Sylvester Sound the Somnambulist/Chapter 39

The reconciliation having thus been effected, the reverend gentleman's first object was to induce Howard to go up to town again, with the view of being introduced to Sir Charles. He had spoken on this subject to Scholefield, who had stated it as his opinion, that if Howard—in the event of a reconciliation taking place—were to call upon Sir Charles, his conviction of Lady Julian's innocence would be complete.

He therefore—having allowed two days to elapse—mentioned the subject incidentally to Howard, who, on the instant, declared that he would go up at once, and take Mrs. Howard, Henriette, and Sylvester with him.

With this arrangement the reverend gentleman, of course, was delighted, but not more delighted than Sylvester was with the idea of travelling with Henriette. Howard had decided on starting the next morning, and at the appointed time called for Sylvester at the cottage, when he, Mrs. Howard, and Henriette, had the happiness of being introduced by Sylvester to his aunt.

Aunt Eleanor was also much pleased with the introduction; for although they had been the cause of her brother's premature death, she felt that they had been most innocently the cause, and that, therefore, they were blameless.

Knowing, of course, that they would call, she had prepared for them a luncheon, and soon won the hearts of Mrs. Howard and Henriette by her elegant and amiable manners.

"My dear madam," said Howard, as he led her to the window, "I shall deprive you of Sylvester's society for a time, but be assured that ​as circumstances have rendered him fatherless, I will, while I live, be like a father to him. We need not revert to those circumstances now, but I hope that when we return, our friendship will be cemented, and that we shall live thenceforward in unity and peace."

Aunt Eleanor responded to the expression of this hope, and as the ladies were by this time ready, they affectionately bade her adieu, and were conducted by the reverend gentleman to the carriage.

"We may not return for a week," said Howard; "but Sylvester will write to you to-morrow." And having taken leave of the reverend gentleman, he entered the carriage and they were off.

On the road Howard perfectly well understood the affectionate feelings which existed between Sylvester and Henriette; but as he believed him to be worthy of her, and knew her to be worthy of him, he did not attempt to check the development of those feelings, but on the contrary, felt justified in promoting their cultivation.

Having arrived at the fourth stage they stopped and dined, and nothing could exceed in intensity the happiness of both Henriette and Mrs. Howard; for, while the former had commenced a new state of existence, the latter had returned to that state in which, formerly, her guileless heart had known nothing but joy.

They were happy, indeed!—most happy: they wept, they were so happy. And Howard wept too: nay, tears sprang into Sylvester's eyes—their happiness was so contagious.

Having dined, they went on, and reached town about six, and had coffee, and went to the Opera with Tom, and, in the morning, Scholefield introduced Howard to Sir Charles, and had a long and most interesting interview with him.

Sir Charles had previously felt convinced of the fact of Lady Julian being innocent: for Scholefield had related to him the whole of the circumstances connected with the case of Mrs. Howard, and, therefore, when Howard himself had stated that a reconciliation had been effected, Sir Charles felt so perfectly satisfied, that he exclaimed, "this young man is innocent, I see! Both he and Lady Julian are innocent! The damages shall not, of course, be enforced. I'm entitled to no 'damages.' I've received no damage. I have not—I feel that I have not—been injured. They made it out that I wanted the two thousand pounds. I'll not have the two thousand pounds. But if that young man should ever want two thousand, let him come to me, and he shall have it!"

This was the result of the interview; and, before Howard reached his hotel, Sir Charles was with General Lloyd.

The general, on receiving his card, felt quite inclined to treat him with contempt; but, on reflection, he thought it would be better to see him, and, therefore, sent word down that he'd be with him anon.

"Well," said he, haughtily, as he entered the room; "what do you want here, Sir Charles Julian?"

"What do I want here!" exclaimed Sir Charles, not anticipating such a reception. "If we can speak to each other calmly, let us do so: if not, our interview is at an end."

"Calmly! What do you want here?"

​"I scorn," replied Sir Charles, with indignation, "I scorn to answer any question put in that tone."

"What tone, Sir Charles Julian—what tone should I assume to him who has blasted the reputation of my child, and who has affixed a stain of infamy upon her, like a fool—like a fool—like a villain and a fool? She is innocent! I care nothing for your verdicts! Five thousand verdicts will not be sufficient to make me believe that she is anything but pure!"

"General Lloyd," said Sir Charles, "while you pursue this irrational course, I cannot talk with you."

"While I pursue this irrational course! What course would you have me pursue, Sir Charles, since you deem that of warmly defending my child—believing her to be innocent—irrational!"

"I do not deem that to be irrational. I will defend her as warmly as you can!"

"You defend her! You, who have basely cast her out of the pale of society, and branded her a wanton!—you defend her! If she had no stronger defence than yours, the weakness of her position would be pitiable indeed. But she has a more potent defender than her husband. She has a father, who will defend her while he has life and breath: she has, moreover, the strength which conscious innocence imparts, and that surpasses all. Have your trials—sue for your divorce—she is innocent—innocent still!"

"I believe that she is! I now firmly believe it!"

"You do!"

"I do, most firmly."

"And how has that belief been inspired?"

"By the knowledge of the fact that that young man is, in reality, a somnambulist. I have proved it. I have proved it beyond all doubt. I am therefore satisfied."

The general rang the bell, and desired the servant to request "Lady Julian" to come down, and not another word was spoken until she appeared.

As she entered, Sir Charles was the first to address her. "Matilda," said he, "I am here to inform you that I have happily become quite convinced of your innocence."

"Sir Charles Julian!" she exclaimed, with an expression of scorn, "whether you have or have not become convinced, is a matter to me of the most perfect indifference. You have injured me irreparably: you have brought yourself into profound contempt; and now all you have to do is to sue for a divorce, and the sooner you obtain it the better."

"Matilda," resumed Sir Charles calmly, "I did not expect this from you."

"What did you expect, Sir Charles Julian? Did you expect that, like a guilty thing, I should tremble, or be silent, or sink before him who has thus vilely cast upon my character a stain of infamy!"

"I expected that you would at least have been calm: for although I have now no desire to urge it still the event justified suspicion."

​"It did not justify—it could not justify—your conduct in publicly branding me with so much precipitation."

"Look you, Sir Charles," interposed the general, who had been thoughtfully pacing the room. "You believe her to be innocent?"

"I do most firmly."

"Very well. You are convinced of it?"

"I am."

"Very well. Then how do you propose to remove the stigma?"

"Why, in the first place, I am anxious for Matilda to return."

"Return!" she exclaimed. "What to live again with you! Never! Never!"

"Very well," said the general; "that's settled. Now you can leave the room."

"I should feel myself degraded—"

"Very well; that'll do. Leave the rest to me."

She then cast a withering glance at Sir Charles, and withdrew with an air of disdain.

"Now, then," resumed the general; "how is this stain to be removed?"

"Why the fact of our living together again would have the effect of removing it."

"No: no such thing. It would be said that, like an infatuated old fool, although conscious of her guilt, you took her back, and forgave her. No, that'll not do. The stain cannot thus be removed."

"What, then, would you suggest?"

"I would suggest to you, Sir Charles, the necessity for acting, as you are bound to act, as a man of honour."

"I am quite prepared to do so. But how do you conceive that I am bound to act?"

"You are bound to declare, both in public and in private, your settled conviction of her innocence."

"In private I have already done so; but how am I to do it in public?"

"Through the medium of the papers. Consult your attorney. He will be able to get your conviction, and the facts which induced it, made known to the world. Let this be done, Sir Charles: let this be done."

"If it be possible, it shall be done."

"Very well. When it is done, we'll see what can be done next; but until it be done, and that effectually, she shall never, with my consent, return."

Resolved on doing all in his power to counteract the effects of the report of the trial, by making her innocence known to the world, Sir Charles then left the house. **** Little now remains to be told; for here the history of Sylvester, as a somnambulist, ends. The means adopted with the view of preventing a recurrence of somnambulism—those of taking much exercise, and living abstemiously—proved to be in his case effectual; and when this ​had been proved—there being no obstacle whatever in the way, and as they loved each other passionately—he and Henrietta were united.

And so were the reverend gentleman and his Eleanor! aye, and so were Judkins and cook. Lady Julian, moreover, was eventually prevailed upon to leave the general's house and return to Sir Charles; and while Howard himself recovered his former health and spirits, Mrs. Howard was happy in the possession of the affection of all around her. She indeed formed the centre of a most delightful circle; and, if even Sylvester had not been cured effectually, he would after marriage have been quite safe; for while, during the day, Henriette would not let him sleep, at night she invariably locked him in—her arms!