thought that you would!"

"And think so still. Either Sir Charles and his butler have been grossly mistaken, or they have conspired to blast her reputation and mine."

"That they have both been mistaken is certainly possible; but in the possibility of Sir Charles having entered into any such conspiracy I cannot believe. I know him to be devotedly attached to his wife. I have known him privately, and under almost every variety of circumstances for years, and if any man can be said to know another's heart, I know his. No, Sylvester; be assured that he is incapable of entering into such conspiracy."

"What then is to be thought of it? He knows me well! I am perfectly well known to them both! And is it not almost inconceivable that either of them could, under the circumstances, have mistaken any one else for me?"

"It does indeed appear to be almost inconceivable."

"Well!" exclaimed Sylvester. "The thing begins to assume a serious aspect!"

​"Serious! I contemplate the consequences with feelings of horror. Unless you can break down the evidence against you, your death may be the immediate result; and failing that, your ruin as a professional man will be inevitable. Sir Charles is in a state of mind bordering upon madness. He has ever since been raving for revenge. He cast Lady Julian off instantly; and, but for the interposition of the servants, would have killed her; and now he has sent a friend to you to demand immediate satisfaction."

"Is it possible?"

"That friend is now in the room adjoining, where, as he called upon me first, not knowing your address, I begged of him to remain until I had seen you."

"Well," said Sylvester, thoughtfully; "the thing appears to be coming to a crisis! But, be assured of this, that I was not there. Will you," he added, calmly, "do me the favour to introduce him?"

Mr. Scholefield, with an expression of sorrow, then rose and left the room; and having been absent for a moment, returned with Sir William D'Almaine.

"This," said Sir William, on taking a seat, "is indeed a most unhappy affair; but as I can have no desire to harrow your feelings, I will, if you will favour me with the name of a friend, go immediately and consult him."

"Sir William," returned Sylvester, "Sir Charles is mistaken. He imagines that I was at his house last night, or rather this morning. I was not."

"You were not? Do you intend, then, as a defence, to adopt a denial?"

"I do; and in doing so, defend myself with truth."

"Well; but Sir Charles himself saw you! and so did his butler!"

"It is a mistake! they did not see me."

"Oh! that will not do at all! Sir Charles assures me, upon his honour, that he saw you; and I am, of course, bound to believe him."

"You may perhaps believe that which he himself believes; but I deny that you are bound to adopt the belief of any man."

"This is not belief, merely: he knows that you were there."

"How is it possible for you to know that?"

"He declares that you were, upon his honour!"

"And I, upon my honour, declare that I was not!"

"Equivocation, you must allow me to observe, in affairs of this kind, will not do."

"I scorn equivocation, and despise the man who is mean enough to have recourse to it. I state upon my honour that I was not there; and to that statement—based as it is upon truth—I will adhere, let the consequences be what they may."

"Pardon me. You are a young man, and, therefore, you will, perhaps, allow me to observe that, in cases of this description, you have but one course to pursue."

"I am aware of it. I have but one course to pursue, and that is the course of truth, which I will pursue."

"Then am I to understand distinctly that you refuse to refer me to a friend?"

​"No! certainly not: I refer you at once to Sir Charles."

"Aye, but that is a most extraordinary reference."

"This proceeding appears to me to be extraordinary altogether. I refer you to him: consult him, and I will at that consultation be present."

"That I apprehend, sir, would not be quite safe."

"Not safe? Why not? What have I to fear? conscious as I am of my own integrity. I will meet him with all the confidence truth can inspire, and I feel that my presence will induce the conviction that he has been mistaken."

"Sylvester," calmly interposed Mr. Scholefield; "allow me to suggest that you had better depute me to see Sir Charles, and explain to him the feelings to which you have given such earnest expression."

"Mr. Scholefield," returned Sylvester; "I have, as I believe you are aware, been always anxious to adopt any suggestion of yours; but I submit—this being a matter of professional life or death to me—that I ought to see Sir Charles, and explain to him myself that he is labouring under a most serious mistake."

"Well," replied Mr. Scholefield; "I can have no objection to your seeing him."

"I fear," observed Sir William, "that he is not now in a fit state to view the matter calmly."

"I am sure," said Sylvester, "that when Sir Charles sees me, he will be at once satisfied that I am not the man."

"Well," said Sir William, who really began to think that Sir Charles must have been mistaken, "if that be the case, why by all means come with me. Mr. Scholefield, perhaps, will accompany us?"

"I will do so with pleasure," replied Mr. Scholefield; and without loss of time they left Sylvester's chambers, and proceeded to the house of Sir Charles.

"Now," said Sir William, on their arrival, "I think that Mr. Scholefield and I had better go up first, and soothe Sir Charles—if possible."

Sylvester did not object to this, and they accordingly left him in one of the parlours; but the moment they had explained to Sir Charles that Sylvester solemnly denied the accusation, and that he had come expressly to deny it in person, Sir Charles rushed below, entered the room in which Sylvester had been left, and seizing him by the throat, would have strangled him but for the prompt interference of Mr. Scholefield, who suspecting his object, had followed him on the instant.

"Mean, base, cowardly, contemptible liar!" exclaimed Sir Charles, absolutely foaming with rage. "If you have not the courage to fight with me, I'll ruin you—ruin you—ruin you for ever!"

"I'll not be thus insulted with impunity," cried Sylvester. "The accusation is false."

"What!" exclaimed Sir Charles, seizing the poker on the instant—"what!"

Sylvester was about to confront him, when Mr. Scholefield hurried him from the room, and when he had given his card to Sir William, with the name of Mr. Scholefield as his friend, he left the house, solemnly and most indignantly declaring his innocence of the charge.