Measure for Measure.

Hamlet.

Claude Montigny rode to Stillyside and back, and was again with the advocate within the hour. To conceive the terror and outcry in that quiet dwelling, when its inmates ascertained that Amanda was missing, let the reader recall the commotion in the castle of Macbeth, when on the morning following his fatal entrance beneath its battlements, it is discovered that the royal Duncan has been murdered. As vehement and as wild as when the distracted Macduff, in frantic tones and with wringing hands, declares to the assembling sons and thanes of the ill-starred monarch, that, “confusion now has made its masterpiece, most sacrilegeous murder has broken open the Lord's anointed temple, and stolen hence the life o' the building,” was the outcry and disorder on the discovery of Amanda's absence; and the wail and lamentation rung in Claude's ear as he rode away from the gate to return to Montreal, where, still pacing the library, the advocate anxiously awaited him. By the ratiocination, as well as by the intuition, of the old man, the seigneur of Mainville was reasonably to be suspected of being at least an accessory to the stealing of Amanda. Claude, too, was not unvisited by suspicions of his father's complicity; but thrust the dishonoring doubts from him, as might a suffering saint dismiss hard thoughts of the dealings of Providence towards himself. Each thought more than he expressed to the other, but at length the advocate communicated to Claude his injurious suspicions, acquainting him with the fact and nature of his father's visits to his office; when Claude, in turn, informed the advocate of the long cherished project of an alliance between the houses of Duchatel and Montigny. This information not only confirmed, but widened the field of the advocate's fears. He was aware also of the lawless character of Duchatel's sons; and recollected to have heard that the youngest was a comrade of Narcisse, who, he likewise knew, entertained a covert spite against Amanda, and, for his mother's sake, a rankling dislike of Mona Macdonald. Against both of these his umbrage might be supposed to have been heated by his recent ignominious expulsion from Stillyside; and to gratify this resentment he might now be executing some scheme of revenge, wherein, from his intimacy with the young Duchatel, he could know that that family had cause to be ready to assist him. Here was a clue to the recovery of his ward:—in legal parlance, here was a prima facie case; and it but remained to find and prosecute the criminals. To seize his son, and, by threats or promises, extract a confession from him was the first idea. But where was the errant and suspected Narcisse to be found? His father knew he was absent, so the mother was summoned. She came, but advanced no further than the threshold of the room, and fell a trembling with fear, behaviour that she would fain have dissembled to be from cold, for, with the divination with which guilt endows its subject, she at once knew that the stranger was the young Montigny, and herself had been cited in order to suffer a searching cross-examination.

“Woman,” said the advocate sternly, and wheeling his arm-chair round so as to face her, “Woman, where is your son?”

“Helas!” she exclaimed, and shrugged her shoulders, as much as to say, “I don't know where he is;” and smiled a rueful smile.

“No grinning now,” cried the lawyer, raising his finger and shaking it at her, and frowning as he was wont to do when he wished to intimidate a witness, “no grinning now, madam. Will you pretend to say you know nothing of where he was last night, where he is at present?”

“Helas!” again exclaimed the affrighted Babet: “sir you forget yourself. Last night? Why it is yet night. Open the shutters and put out the lamp, and you will still be in darkness. Let me return to bed.”

“Babet Blais, many a better woman than you have I wished bedridden,” the advocate cried with bitterness. “Beshrew me, but your answer. Remember I am flint if you are steel, hence the less often we are smitten together in this enquiry, the fewer may be the revealing sparks. Babet Blais, here is an affair of blackest tinder, whereon your bated breath has blown already, until it glows upon your guilty face, as grimly as the lurid East that brews a rainy day, to you the type of tears.”

Babet Blais, here is an affair of blackest tinder, whereon your bated breath has blown already, until it glows upon your guilty face.

“What do you mean?” demanded the half mystified and still dissembling woman, in terror.

“What do I mean? I mean that you shall tell me where your son was during the last night, and where he is now.”

“Where he is now?” echoed Babet, “Last night? it is now night, or only just near dawning.”

“Yes, we are near the dawning,” mocked the old man, with loud, relentless equivoque. “Madam, shed here the sunbeams of your highest intelligence; clear the dull atmosphere of your soul from fog; and let us see and hear respecting this occurrence, all that yourself have seen, and heard, and known.”

“Master, I know nothing,” said she, “what affair?” enquired the woman, fitfully.

“Is Narcisse at home?” bellowed the advocate, quivering with excitement, and red to the roots of his white hair with wrath. “Evil betide me that he should have ever made here his home;” he continued. “Who called him hither? I? No, no; I called for aught that might see fit to come, conditioned that it came in human guise; but yonder frothy fool, yon swarthy pigmy, I did not summon him. I called for anything of earth, but Heaven (to punish me) straight passed the unhallowed call to hell, that sent me up a demon.” The apartment resounded with the last word, and still the old man's voice was heard like the departing rumble of a thunder peal, as he continued, with clasped hands and upturned eyes, whilst his countenance assumed an air of singular elevation, passionately exclaiming: “Oh, that a man who could have entertained the gods with high conceits and philosophic parle,—could have communed with spirits of the skies, should be assailed and pestered from the pit!—Go on, woman, we will exorcise you, we will purge you, though you be fouler than the Augean stable, that had been left uncleaned for thirty years; ay, though you be as foul as is the stall that holds the grimy company of the lost, and which goes uncleaned for ever. Proceed, I charge thee!” and the fierce-eyed lawyer sat dilated and erect in his chair, glaring upon her like a serpent rearing its crest from amidst its coils, as he waited for an answer.

“I cannot, I know no further,” she said at length with meek doggedness.

“What say you?” exclaimed the advocate, almost screaming with astonishment.

“I know no further; I know nothing,” she replied.

“Assist me, patience, to confound this creature! Nothing! you know all;” he shouted. “All, I say, all; for never had such a mother such a son, but he did pour out all his purposes, all the infernal cornucopia, into her breast from his. You have no secrets between you; you, his mother, know all his course; his thoughts, intents, conspiracies and plots; his loves, his hates, his loose, irregular life; his merry moments, and his moods of malice. I charge thee, tell us where he was last night, where yesterday, where he is now, and where he will be to-morrow.”

“Monsieur, I know no more, know nothing,” cried the woman, appealing to Claude. “My master is mad,” and, bursting into tears, began: “Here have I been his housekeeper twenty years—”

“Twenty years too long,” vociferated the advocate. “One half the period that heaven was vexed with a stiff-necked generation have I endured you, Babet. Housekeeper! eh? Keeper of the King's conscience next, a she Lord Chancellor,—but continue: call yourself Keeper of the Seals, and mistress—or master either—of the Rolls, so you unroll your secret. Tell all you may; empty your flask of falsehood, then at the bottom we may find some sediment of truth. Commence; don't count upon concealment. I will wring the truth from you, though it shall ooze out drop by drop, and each drop be a portion of your life.”

Babet was still silent, but the lawyer pursued:

“Oh, toad, ugly and venomous, you have a precious jewel in your head; deliver it; discover to myself and to this gentleman all that you know about your son's late conduct. Speak, or you shall have your closed lips forced apart, or there shall be found and set you such tormenting penance, that you shall sue with speed to make confession. What! still silent? Bathe no longer that face with tears. Out on thee, crocodile! Oh, that those trite tears were scales, falling, to leave you bare and vulnerable to arrows of adjurement; then, with patience I could see them fall as fast as flakes of snow in winter, till thou wert as white as Judge's ermine with them! Creature, hast thou nothing plausible, nothing for us, nothing for him, nor me?”

“Nothing for you, nor for this gentleman,” she answered quietly.

“Do not imagine him to be so gentle, neither. Though he dwells staid and silent, he is a roaring lion, that should I let slip may soon devour thee, Babet. Overweening woman, you do not know how much you and yours have wronged him,” said the advocate.

Claude had heard all this without speaking, but now he interposed, to try persuasion.

“Good Babet,” said he, soothingly, “if you are aware of anything untoward of Monsieur's ward, and will declare it, I guarantee to you, not only a condonation for your son, if he have in any shape conspired against her, but a reward so weighty for yourself, that you shall bless the hour that you were awoke so early to be scolded. What do you know of the lost lady of Stillyside?”

At these words a smile covered her face, as if of satisfaction at good news; then, shrugging her shoulders, she languidly asked: “Is she missing?” and added, “Helas! then others have an absent child, as well as I,” and shook her head; and, with another shrug, continued, as if subsiding into herself, and in a tone of combined decision and sadness: “I know nothing of the lady, nothing of my boy. Heaven grant my son is safe, my poor Narcisse, and that he may not return and meet his cruel father, who so hates him;” and she brushed away a tear from her cheek.

“Heaven grant indeed we do not meet at present!” ejaculated the foiled advocate; “for if we did, I might so far exceed a parent's punitory privilege, that I should win but blame from the blind world instead of sympathy. Begone, vampire,” and she vanished like a ghost at cockcrow.

That smile of her's at the mention of Amanda missing, had been caught by the advocate's keen eye, and convinced him that she and her son were accessories to the felony of the night. Brief consultation now sufficed between him and Claude, who also felt convinced of her complicity. Light began to glimmer amidst the darkness of the situation, and, as it kindled into a dreary dawn, as might a new scene amongst dissolving views, shadowy and sinistrous amidst it seemed to loom the figures of the Duchatels; and, before the sun had risen, Claude, winged equally with hope and indignation, was posting towards Montboeuf. The advocate threw himself upon a couch, and he would fain have thrown up his brief of that day, but it was for a case involving capital punishment, and, at the eleventh hour, to have deserted his client would have brought upon himself, not only professional dishonor, but guilt. Hence, with heavy heart and unwilling faculties he bent his attention to the study of the important case, whilst at intervals he swallowed a portion of the morning's meal, that at the usual hour was silently placed before him; and at last, with an inexpressible sadness and boding, he left the stillness of his home for the walls of the busy and exciting arena of the criminal court.